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The pathos which from rival eyes
Mirth, sparkling like a diamond shower,
A classic beauty throwing, And laurelled Clio at his side
Her storied pages showing.
All parties feared him: each in turn
And spectral finger pointed.
Too honest or too proud to feign
His patriotism perished.
While others hailed in distant skies
Our eagle's dusky pinion,
He only saw the mountain bird
Still through each change of fortune strange,
Knew never shade of turning;
By Britain's lakes, by Neva's wave,
RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE.
He held his slaves, yet made withal
He held his slaves: yet kept the while
He saw but Man and Woman!
Across his threshold ventured.
And when the old and wearied man
Laid down for his last sleeping,
His brother man stood weeping,
O, never bore his ancient State
None trampling with a calmer scorn
He knew her faults, yet never stooped
Or meanness of concealing.
But none beheld with clearer eye
Along her future treading.
For her as for himself he spake,
As from the grave where Henry sleeps,
So from the leaf-strewn burial-stone
A warning voice is swelling!
And hark! from thy deserted fields
From quenched hearths, where thy exiled sons
The curse is on thee, wolves for men,
And briers for corn-sheaves giving! O, more than all thy dead renown Were now one hero living!
THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA.
THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA.
PEAK and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away, O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array, Who is losing? who is winning? are they far or come they near? Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear.
"Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls; Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their souls!"
Who is losing? who is winning? — « Over hill and over plain,
Holy Mother! keep our brothers! Look, Ximena, look once more: "Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse, Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course."
Look forth once more, Ximena! "Ah! the smoke has rolled away; And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray. Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Minon wheels;
There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels.
"Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreat and now advance! Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's charging lance! Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall; Like a ploughshare in the fallow, through them ploughs the Northern ball."
Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on :
"Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting: Blessed Mother, save my brain!
I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain. Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, and strive to rise;
Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes!"
"O my heart's love! O my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee; Canst thou hear me?
Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? canst thou sce?
O my husband, brave and gentle! O my Bernal, look once more On the blessed cross before thee! mercy! mercy! all is o'er!"