But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock told the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was suddenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone in his glory. THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN. — Southey. SWEET to the morning traveller Where, twinkling in the dewy light, And cheering to the traveller The gales that round him play, When faint and heavily he drags Along his noontide way. And when beneath the unclouded sun Full wearily toils he, The flowing water makes to him A soothing melody. And when the evening light decays, And all is calm around, There is sweet music to his ear In the distant sheep-bell's sound. 146 ADORATION OF DEITY IN THE MIDST OF HIS WORKS. But, O, of all delightful sounds, Of evening or of morn, The sweetest is the voice of love ADORATION OF THE DEITY IN THE MIDST OF HIS THE turf shall be my fragrant shrine, My choir shall be the moonlit waves, Even more than music, breathes of Thee. I'll seek by day some glade unknown, Thy heaven, on which 't is bliss to look, I'll read thy anger in the rock That clouds a while the day-beam's track, Of sunny brightness breaking through! There's nothing bright, above, below, There's nothing dark, below, above, COME from my First, ay, come! And the screaming trump and thundering drum Fight, as thy father fought! Fall, as thy father fell! Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought; So - onward. and farewell. Toll ye my Second, toll! Fling wide the flambeau's light, And sing the hymn for a parted soul Beneath the silent night. With the wreath upon his head, And the cross upon his breast, Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed; – So - take him to his rest! Ay, call him by his name! To light the flame of a soldier's fame On the turf of a soldier's grave! ANSWER.-Campbell. WINTER.- Burns. THE wintry west extends his blast, Or the stormy north sends driving forth While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast, Let others fear, to me more dear Than all the pride of May; The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, My griefs it seems to join; The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine. Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil; Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, Because they are Thy will! Then all I want, (O, do Thou grant This one request of mine!) Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, LAUNCHING INTO ETERNITY. — Watts. Ir was a brave attempt! adventurous he I see the surging brine; the tempest raves; Such is the soul that leaves this mortal land, (Her faith can govern death ;) she spreads her wings Wide to the wind, and as she sails she sings, And loses by degrees the sight of mortal things. The waves roll gentler, and the tempest dies; She floats on the broad deep with infinite delight, ON A LEAF FROM THE TOMB OF VIRGIL. - Mrs. Hemans. AND was thy home, pale, withered thing, |