When, lo! from far, as on they press'd, For there in very truth is he; His dark eye flash'd, his proud breast heaved, A lowly knee to earth he bent, His father's hand he took What was there in its touch that all That hand was cold, a frozen thing, A plume waved o'er that noble brow- He met at last his father's eyes, Up from the ground he sprang and gazed, It hush'd their very hearts that saw They might have chain'd him, as before For the power was stricken from his arm, "Father," at length he murmur'd low, He thought on all his glorious hopes, He flung the falchion from his side, Then covering with his steel-gloved hand "I thought to stand where banners waved, My sire, beside thee yet; I would that there our kindred blood Thou would'st have known my spirit then, But thou hast perish'd in thy chains, Then starting from the ground once more, Amid the pale bewilder'd looks Of all the courtier train; And with a fierce o'er-mastering grasp And sternly set them face to face The king before the dead. "Came I not forth upon thy pledge, My father's hand to kiss? Be still, and gaze thou on, false king, The voice, the heart, the glance I sought- "Into these glassy eyes put light- Give me back him for whom I strove, His dust be mountains on thy head." He loosed the rein, his slack hand fell ;- He cast one long, deep, troubled look- His banners led the spears no more, Amid the hills of Spain. MRS HEMANS. SCIPIO'S GENEROSITY. When, to his glorious first essay in war, Was mark'd the general's prize. She wept, and blush'd; An eye, As when the blue sky trembles through a cloud Of purest white. A secret charm combined Her features, and infused enchantment through them. Beneath her beauty fails; which seem'd on purpose Almost beyond the stretch of human force. Turn'd from the dangerous sight, and chiding, ask'd She, question'd of her birth, in trembling accents, Wept out his tender soul; sudden the heart His wishing youth stood check'd, his tempting power He for her parents and her lover call'd. The various scene imagine. How his troops To these as different sentiments succeeded, "We both are young; both charm'd. The right of war I ask but this-when you behold these eyes, While the loud camp, and all the clustering crowd THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, We buried him darkly, at dead of night, No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his restWith his martial cloak around him! Few and short were the prayers we said, We thought as we hollow'd his narrow bed, How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock toll'd the hour for retiring, And we heard by the distant and random gun, That the foe was suddenly firing Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame, fresh and gory! We'carved not a line, we raised not a stone, But we left him alone in his glory!-WOLFE. THE SUNSET, OF BATTLE. Twilight closes, The shadows of evening are thickening. and the thin mists are rising in the valley. ing squadron yet thunders in the distance; but it presses only on the foiled and scattered foe. For this day the fight is over! And those who rode foremost in its field at morning-where are they now? On the bank of yon little stream, there lies a knight, his life-blood is ebbing faster than its tide. His shield is rent, and his lance is broken. Soldier, why faintest thou? The blood that swells from that deep wound will answer. It was this morning that the sun rose |