Soon was the hospitable banquet plac'd;
And Gertrude's lovely hands a balsam shed [bled.
On wounds, with fever'd joy that more profusely

XVI.

'But this is not a time,'-he started up, And smote his breast with woe-denouncing hand• This is no time to fill the joyous cup, [Brandt,"The Mammoth comes,-the foe,-the Monster With all his howling desolating band;— 'These eyes have seen their blade, and burning pine, 'Awake at once, and silence half your land. 'Red is the cup they drink; but not with wine: 'Awake, and watch to-night, or see no morning shine!

XVII.

'Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe, ''Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth: 'Accursed Brandt! he left of all my tribe 'Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth: "No! not the dog, that watch'd my household hearth, Escap'd, that night of blood, upon our plains! 'All perish'd!-I alone am left on earth! To whom nor relative nor blood remains, "No!-not a kindred drop that runs in human veins!

XVIII.

'But go!-and rouse your warriors; for, if right These old bewilder'd eyes could guess, by signs 'Of strip'd and starred banners, on yon height • Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines'Some fort embattled by your country shines: 'Deep roars th' innavigable gulph below 'Its squared rock, and palisaded lines. 'Go! seek the light its warlike beacons show; [foe! • Whilst I in ambush wait, for vengeance, and the

XIX.

Scarce had he utter'd-when Heav'n's verge ex-
Reverberates the bomb's descending star,- [treme
And sounds that mingled laugh,—and shout,—and
To freeze the blood, in one discordant jar, [scream,—
Rung to the pealing thunderbolts of war.
Whoop after whoop with rack the ear assail'd;
As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar;
While rapidly the marksman's shot prevail'd:-
And aye, as if for death, some lonely trumpet
wail'd.

XX.

Then look'd they to the hills, where fire o'erhung
The bandit groupes, in one Vesuvian glare;
Or swept, far seen, the tow'r, whose clock unrung,
Told legible that midnight of despair.
She faints, she falters not,-th' heroic fair,-
As he the sword and plume in haste array'd.
One short embrace-he clasp'd his dearest care-
But hark! what nearer war-drum shakes the glade?
Joy, joy! Columbia's friends are trampling through
the shade!

XXI.

Then came of every race the mingled swarm;
Far rang the groves, and gleam'd the midnight grass,
With flambeau, javelin, and naked arm;
As warriors wheel'd their culverins of brass,
Sprung from the woods, a bold athletic mass,
Whom virtue fires, and liberty combines:
And first the wild Moravian yargers pass,

His plumed host the dark Iberian joins- [shines.
And Scotia's sword beneath the Highland thistle

XXII.

And in, the buskin'd hunters of the deer,
To Albert's home, with shout and cymbal throng:-
Rous'd by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer,
Old Outalissi woke his battle
song,
And, beating with his war-club cadence strong,
Tells how his steep-stung indignation smarts,
Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere long,
To whet a dagger on their stony hearts,
And smile aveng'd ere yet his eagle spirit parts.
XXIII.

Calm, opposite the Christian father rose.
Pale on his venerable brow its rays
Of martyr light the conflagration throws;
One hand upon his lovely child he lays,
And one th' uncover'd crowd to silence sways;
While, though the battle flash is faster driv'n,-
Unaw'd, with eye unstartled by the blaze,
He for his bleeding country prays to Heav'n,-
Prays that the men of blood themselves may be for-
given.

XXIV.

Short time is now for gratulating speech;
And yet, beloved Gertrude, ere began

Thy country's flight, yon distant tow'rs to reach,
Look'd not on thee the rudest partisan
With brow relax'd to love! And murmurs ran
As round and round their willing ranks they drew,
From beauty's sight to shield the hostile van.
Grateful, on them a placid look she threw,
Nor wept, but as she bade her mother's grave adieu!

XXV.

Past was the flight, and welcome seem'd the tow'r,
That like a giant standard-bearer, frown'd
Defiance on the roving Indian pow'r.
Beneath, each bold and promontory mound,
With embrasure emboss'd, and armour crown'd,
And arrowy frieze, and wedged ravelin,
Wove like a diadem its tracery round

The lofty summit of that mountain green; [scene.
Here stood secure the group, and ey'd a distant

XXVI.

A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun,
And blended arms, and white pavilions glow;
And for the business of destruction done,
Its requiem the war-horn seem'd to blow.
There, sad spectatress of her country's woe!

'Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this earth,⚫ And thee, more lov'd, than aught beneath the sun, 'If I had liv'd to smile but on the birth

Of one dear pledge;-but shall there then be none, "In future times-no gentle little one,

To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me? 'Yet seems it, ev'n while life's last pulses run, 'A sweetness in the cup of death to be,

'Lord of my bosom's love! to die beholding thee!"

On Linden, when the sun was low,

All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n,
Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n,
And louder than the bolts of heaven

Far flash'd the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stained snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

"Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun

Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few, shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

I.

Of Nelson and the North,

Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand,

In a bold determin'd hand,

And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.

Again! again! again!

IV.

