A SOUVENIR. YES, lady! I can ne'er forget, Thine eye had other forms to seek, We parted, lady, — all night long Thine ear to thrill with dance and song, And, lady! now that years have past, -- I stand before thy presence now; Nay, lady! 't is not now for me I seek thee, oh, thou dost not shun; I speak, - thou listenest like a nun; Thy tears, thy lashes sink again,— My Hebe turns to Magdalen! O changing youth! that evening hour And mine was nursed in tears and toil; Ay, lady! that once haughty glance To smile and praise,—that used to spurn, "QUI VIVE!" "QUI VIVE!" The sentry's musket rings, High o'er him, like a raven's wings Its shadow, rustling as it swings Pale in the moonlight beams; Pass on! while steel-clad sentries keep Their vigil o'er the monarch's sleep, Thy bare, unguarded breast Asks not the unbroken, bristling zone That girds yon sceptred trembler's throne ;Pass on, and take thy rest! "Qui vive!" How oft the midnight air That startling cry has borne! The banner of this haughty land, O'er mountain snow and desert sand, 66 With battle's crimson showers! Qui vive!" And is the sentry's cry,The sleepless soldier's hand, And lift their emblems, printed high, No! If the patriot's pulses sleep, How vain the watch that hirelings keep,The idle flag that waves, When Conquest, with his iron heel, Treads down the standards and the steel That belt the soil of slaves! |