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His airy circle, as in the delight
Of measuring the ample range beneath
And round about : absorbed, he heeded not
The death that threaten'd him.-I could not shoot!
'Twas liberty. I turn'd my bow aside,
And let him soar away.



GREAT was the joy ; but at the bridal feast,
When all sat down, the bride was wanting there-
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
66 'Tis but to make a trial of our love !” —
And fill’d his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
'Twas but that instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back, and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on her finger.
But now, alas ! she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could anything be guess'd,
But that she was not! Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and forthwith
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.
Orsini lived : and long mightst thou have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find-he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remain'd a while
Silent and tenantless—then went to strangers.

Full fifty years were past, and all forgot,
When on an idle day, a day of search


'Mid the old lumber in the gallery, That mouldering chest was noticed ; and 'twas said By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra,

Why not remove it from its lurking-place ?" 'Twas done as soon as said ; but on the

It burst-it fell; and, lo! a skeleton ;
With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold.
All else had perish'd-save a nuptial ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both-
“ Ginevra.” There then had she found a grave !
Within that chest had she conceald herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy,
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fasten'd her down for ever!



THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen :
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.

For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he past;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still !

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolld not the breath of his pride :
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !


STOP! for thy tread is on an Empire's dust!

An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust,

Or column trophied for triumphal show? None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so :

As the ground was before, thus let it be ;How that red rain hath made the harvest grow !

And is this all the world hath gain'd by thee, Thou first and last of fields ! King-making Victory!

There was a sound of revelry by night,

And Belgium's capital had gather'd 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 look'd 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 !

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 window'd 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 deem'd it near,

His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,

And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rush'd 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,

Blush'd 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 throng’d 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 Albyn'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


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 !

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