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And the raven had flapped at her window-board,
To tell of her warrior's doom ! “Now sing you the death-song, and loudly pray
For the soul of my knight so dear,
Since the warning of God is here!
The lord of my bosom is doomed to die;
For Wallace of Elderslie !".
Ere the loud matin-bell was rung,
Had the dirge of her champion sung!
On the high-born blood of a martyr slain ;
And his heart was rent in twain.
Was true to that knight forlorn,
At the blast of the hunter's horn;
With the yellow-haired chiefs of his native land; For his lance was not shivered on helmet or shield, And the sword that seemed fit for archangel to wield
Was light in his terrible hand !
For his long-loved country die,
Than Wallace of Elderslie.
His head unentombed shall with glory be balmed, -
THE INDIAN'S REVENGE.
AN OLD LEGEND.
And evening's yellow shade
And lengthened o'er the glade.
The bird her sheltered nest,
Both wind and wave had rest. And to a cotter's hut that eve
There came an Indian chief,
And in his face was grief.
Was weather-soiled and rent;
And all his arrows spent.
He knew the white man's hand
Long scourged from the land. He prayed but for a simple draught
Of water from the well,
That from his table fell
A wide and whary way,
And through the laten tiat day;
He turned away in w,
That 191*219 L X).
Went out into the wilderness,
The wolf and bear to kill;
The panther in his lair,
The sunless forests there.
The deer were fierce and fleet,
When they heard his hostile feet:
Nor crystal rivulet,
Or his hot brow to wet.
That nought on earth could save;
And lay him in his grave.
Burned feebly in his breast,
His hated Indian guest !
His cup of water shared,
For whom his heart most cared.
“When thou wast stern to me, And I have had my vengeance now ;White man! farewell to thee!”.
THE DEATH OF HOFER.
At Mantua long had lain in chains
But now his day of doom was come---
Resounded o'er the soldiered plains,
O Heaven! with what a deed of dole The hundred thousand wrongs were crowned
Of trodden-down Tyrol !
With iron-fettered arms and hands
His heart was calm, his eye was clear
Death was for traitor slaves to fear!
Where Inn's dark wintry waters roll,
The Sandwirth of Tyrol.
Anon he passed the fortress wall,
From many a brother thrall within.
“ Farewell!” he cried. “Soon may you win Your liberty! God shield you all !
Lament not me! I see my goal.
Your land and mine, Tyrol !”
So through the files of musketeers
And stood within the hollow square.
Well might he glance around him there,
Amid such serfs his bannerol,
On thy green hills, Tyrol !
They bade him kneel; but he with all
“I kneel alone to God on high
As thus I stand so dare I die;
Farewell”-his breast a moment swoll
“My Kaiser and Tyrol !"
No more emotion he betrayed.
To Francis and the faithful men
Who girt his throne. His hands were then
“God of the Free, receive my soul!
Dublin University Magazine.
My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by,
steed! Fret not with that impatient hoof-snuff not the breezy
wind; The further that thou fliest now, so far am I behind: The stranger hath thy bridle rein—thy master hath his
gold ; Fleet limbed and beautiful, farewell ! thou’rt sold, my steed
—thou’rt sold !
Farewell! those free untired limbs full many a mile must
roam, To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's
wont to be: