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Brightly thine eye was smiling, sweet !
But now decay hath stilled its glancing ;
Warmly thy little heart was dancing,
A few short months—and thou wert here !
Hope sat upon thy youthful brow;
And what is thy memorial now?
They hurried to the feast,
The warrior and the priest,
The minstrel's harp and voice
Said “Triumph and rejoice !"--,
“Peace! startle not the light
With the wild dreams of night!”-
When I, in their dull ears,
Shrieked forth my tale of tears,
Ye watch the dim smoke rise
Up to the lurid skies;
Ye listen to the fall
Of gate, and tower, and wall;
Through hall, and court, and porch,
Glides on the pitiless torch
Vain now the matron's sighs,
Vain now the infant's cries ;-
Not Pyrrhus, though his hand
Is on his father's brand ;
Not Nestor's hoary head,
Nor Teucer's rapid tread,
Visions of deeper fear
To-night are warring here ;-
Minerva's lightning frown,
And Juno's golden crown,
Through wailing and through woe
Silent and stern they go ;
Exultingly they guide
Destruction's fiery tide, And lift the dazzling shield, and point the deadly lance.
Lo, where the old man stands,
Folding his palsied hands, And muttering, with white lips, his querulous prayer :
“Where is my noble son,
My best my bravest oneTroy's hope and Priam's—where is Hector, where?”.
Why is thy falchion grasped ?
Why is thy helmet clasped ?
The altar reeks with gore;
O sisters, look no more!
And ye, alas ! must roam
Far from your desolate home,
Ye may not from these bowers
Gather the trampled flowers To wreath sad garlands for your brethren’s grave.
Away, away ! the gale
Stirs the white-bosomed sail ;
Labour must be your doom,
Night-watchings, days of gloom, The bitter bread of tears, the bridal couch of shame.
Even now some Grecian dame
Beholds the signal flame,
“ Why lingers yet my lord ?
Hath he not sheathed his sword ?
Me too, the dark Fates call:
Their sway is over all,
They hear me, heed me not !
SIR NICHOLAS AT MARSTON MOOR. To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas! the clarion's note is
high; To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas ! the huge drum makes
reply: Ere this hath Lucas marched with his gallant cavaliers, And the bray of Rupert's trumpets grows fainter on our
ears. To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas! White Guy is at the
door, And the vulture whets his beak o'er the field of Marston
Up rose the Lady Alice from her brief and broken prayer,
glancing thread ; And mournful was the smile that o'er those beauteous
features ran, As she said, “It is your lady's gift, unfurl it in the van." “It shall Autter, noble wench, where the best and bold
dragoons of Pride ;
wing, And hear her loyal soldiers shout, For God and for the
'Tis noon; the ranks are broken along the royal line; They fly, the braggarts of the court, the bullies of the
Rhine: Stout Langley'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 the flight, “The German boar had better far have supped in York
The knight is all alone, his steel cap cleft in twain,
stain ; But still he waves the standard, and cries amid the rout“For Church and King, fair gentlemen, spur on and
fight it out!” And now he wards a Roundhead's pike, and now he
hums a stave, And here he quotes a stage-play, and there he fells a
Good speed to thee, Sir Nicholas ! thou hast no thought
of fear; Good speed to thee, Sir Nicholas ! but fearful odds are
here. The traitors ring thee round, and with every blow and
thrust, “Down, down," they cry, “with Belial, down with him
to the dust!" “I would," quoth grim old Oliver, “that Belial's trusty
sword This day were doing battle for the Saints and for the