THE BUGLE. BY G. MELLEN. But still the dingle's hollow throat Till Echo seemed an answering blast.-Lady of the Lake. I. O, WILD, enchanting horn! Whose music, up the deep and dewy air, Swells to the clouds, and calls on echo there, Till a new melody is born! II. Wake, wake again; the night Is bending from her throne of beauty down, III. Night, at its pulseless noon! When the far voice of waters mourns in song, And some tired watch-dog, lazily and long, Hark! how it sweeps away, Soaring and dying on the silent sky, As if some sprite of sound went wandering by, With lone halloo and roundelay. V. Swell, swell in glory out! Thy tones come pouring on my leaping heart, And my stirred spirit hears thee with a start, As boyhood's old remembered shout! VI. O, have ye heard that peal, From sleeping city's moon-bathed battlements, Or from the guarded field and warrior tents, Like some near breath around ye steal! VII. Or have ye, in the roar Of sea, or storm, or battle, heard it rise, Shriller than eagle's clamour to the skies, Where wings and tempests never soar! VIII. Go, go; no other sound, No music, that of air or earth is born, On Midnight's fathomless profound! TO A WAVE. BY J. 0. ROCKWELL. LIST! thou child of wind and sea, Wave! now on the golden sands, Silent as thou art, and broken, Bearest thou not from distant strands To my heart some pleasant token? Tales of mountains of the south, Spangles of the ore of silver, Which with playful singing mouth, Thou hast leaped on high to pilfer? Mournful Wave! I deemed thy song And the mighty winds were risen, While the brave and fair were dying. Hast thou seen the hallowed rock, Wreathed with samphire green and roses? Or with joyous playful leap Hast thou been a tribute flinging Up that bold and jutting steep, Pearls upon the south wind stringing? Faded Wave! a joy to thee Now thy flight and toil are over! Oh! may my departure be Calm as thine, thou ocean rover ! When this soul's last joy or mirth To be lost away in heaven. A PLEDGE TO THE DYING YEAR. BY M. E. BROOK S. FILL to the brim! one pledge to the past, Fill to the brim! 'tis the saddest and last Wake, the light phantoms of beauty that won us And flash the bright day-beams of promise upon us, Here's to the love-though it flitted away, We can never, no, never forget! Through the gathering darkness of many a day, One pledge will we pour to it yet. Oh, frail as the vision, that witching and tender, And bright on the wanderer broke, When Irem's own beauty in shadowless splendour, Along the wild desert awoke. Fill to the brim! one pledge to the glow Of the heart in its purity warm! |