CLIV.

HOHENLINDEN.

N Linden, when the sun was low,

ON

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,

And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steed to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stained snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'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.

CLV.

SONG.

WOW delicious is the winning

H of a

Of a kiss at love's beginning,

When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there's no untying!

Yet remember, 'midst your wooing,
Love has bliss, but love has rueing;

Other smiles may make you fickle,
Tears for other charms may trickle.

Love he comes, and love he tarries,

Just as fate or fancy carries ;

Longest stays, when sorest chidden;

Laughs and flies, when pressed and bidden.

Bind the sea to slumber stilly,

Bind its odour to the lily,

Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver,

Then bind love to last for ever!

Love's a fire that needs renewal
Of fresh beauty for its tuel;

Love's wing moults when caged and captured,
Only free he soars enraptured.

Can you keep the bee from ranging,
Or the ringdove's neck from changing?
No! nor fettered love from dying,

In the knot there's no untying.

CLVI.

M

MARGARET AND DORA.

ARGARET 'S beauteous-Grecian arts

Ne'er drew form completer;

Yet why, in my heart of hearts,
Hold I Dora's sweeter?

Dora's eyes of heavenly blue

Pass all painting's reach,
Ringdoves' notes are discord to

The music of her speech.

Artists! Margaret's smile receive,

And on canvas show it;

But for perfect worship leave

Dora to her poet.

CLVII.

EBENEZER Elliott,

1781-1849.

DA

PLAINT.

ARK, deep, and cold the current flows Unto the sea where no wind blows, Seeking the land which no one knows.

O'er its sad gloom still comes and goes
The mingled wail of friends and foes,
Borne to the land which no one knows.

Why shrieks for help yon wretch, who goes
With millions, from a world of woes,
Unto the land which no one knows?

Though myriads go with him who goes,
Alone he goes where no wind blows,
Unto the land which no one knows.

For all must go where no wind blows,
And none can go for him who goes ;
None, none return whence no one knows.