Imatges de pÓgina

Bozzaris! with the storied brave,

Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee: there is no prouder grave,

Even in her own proud clime.
She wore no funeral weeds for thee,

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, In sorrow's pomp and pageantry,

The heartless luxury of the tomb.

But she remembers thee as one
Long loved and for a season gone;
For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed,
Her marble wrought, her music breathed ;
For thee she rings the birthday bells;
Of thee her babes' first lisping tells;
For thine her evening prayer is said
At palace-couch, and cottage-bed;
Her soldier, closing with the foe,
Gives, for thy sake, a deadlier blow;
His plighted maiden, when she fears
For him, the joy of her young years,
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her to s

And she, the mother of thy boys,
Though in her eye and faded cheek
Is read the grief she will not speak,

The memory of her buried joys, And even she who gave thee birth, Will by their pilgrim-circled hearth,

Talk of thy doom without a sigh; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's; One of the few, the immortal names,

That were not born to die.

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g:- bag, beg, keg, egg, plague, vague, rogue, brogue,

guide, gear, gird, gig, ragged, craggy, anger, finger.

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There was a sound of revelry by night ;

And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;

A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose, with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again; And all went merry as a marriage-bell — But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell I:

Did ye not hear it?- No: 'twas but the wind,

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined ;

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet :But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, '.

As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier, than before ! Arm! arm! it is!-- it is ! -- the cannon's opening roar!

Within a windowed niche of that high hall,

Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain : he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival,

And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;

And, when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well,

Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,

And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rushed into the field, and foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago

Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ;

And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs

Which ne'er might be repeated : who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ?


And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed,

The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,

And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ;

And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar, And near, the beat of the alarming drum,

Roused up the soldier, ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips, “ The foe! They come !

they come!

And wild and high the “Cameron's gathering” rose !

The war-note of Lochiel, which Albin's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes :

How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,

Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers

With the fierce native daring, which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years ; And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears !

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,

Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,

Grieving - if aught inanimate e'er grieves -

Over the unreturning brave, — alas!

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow,

In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low!

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life;

Last eve, in Beauty's circle proudly gay;
The midnight brought the signal sound of strife;

The morn, the marshalling in arms, - the day,

Battle's magnificently-stern array!
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent,

The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, - heaped and pent,
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, - in one red burial blent !

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j:- age, cage, page, rage, wage, huge, jar, gem, june,

refuge, divulge, exchange.

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LOCHIEL, Lochiel, beware of the day
When the lowlands shall meet thee in battle array !
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight;

They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown;
Woe, woe, to the riders that trample them down!
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war,
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ?
'Tis thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate.
A steed comes at morning no rider is there,
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led !
O weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead;
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave
Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave.



Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer!
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight,
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.

Wizard. Ha! laugh’st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the north? Lo! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven. O crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,

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