Another hand thy sword shall wield,
Another hand the standard wave,

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.

THE DEATH OF SCHILLER.

IS said, when Schiller's death drew nigh,

'T's when Schilder's death den

The wish possessed his mighty mind,

To wander forth wherever lie

The homes and haunts of humankind.

Then strayed the poet, in his dreams,
By Rome and Egypt's ancient graves;
Went up the New World's forest-streams,
Stood in the Hindoo's temple-caves;

Walked with the Pawnee, fierce and stark,
The sallow Tartar, midst his herds,
The peering Chinese, and the dark
False Malay, uttering gentle words.

How could be rest? even then he trod The threshold of the world unknown; . Som the seat of God,

V upon his garments shone;

Shone and awoke the strong desire

For love and knowledge reached not here,
Till, freed by death, his soul of fire

Sprang to a fairer, ampler sphere.

"Hush, child;" but, as the father spoke,

Downward the livid firebolt came,

Close to his ear the thunder broke,
And, blasted by the flame,

The child lay dead; while dark and still
Swept the grim cloud along the hill.
Now York, 1836.

"New York Mirror," April, 1837

THE BATTLE-FIELD.

Ο

NCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,

And fiery hearts and armèd hands

Encountered in the battle-cloud.

Ah! never shall the land forget.

How gushed the life-blood of her braveGushed, warm with hope and courage yet, Upon the soil they fought to save.

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still;
Alone the chirp of flitting bird,

And talk of children on the hill,

And bell of wandering kine, are heard.

No solemn host goes trailing by

The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;

Men start not at the battle-cry,

Oh, be it never heard again!