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Of the mail-covered Barons, who proudly to battle,
The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast rattle,
No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,
Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistan slumbers,
Paul and Hubert too sleep, in the valley of Cressy;
For the safety of Edward, and England, they fell; My fathers! the tears of your country redress you,
How you fought! how you died I still her annals can tell.
On Marston, with Rupert, 'gainst traitors contending, Four brothers enriched with their blood the bleak field;
For the rights of their monarch their country defending,
Shades of heroes farewell! your descendant departing
Abroad or at home, your remembrance imparting
Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
Far distant he goes with the same emulation,
That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish,
Like you he will live, or like you he will perish:
MOONLIGHT AT THE SEA-SIDE.
The heavens are cloudless, the winds are asleep,
The shepherd's blythe whistle hath ceased on the hill,
Now the weary fisher hath moored his light skiff,
The young autumn moon looks abroad o'er the scene,
It is thus with man in prosperity's hour—
He plucks the gay blossom from pleasure's sweet flower.
And his eye beams as joyously bright and clear
As if it had never been dimmed with a tear.
When the moonlight heavens their glories unfold,
'Tis in the softness of such a sweet hour
Then seemeth this earth, with its joys and fears,
There is a mystic thread of life
So dearly wreathed with mine alone,
That destiny's relentless knife
There is sform on which these eyes
By day that form their joy supplies,
And dreams restore it through the night.
There is a voice whose tones inspire
Such thrills of rapture through my breast;
I would not hear a seraph choir
Unless that voice could join the rest.
There is a. face whose blushes tell
But pallid at one fond farewell,
Proclaims more love than words can speak.
There is a lip which mine hath prest,
It vowed to make me sweetly blest,
There is a bosom—all my own-
A mouth which smiles on me alone,
There are two hearts whose movements thrill
In unison so closely sweet!
They both must heave—or cease to beat.
There are two souls whose equal flow,
In gentle streams so calmly run,
They cannot part—those souls are one.