RESIGNATION. When musing sorrow weeps the past, And mourns the present pain; How sweet to think of peace at last, And feel that death is gain! 'Tis not that murm'ring thoughts arise, And dread a father's will; 'Tis not that meek submission flies, And would not suffer still. It is that heaven-taught faith surveys, The path to realms of light; And longs her eagle plumes to raise, And lose herself in sight. It is that hope with ardour glows, Whose dying love no language knows Sufficient art to trace. 1 It is that harassed conscience feels Sees, though afar, the hand that heals, And ends her war within. Oh! let me wing my hallowed flight LANDING OF THE BRITISH ARMY IN PORTUGAL. Noel. The shout grew loud . A varied scene the changeful vision showed, For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, A gallant navy stemmed the billows broad. From mast and stern St George's symbol flowed, Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; Mottling the sea their landward barges rowed, And flashed the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, And the wild beach returned the seaman's jovial cheer. It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight! The billows foamed beneath a thousand oars; Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite, Legions on legions brightening all the shores, Then banners rise, and cannon's signal roars, Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum, Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours, And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, For, bold in freedom's cause, the bands of ocean come! A various host they came-whose ranks display Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight; The deep battalion locks its firm array, And meditates his aim the marksman light : Far glance the lines of sabres, flashing bright, Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing meadLacks not artillery breathing flame and night, Nor the fleet ordnance whirled by rapid steed, That rivals lightning's flash, in ruin and in speed. A various host-from kindred realms they came, Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, And freeborn thoughts, which league the soldier with the laws. And oh loved warriors of the minstrel's land! Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave! The rugged form may mark the mountain band, And harsher features, and a mien more grave; But ne'er in battle-field throbbed heart so brave As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid; And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, And level for the charge your arms are laid, Where lives the desperate foe, that for such onset staid ? Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings, Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and free, And he, yon chieftain-strike the proudest tone 400803 THE FLIGHT OF FAITH. The dove let loose in eastern skies, Returning fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies But high she shoots through air and light, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, So grant me, God, from earthly care, Aloft through faith and love's pure air, No lure to tempt, no art to stay Thy freedom on her wings. Moore. |