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But Linden saw another sight,
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
But redder yet that light shall glow,
"Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry! Few, few shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
OUR bugles sang truce-for the night-cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain; At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track; 'Twas autumn-and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn
Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.
Stay, stay with us—rest, thou art weary and worn'
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
ACHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry."
"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?"
Oh, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
"And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Outspoke the hardy Highland wight:
"I'll go, my chief—I'm ready. It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady.
"And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white,
By this the storm grew loud
And in the scowl of heaven each face
But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rodc armèd men—
Their trampling sounded nearer.
"O haste thee, haste !" the lady cries,
The boat has left a stormy land,
When, oh! too strong for human hand,
And still they rowed amidst the roar
For sore dismayed, through storm and shade His child he did discover;
One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water;
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter!-O my daughter!"
Twas vain :—the loud waves lashed the shore,
The waters wild went o'er his child,
BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
OF Nelson and the North
Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
In a bold, determined hand,
Like leviathans afloat
Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
It was ten of April morn by the chime.
But the might of England flushed