Of all we loved and honored, naught
Save power remains,

A fallen angel's pride of thought,
Still strong in chains.

All else is gone; from those great eyes
The soul has fled:

When faith is lost, when honor dies,
The man is dead!

Then, pay the reverence of old days
To his dead fame;

Walk backward, with averted gaze,

And hide the shame!

John Greenleaf Whittier.

SONG.

THE heath this night must be bed,

TH

my

The bracken curtain for my head,

My lullaby the warder's tread,

Far, far from love and thee, Mary;
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid,
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper-song thy wail, sweet maid!
It will not waken me, Mary!

I may not, dare not, fancy now
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow;

TO LUCASTA.

I dare not think upon thy vow,
And all it promised me, Mary.
No fond regret must Norman know;
When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe,
His heart must be like bended bow,
His foot like arrow free, Mary.

A time will come with feeling fraught!
For, if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying thought
Shall be a thought on thee, Mary :
And if returned from conquered foes,
How blithely will the evening close,
How sweet the linnet sing repose
To my young bride and me, Mary.

Sir Walter Scott.

125

TO LUCASTA,

ON GOING TO THE WARS.

ELL me not, sweet, I am unkinde,

TEL

That from the nunnerie

Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde,
To warre and armes I flee.

True, a new mistresse now I chase,

The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith imbrace

A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you, too, should adore;

I could not love thee, deare, so much,
Loved I not honor more.

Richard Lovelace.

THE LAND OF LANDS.

OU ask me, why, though ill at ease,
Within this region I subsist,

Whose spirits falter in the mist,

And languish for the purple seas?

It is the land that freemen till,

That sober-suited Freedom chose,

The land where, girt with friends or foes,

A man may speak the thing he will;

A land of settled government,

A land of just and old renown,

Where Freedom broadens slowly down

From precedent to precedent;

Where faction seldom gathers head,

But by degrees to fulness wrought, The strength of some diffusive thought Hath time and space to work and spread.

Should banded unions persecute
Opinion, and induce a time

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

When single thought is civil crime,

And individual freedom mute;

Though Power should make from land to land
The name of Britain trebly great,
Though every channel of the state
Should almost choke with golden sand, -

Yet waft me from the harbor-mouth,
Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky,
And I will see before I die

The palms and temples of the South.

Alfred Tennyson.

127

0'

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

UR 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,

By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track:

”T was autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way 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,

And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness 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.

Thomas Campbell.

WR

MONTEREY.

E were not many, we who stood
Before the iron sleet that day;

Yet many a gallant spirit would
Give half his years if but he could
Have been with us at Monterey.

Now here, now there, the shot it hailed
In deadly drifts of fiery spray,