« PreviousContinue »
THE DIRGE OF WALLACE.
They lighted a taper at dead of night,
And chanted their holiest hymn;
Her eye was all sleepless and dim!
When a death-watch beat in her lonely room,
Now sing ye the death-song, and loudly pray
For the soul of my knight so dear;
Since the warning of God is here;
The lord of my bosom is doomed to die;
Yet knew not his country that ominous hour,
Ere the loud matin-bell was rung,
Had the dirge of her champion sung!
On the high-born blood of a martyr slain,
Oh, it was not thus when his oaken spear
Was true to that knight forlorn,
At the blast of the hunter's horn;
With the yellow-haired chiefs of his native tend; For his lance was not shivered on helmet or shield— And the sword that seemed fit for Archangel to wield Was light in his terrible hand!
Yet bleeding and bound, «h©' the Wallace wight
For his long-loved country die,
Than, William of Elderslie!
But the day of his glory shall never depart;
His head unentombed shall with glory be palmed;
. . . . Campbell.
THE DYING FATHER TO HIS DAUGHTER.
And I die—ere to-morrow I die,—
Will live, my child, longer than I.
Let me bless thee, and bid thee adieu;
Was daughter so kind and so true.
Thou hast walked by my side, and my board thou hast spread, • \_\ . . . i;,'. t. .. ' .i•ii•. . .' .;." . .
For my chair the warm corner hast found .,, K)
And told my dull ear what the visitor said,
When I saw that the laughter went round.
Thou hast succoured me still, and my meaning exjiH
When memory was lost on its way; i
Thou hast pillowed my head ere I laid it to rest,
Thou art weeping beside me to-day.
, ..,...i '|iiI .'
O Kathleen, my love I thou couldst choose tht. good
And more than thy duty hast done;
He merits the love he has won.
Look up to the mercy-seat then;
Come, come to my arms back again.
.1 . . .-. h *j ...'.' ..i
A RUINED FEMALE',
Take one example, one of female wo.
From morning's dew, if it reality
Of flesh and blood, or holy vision, saw,
In imagery of perfect womanhood.
But short her bloom—her happiness was short.
One saw her loveliness, and with desire
Unhallowed, burning, to her ear addressed
Dishonest words: 'Her favour was his life,
His heaven; her frown his wo, his night, his death/
With turpid phrase thus wove in flattery's loom,
He on her womanish nature won, and age
Suspicionless, and ruined, and forsook:
For he a chosen villain was at heart,
And capable of deeds that durst not seek
Repentance. Soon her father saw her shame;
His heart grew stone, he drove her forth to want
And wintry winds, and with a horrid curse
Pursued her ear, forbidding all return.
Upon a hoary cliff that watched the sea
Her babe was found—dead: on its little cheek,
The tear that nature bade it weep, had turned
An ice-drop, sparkling, in the morning beam;
And to the turf its helpless hands were frozen:
For she—the woful mother, had gone mad,
And laid it down, regardless of its fate
And of her own. Yet had she many days
Of sorrow in the world, but never wept.
She lived on alms; and carried in her hand