And the raven had flapped at her window-board, "Now sing you the death-song, and loudly pray For night-mare rides on my strangled sleep; Yet knew not his country that ominous hour, That a trumpet of death on an English tower On the high-born blood of a martyr slain; Oh! it was not thus when his oaken spear And hosts of a thousand were scattered, like deer When he strode on the wreck of each well-fought field, Yet bleeding and bound, though her Wallace wight The bugle ne'er sung to a braver knight Than Wallace of Elderslie. But the day of his glory shall never depart, His head unentombed shall with glory be balmed,— From his blood-streaming altar his spirit shall start;— Though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart, A nobler was never embalmed! CAMPBELL. THE INDIAN'S REVENGE. AN OLD LEGEND. Now had the autumn day gone by, Had wrapped the mountains and the hills, The bird her sheltered nest, And to a cotter's hut that eve And meek and humble was his speech ; Of water from the well, And a poor morsel of the food That from his table feil He said that his old frame had toiled O'er suLLy vales and savage hills, And through the lakes that day; Yet when he saw they wouffed his words, He turned away in woe, And cursed them not, but only mourned When many years had flown away. Went out into the wilderness, And chase the rapid moose that ranged And soon his hounds lay dead with toil, To slake the torment of his thirst, He feared--he feared to die-yet knew But, lo! while life's dim taper still Burned feebly in his breast, A ministering angel came— He shared his wheaten loaf with him, And bore the sick man unto those For whom his heart most cared. "I cursed thee not," the Indian said, 66 'When thou wast stern to me, And I have had my vengeance now ;-- M'LELLAN. THE DEATH OF HOFER. AT Mantua long had lain in chains But now his day of doom was come- Resounded o'er the soldiered plains. O Heaven! with what a deed of dole The hundred thousand wrongs were crowned Of trodden-down Tyrol ! With iron-fettered arms and hands His heart was calm, his eye was clear- He oft amid his mountain bands, Where Inn's dark wintry waters roll, Anon he passed the fortress wall, From many a brother thrall within. 66 Farewell!" he cried. Soon may you win Your liberty! God shield you all! So through the files of musketeers And stood within the hollow square. Well might he glance around him there, And proudly think on by-gone years! Amid such serfs his bannerol, Thank God! had never braved the blast They bade him kneel; but he with all A patriot's truth replied: 66 I kneel alone to God on high As thus I stand so dare I die; As oft I fought so let me fall! Farewell"-his breast a moment swoll With agony he strove to hide "My Kaiser and Tyrol !" No more emotion he betrayed. To Francis and the faithful men Who girt his throne. His hands were then Dublin University Magazine. THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS STEED. My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by, With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye; Fret not to roam the desert now with all thy winged speed,I may not mount on thee again,--thou'rt sold, my Arab steed! Fret not with that impatient hoof-snuff not the breezy wind; The further that thou fliest now, so far am I behind: The stranger hath thy bridle rein-thy master hath his gold; Fleet limbed and beautiful, farewell! thou'rt sold, my steed -thou'rt sold! Farewell those free untired limbs full many a mile must roam, To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home; Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bread prepare; The silky mane I braided once must be another's care! The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be: Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the sandy plain Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again. |