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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.
When, to his glorious first essay in war,
Was mark'd the general's prize. She wept, and blush'd;
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
To cloud his glory in its very dawn.
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 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 half of our heavy task was done,
When the clock toll'd the hour for retiring, And we heard by the distant and random 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.
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
bright upon his hopes-it sets upon his grave. This day he led the foremost rank of spears, that in their long row levelled when they had crossed their foe's dark line then death shouted in the onset! It was the last blow that reached him. He has conquered, though he shall not triumph in the victory. His breastplate is dinted. His helmet has the traces of well-dealt blows. The scarf on his breast-she would shrink but to touch it now who placed it there. Soldier, what will thy mistress say? She will say that the knight died worthily.
Aye, rouse thee, for the fight yet charges in the distance! Thy friends are shouting-thy pennon floats on high. Look on yon crimsoned field that seems to mock the purple clouds above it! prostrate they lie, drenched in their dark red pool; thy friends and enemies; the dead and dying! The veteran, with the stripling of a day. The nameless trooper, and the leader of a hundred hosts. Friend lies by friend. The steed with his rider. And foes, linked in their long embrace -their first and last-the gripe of death. Far o'er the field they lie, a gorgeous prey to ruin! White plume and steel morion; sabre and yataghan; crescent and cross; rich vest and bright corslet; we came to the fight, as we had come to a feasting; glorious and glittering, even in death, each shining warrior lies!
His last glance still seeks that Christian banner!
that shall never be repeated, cheers on its last charge. Oh, but for strength to reach the field once more! to die in the foe's front! Peace, dreamer! Thou hast done well. Thy place in the close rank is filled; and yet another waits for his who holds it.
Knight, hast thou yet a thought? bend it on Heaven! The past is gone; the future lies before thee. Gaze on yon gorgeous sky; thy home should be beyond it! Life, honour, love-they pass to Him that gave them. Pride, that came on like ocean's billows-see round thee how it lies mute and passive. The wealthy here are poor. The high-born have no precedence. The strong are powerless. The mean content. The fair and lovely have no followers. Soldier! she who sped thee on thy course to-day, her blue eyes shall seek thee in the conquering ranks to-morrow; but it shall seek thee in vain! Well! thus it is thou shouldst have died! -worth all to live for. Wouldst thou be base to have thy death a blessing?
Proud necks shall mourn for thee.
Bright eyes shall weep for thee. They that live envy thee. Death! glory takes out thy sting!
Warrior! aye, the stream of that rill flows cool; but thy lip no more shall taste it. The moonlight that silvers its white foam, shall glitter on thy corslet, when thy eye is closed and dim. Lo! now the night is coming. The mist is gathering on the hill. The fox steals forth to seek his quarry, and the grey owl sweeps whirling by, rejoicing in the stillness. Oh, soldier! how sweetly sounds thy lady's lute! how fragrant are the dews! sprinkled flowers that twine round the casement from which she leans! that lute shall enchant thee, those flowers shall delight thee, no more!
One other charge! Soldier, it may not be. To thy saint and thy lady commend thee! Hark to the low trumpet that sounds the recall! Hark to its long note; sweet is that sound in the ears of the spent and routed foe!
The victor hears it not. When the breath rose that blew that note, he lived; its peal has rung, and his spirit has departed. Heath! thou shouldst be the soldier's pillow! Moon! let thy cold light this night fall upon him! But, morning, thy soft dews shall tempt him not! the soldier must wake no more. He sleeps in the sleep of honour. His cause was his country's freedom, and her faith. He is dead! The cross of a Christian knight is on his breast; his lips are pressed to his lady's token. Soldier, farewell!
Stop!-for thy tread is on an Empire's dust!
There was a sound of revelry by night,
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;