JOSEPHINE. WE did not meet in courtly hall, We met where darker spirits meet, What once she might have been, But she was kind to me, Love, My pretty Josephine. We did not part beneath the sky, As warmer lovers part, Where Night conceals the glistening eye, But not the throbbing heart; We parted on the spot of ground Where we first had laughed at love, And ever the jests were loud around, And the lamps were bright above: "The heaven is very dark, Love, But merrily rides my bark, Love- She did not speak of ring or vow, And took the roses from her brow As of the hand that gave: "Go gaily o'er the sea, Love, And find your own heart's queen; And look not back to me, Love, Your humble Josephine!" That garland breathes and blooms no more, I would not, could I choose, restore Yet oft their withered witchery Revives its wonted thrill, Remembered-not with Passion's sigh, But oh! remembered still : And even from your side, Love, And even from this scene, One look is o'er the tide, Love, One thought with Josephine! Alas! your lips are rosier, Your eyes of softer blue, And I have never felt for her Our love was like the snow-flakes, Which melt before you pass— Or the bubble on the wine, which breaks Before you lip the glass. You saw these eye-lids wet, Love, Which she has never seen; But bid me not forget, Love, My poor Josephine! MARSTON MOOR. To horse! to horse! Sir Nicholas, the clarion's note is high! To horse to horse! Sir Nicholas, the big drum makes reply! Ere this hath Lucas marched, with his gallant cavaliers, And the bray of Rupert's trumpets grows fainter in our ears. To horse! to horse! Sir Nicholas! White Guy is at the door, And the raven whets his beak o'er the field of Marston Moor. Up rose the Lady Alice, from her brief and broken prayer, And she brought a silken banner down the narrow turret-stair; Oh! many were the tears that those radiant eyes had shed, As she traced the bright word "Glory" in the gay and glancing thread; And mournful was the smile which o'er those lovely features ran, As she said, "It is your lady's gift, unfurl it in the van!" "It shall flutter, noble wench, where the best and boldest ride Midst the steel-clad files of Skippon, the black dragoons of Pride; The recreant heart of Fairfax shall feel a sicklier qualm, And the rebel lips of Oliver give out a louder psalm, When they see my lady's gewgaw flaunt proudly on their wing, And hear her loyal soldier's shout, "For God and for the King." 'Tis soon. The ranks are broken, along the royal line They fly, the braggarts of the court! the bullies of the Rhine! Stout Langdale's cheer is heard no more, and Astley's helm is down, And Rupert sheathes his rapier, with a curse and with a frown, And cold Newcastle mutters, as he follows in their flight, "The German boar had better far have supped in York to-night." The knight is left alone, his steel-cap cleft in twain, stain; |