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Hush'd was the song of bards. From tent to tent,
Loud as the awful voice of thunder, ran
An hollow murmur. Instant at the call,
Uprose the Danish host, and round their chief
(Gorthmund, the son of black-hair’d Ceowolf)
Impatient throng'd. Ten thousand brazen hélms
Gave their majestic plumage to the gale;
Their lances, clufter'd like the grove of firs
On Maindip's top, shone like the starry train,
That filent o'er the dark-stol'd brow of night
In pathlefs orbits wheel. Amidst the van,
Gorthmund, the mighty ruler, foremost march'd; ;
Tall as an oak in Arden's forest, slow
As are the minutes of impatience, strong
As mountains of the slain. In plates of steel
His limbs were cas'd; a tow’ring casque conceal'd
His jetty ringlets ; on his visage sat
A frown of horror ; his emblazon'd shield
Bore Hela’s sacred symbol; from his side,
By golden links attach’d, a falchion hung,
Clotted with hofile gore. The next in rank
Was eagle-ey'd Ceaulin, he whose fire,
The great Lachollan, put to coward flight
Mæric's vast host, what time the fun, enthron'd
In noon-tide splendor, on a sudden veil'd
His glory in a robe of blood, and shades
Of night hung brooding o'er the deathful plain.
Others there were, inferior though in rank,
In valour equal; Centwin of the hill,
Swift as a falling meteor; Tenyan;
Ceormund sternly terrible, who led
A chofen band of archers to the fight;
Delward, the son of Hubba, and Cathegor,
Of the dark lake; heroes, whose glorious acts
6 Would ask an hundred tongues to celebrate."
Thus marshall’d, o'er Denania's misty-vale The Danes their way pursue, then sudden balt, Whilft Gorthmund thus address'd his brave compeers: “ Ye scowling warriors, whose big bosoms pant * For the strong roil of battle! See ye not * A dark cloud louring o'er you mountain's brow!
“ At noon a tempest will buift forth, and rain “ In swelling torrents fall. Yes, gallant Danes ! "A ftorm will rage, but a loud form of war; “ A shower prone rushing, but a shower of blood : “ For o'er yon heights the mighty Scgowald “ Approaches with his swarming legions, bred " In Mercia's fruitful plains, and Sigebert ss On the right wing leads forth the Wessex bands. “ But be ye not dismay’d; here let us halt, “ Screen'd by this tufted wood, and wait th' attack; “ 'The god of vi&t'ry (miles upon our arms “ Thrice bath the raven clapp'd his glossy wings; “ Thrice since this morn arose.” Here ceas’d the chief: Meanwhile the van of Segowald's firm troops, Exulting reach'd the plain below; and now In banner'd pomp the rampant dragon Thone, Full on the adverse hoft. Ah! beauteous scene, How soon to close! Already his pale horse Hath death beitrode ; the silver shields are struck; Loud twang'd. the Mercian bows-inftant the Danes Return'd the charge, and showers of millile spears Hurtled aloft., Now shield to fhield they fought High rose the mounts of flain; Ceaulin rag'd Like the gaunt wolf; down from his fiffur'd helin Spouted the life-blood, and ere long he fell By Egward's well-aim'd falchion; cleft in twain. Cathegor fought the mansion of his fires. fierce grew the conflict. Delward's sweeping arm Hew'd many a Saxon down. Gorthmund, meanwhile, Wades through a purple flood to where the king Of Mercia, panting, cut a lane of death, And strikes his reeking javelin through the heart Of Segowaldhe, ftagg’ring, groan'd, and died. But, hark, the shout of conquest ! Lo, they fiy ! The Saxons fly, and Gorthmund ralh pursucs The daftard fugitives; reckless he, how soon The fate of Segowald will be his own! For ah! a whizzing thaft too well perform'd Its errand, and transfix'd his brawny cheft. Stunn'd he ręcoil'd--the mifty shades of death
Floating before his eyes—and with a smile
Gave up the ghost !
