Yet prophet-like that lone one stood, That shook the sear leaves from the wood Saying, We are twins in death, proud sun! Thy face is cold, thy race is run, 'Tis mercy bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill; And arts that made fire, flood, and earth Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, And triumphs that beneath thee sprang Go, let oblivion's curtain fall Upon the stage of men, Its piteous pageants bring not back, Of pain anew to writhe, Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred, Or mown in battle by the sword, Like grass beneath the scythe. Even I am weary in yon skies My lips that speak thy dirge of death- The eclipse of nature spreads my pall, The majesty of Darkness shall Receive my parting ghost! This spirit shall return to Him Go, sun, while mercy holds me up, To drink this last and bitter cup Of grief that man shall taste, On earth's sepulchral clod, YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. Bri-tan'ni-a, Great Britain. bul' warks, forts. launch, fling out. YE mariners of England! Who guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved a thousand years While the stormy tempests blow; The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave! For the deck it was their field of fame, Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep: Her march is o'er the mountain waves, With thunders from her native oak When the stormy tempests blow; The meteor-flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, When the storm has ceased to blow; THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. ar-ray', order in regular lines. fain, gladly. | pallet, rude couch. OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young: I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, 66 And my wife sobbed aloud in her fullness of heart, — Stay, stay with us! rest, thou art weary and worn!" And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear-melted away. THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND.' hor'rid, inspiring fear. pan'dours, Hungarian foot-soldiers. pre-sag'ing, foreboding, foretelling. pu-is'sant, mighty. O SACRED Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile, And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, When leagued Oppression poured to northern wars Her whiskered pandours and her fierce hussars; From Pleasures of Hope. |