And the havoc did not slack,

Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back ;-
Their shots along the deep slowly boom:—
Then ceas'd-and all is wail,

As they strike the shatter'd sail;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.

V.

Out spoke the victor then,
As he hail'd them o'er the wave;
'Ye are brothers! ye are men!

And we conquer but to save :

'So peace instead of death let us bring: 'But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, 'With the crews, at England's feet,

And make submission meet ''To our king.'

VI.

Then Denmark blest our chief,

That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,

As death withdrew his shades from the day:
While the sun look'd smiling bright

O'er a wide and woeful sight,

Where the fires of fun'ral light

Died away.

THE FARMER'S BOY.

SPRING.

INTRODUCTION.

O come, blest Spirit! whatsoe'er thou art,
Thou kindling warmth that hover'st round my heart,
Sweet inmate, hail! thou source of sterling joy,
That poverty itself cannot destroy,

Be thou my Muse; and faithful still to me,
Retrace the paths of wild obscurity.

No deeds of arms my humble lines rehearse;
No Alpine wonders thunder through my verse,
The roaring cataract, the snow-topt hill,
Inspiring awe, till breath itself stands still:
Nature's sublimer scenes ne'er charm'd mine eyes,
Nor science led me through the boundless skies;
From meaner objects far my raptures flow:
O point these raptures! bid my bosom glow!
And lead my soul to ecstacies of praise
For all the blessings of my infant days!
Bear me through regions where gay fancy dwells;
But mould to truth's fair form what memory tells.
Live, trifling incidents, and grace my song,
That to the humblest menial belong:
To him whose drudgery unheeded goes,
His joys unreckon'd as his cares or woes;
Though joys and cares in every path are sown,
And youthful minds have feelings of their own,
Quick springing sorrows, transient as the dew,
Delights from trifles, trifles ever new.

'Twas thus with Giles: meek, fatherless, and poor:
Labour his portion, but he felt no more;
No stripes, no tyranny his steps pursu'd;
His life was constant, cheerful servitude:
Strange to the world, he wore a bashful look,
The fields his study, nature was his book;
And, as revolving Seasons chang'd the scene
From heat to cold, tempestuous to serene,
Though every change still varied his employ,
Yet each new duty brought its share of joy.

Where noble Grafton spreads his rich domains,
Round Euston's water'd vale, and sloping plains,
Where woods and groves in solemn grandeur rise,
Where the kite brooding unmolested flies;
The woodcock and the painted pheasant race,
And skulking foxes, destin'd for the chace;
There Giles, untaught and unrepining, stray'd
Through every copse, and grove, and winding glade;
There his first thoughts to nature's charms inclin'd,
That stamps devotion on th' inquiring mind.
A little farm his generous master till'd,
Who with peculiar grace his station fill'd;
By deeds of hospitality endear'd,

Serv'd from affection, for his worth rever'd;

A happy offspring blest his plenteous board,
His fields were fruitful, and his barns well stor'd,
And fourscore ewes he fed, a sturdy team,
And lowing kine that graz'd beside the stream:
Unceasing industry he kept in view;

And never lack'd a job for Giles to do.

Fled now the sullen murmurs of the North, The splendid raiment of the Spring peeps forth; Her universal green, and the clear sky, Delight still more and more the gazing eye. Wide o'er the fields, in rising moisture strong, Shoots up the simple flower, or creeps along The mellow'd soil; imbibing fairer hues, Or sweets from frequent showers and evening dews; That summon from their shed the slumb'ring ploughs, While health impregnates every breeze that blows. No wheels support the diving, pointed share; No groaning ox is doom'd to labour there; No helpmates teach the docile steed his road; (Alike unknown the ploughboy and the goad;) But, unassisted through each toilsome day, With smiling brow the ploughman cleaves his way, Draws his fresh parallels, and, wid'ning still, Treads slow the heavy dale, or climbs the hill: Strong on the wing his busy followers play, [day; Where writhing earth-worms meet th' unwelcome Till all is chang'd, and hill and level down Assume a livery of sober brown: Again disturb'd, when Giles with wearying strides From ridge to ridge the ponderous harrow guides; His heels deep sinking every step he goes, Till dirt adhesive loads his clouted shoes. Welcome green headland! firm beneath his feet; Welcome the friendly bank's refreshing seat; There, warm with toil, his panting horses browse Their shelt'ring canopy of pendent boughs; Till rest, delicious, chase each transient pain, And new-born vigour swell in every vein. Hour after hour, and day to day succeeds; Till every clod and deep-drawn furrow spreads To crumbling mould; a level surface clear, And strew'd with corn to crown the rising year; And o'er the whole Giles once transverse again, In earth's moist bosom buries up the grain. The work is done; no more to man is given; The grateful farmer trusts the rest to Heaven. Yet oft with anxious heart he looks around, And marks the first green blade that breaks the In fancy sees his trembling oats uprun, [ground; His tufted barley yellow with the sun; Sees clouds propitious shed their timely store, And all his harvest gather'd round his door. But still unsafe the big swoln grain below, A fav'rite morsel with the rook and crow;