The pause is o'er, the fatal shock, Prone on the battle's boundary. The thistle wav'd her bonnet blue, Hail, gallant brothers! woe befal Rous'd at their feats of chivalry. IX. ELIZA. How still is the night, and how death-like the gloon Where now are the flowers that embroider'd the vale, And where are the wild woods that wav'd in the gale, For a moment they're hid, but soon shall the veil With the dawning of morn their return I shall hail, But where are the thoughts that once gladden'd my heart, And the hopes I so fondly have cherish'd; And where are the visions which blissful did start? Yes, for ever!-no more shall Eliza's bright eye, The sun of my soul, shed its light; Its heaven-born lustre has fled in a sigh, And left my sad bosom in night. X. LINES, In imitation of the Italian. Love under friendship's vesture white, "Tis Love-and love is still the same. XI. THE WISH. Mine be a cot beside the hill; The swallow oft beneath my thatch, Around my ivy'd porch shall spring The village church among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were giv'n, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heav'n. XII. AN ITALIAN SONG. Dear is my little native vale ; The ring-dove builds and murmurs there; Close by my cot she tells her tale To every passing villager. The squirrel leaps from tree to tree In orange groves and myrtle bowers, I charm the fairy-footed hours With my loved lute's romantic sound; Or crowns of living laurel weave For those that win the race at eve. The shepherd's horn at break of day— The ballet danc'd in twilight glade— The canzonet and roundelay Sung in the silent green-wood shade. These simple joys, that never fail, Shall bind me to my native vale. XIII. A FAREWELL. Once more, enchanting girl, adieu ! The sweet expression of that face, M |