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And at set of sun,
When, my task is done,
Be sure that I'm ever with thee, Mary.
BATTLE OF TALAVERA.
Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note?
Lo! where the giant on the mountain stands,
For on this morn three potent nations meet, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet.
Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice;
There shall they rot—ambition's honoured fools!
I did not weep, when I was told
Thy bridal-day was near;
Upon my anguished ear.
The sounds sepulchral fell,
And rung my hopes' sad knell.
I met thee—on my marble brow
There wrinkled no fierce ire;
The thrill had nought of fire.
And thou hadst shown how well
—Yea, smiled a cold farewell!
Anon. THE MARTYRED MISSIONARY.
I saw, upon a foreign shore,
A prisoner in his cell;
Nor could I gather well
Free to adore the God of heaven—
To love and be beloved, nor riven
By monsters savage as the howl
Of warring winter at the pole.
His native land he left in youth—
With the words of everlasting truth
To the darkest spot of earth's domain—
The land of the whip and clanking chain.
No home he sought by a river's brink,
In the shadiest spot of all: When sense was cloyed to rest, and think
What joy he next could call,
His hand it bore the word of God—
The scorching soil unmoved he trod,
Peace from its living page to fling,
Balm in the cup of woe to wring.
O, 'twas enough to rouse all hell
To see that blessed book!
The slave no longer look
The tree of liberty was ne'er
Of free spontaneous birth;
It soars above the earth,