A faithful band of Danes
Their pointed bucklers o'er the breathless corse
Suspended, whilst the minstrels from their harps,
Deep ton'd, pour'd forth this plaintive dirge, “ Behold,
“ Spirit of death, thy victory! Behold,
« Fit inmate for the yawning grave;
« Lo! welt'ring in the dust, and cold,
« The bravest of the brave !
“ Gorthmund ! inglorious lies
« Thy plume, that rivali'd erst the dazzling snow;
6 Clos'd are those eyes,
" That erst Aafh'd terror on the foe;
“ And crush'd the fine wy arm, that laid the mighty
" Never more along the mountains
« Shalt thou chase the tuiked boar;
“ Never shall thy glitt'ring anlace
« Drink the brindled leopard's gore.
« Oft some belated hunter, wand'ring near
« The hallow'd precincts of thy tomb,
« (What time the western promontory
“i Ìs ting'd with eve's departing glory.)
“ Bending in pensive fadness o'er his spear,
“ Shall muse on thee, whose ashes reft beneath
“ The graffy turf, whilst through the deepening gloom
'“ The waving cypress boughs, funereal horrors breathe!" Lynn, Sept. 1799.
W. CASE, JUN.
LINES ON AUTUMN.
ALMY zephyrs now are fled,
Saffron leaves the groves bespread,
Cold the gales at morn and eve,
Tempests fierce old ocean heave,
Nature's face is dark and drear,
Humid is the atmosphere,
Faintly is the landscape seen,
Veil'd by fogs that intervene,
Uncnamell’d are the fields,
Odours sweet no flower yields,
Forests, half disrob’d appear,
Emblems of the dying year,
Hawthorn hedge-rows give delight,
Deck'd with berries red and bright,
Round the elms and oaks sublime,
Yet the blooming woodbines climb,
Ivy on her mould’ring tow’rs,
Lovely brooks adorn'd with flowr's-
Brown the furrow'd fields we view,
Late where waving harvests grew,
’Neath the bristly Itubble low
Clover grass begins to grow,
Mountain torrents foaming fall,
Vapours in the vallies crawl.
Streams that noiseless wont to glide,
Spread their swollen waters wide,
Dark and cheerless is the day,
Skies undeck'd with azure gay-
Deign, O sun! to cheer the scene,
Now illume the tufted green ;
Fling thy rays, O fling them wide,
On the vale and mountain's fide,
Let me view its summit high,
Tow'ring to the lofty sky,
Crown’d with woods and splendid seats,
Where the wealthy cit retreats,
On its grassy Popes survey
Browzing sheep and lambkins gay,
Peasants whistling at their toil,
Ploughing up the fallow foil,
These the charms that flow from thee,
Never then be hid from me.
“ Crowded cities” now allure,
Fraught, although, with fumes impure ;
Gay assemblies, concerts grand,
Plays, with joy, the heart expand;
Pleasure's wand, with magic pow'r,
Bliss imparts to ev'ry hour,
Blazing hearth's society,
Sparkling wine and harmony;
Banish sorrow, care, and strife,
Give felicity to life.
Then at AUTUMN why repine,
It can give us joys divine,
Morals fit, as forceful teach,
As the grave divines that preach ;
Ripen’d fruit, that hang on high,
Teach that ev'ry thing must die;
Soon they blossom, foon decay,
We like them shall die away;
Chequer'd skies and changeful air
Shew that perfect bliss is rare ;
Man, vicissitude must know,
While he grovels here below;
Lessons these, sage AUTUMN, give,
Hail! then autumn, honor'd live.
TO A FRIEND, ON THE DEATH OF A FAVO
An arduous task would appear;
But sorrow on earth, oh! how often our guest !
And how short-liv'd our happiness here !
But whence, my dear Charlotte, this sudden complaint,
Methought you was happy and gay ;
With your own little room fitted up in such strain,
That nought could your comfort allay.
Indeed, my dear Mary, I thought so myself,
And much comfort and bliss did enjoy ;
How precarious our comfort, how short liv'd our bliss,
Which death, cruel death, can destroy!
You know, my dear Mary, what love and cfteem
I felt for my poor little cat;
Then, surely, a trifie 'twill not to you seem,
Nor think she can soon be forgot.