XXVIII. MORNING is beaming o'er brake and bower, Hark! to the chimes from yonder tower, Call ye my First from her chamber now, With her snowy veil and her jewelled brow. Lo! where my Second, in gallant array, With an arching neck and a glancing eye. Spread is the banquet, and studied the song; Look to the hill, is he climbing its side? Look to the stream-is he crossing its tide? Out on him, false one! he comes not yetLady, forget him, yea, scorn and forget. XXIX. My First was dark o'er earth and air, The stars that gemmed her ebon hair King Cole saw twice as many there "Away, King Cole!" mine hostess said "Flagon and flask are dry; Your nag is neighing in the shed, For he knows a storm is nigh:" She set my Second on his head, He stood upright upon his legs; He drained the draught to the very dregs, And he called that draught-my Whole. XXX. COME from my First, ay, come The battle dawn is nigh; And the screaming trump and the thundering drum Are calling thee to die! Fight as thy father fought, Fall as thy father fell, Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought; So-forward! and farewell! Toll ye, my Second! toll! Fling high the flambeau's light; And sing the hymn for a parted soul, Beneath the silent night! The helm upon his head, The cross upon his breast, Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed: Now take him to his rest! Call ye my Whole, go, call! With a noble song to-day; Go, call him by his name; No fitter hand may crave To light the flame of a soldier's fame (1829.) XXXI. My First, in its usual quiet way, Was creeping along on a wintry day, When a minstrel came to its muddy bed, With a harp on his shoulder, a wreath on his head; And "How shall I cross," the poor bard cried, "To the cloisters and courts on the other side?' Old Euclid came; he frowned a frown; The youth was mournful, the youth was mute; XXXII. AN aged man, with locks of snow, Sir Thomas Clover, Knight, to-day: "What can it mean, my pretty toy, With all its wheels, and threads, and springs?" And, as he speaks, the wondering boy The good Knight hears with placid smile, A proud memorial of the toil By which his grandsire's fortunes grew: And tells them this, my Whole, shall be Still handed down from son to son, To teach them by what industry Their titles and their lands were wou. |