THE FALL OF D'ASSAS. ALONE through gloomy forest shades, a soldier went by night, No moon-beam pierced the dusky glades, no star shed guiding light. Yet, on his vigil's midnight round, the youth all cheerly passed; Unchecked by aught of boding sound, that muttered in the blast. Where were his thoughts that lonely hour?-In his far home, perchance His father's hall-his mother's bower, 'midst the gay vines of France. Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by? came not faint whispers near? No! the wild wind hath many a sigh, amidst the foliage sere. Hark! yet again!—and from his hand, what grasp hath wrenched the blade? O, single, 'midst a hostile band, young soldier, thou'rt betrayed! "Silence!" in under-tones they cry; "No whisper--not a breath! The sound that warns thy comrades nigh shall sentence thee to death!" Still at the bayonet's point he stood, and strong to meet the blow; And shouted, 'midst his rushing blood, "Arm!-arm!—Auvergne-the foe!" The stir-the tramp-the bugle-call-he heard their tumults grow; And sent his dying voice through all-"Auvergne! Auvergne! the foe!" Mrs. Hemans. THE DYING SOLDIER. THE tumult of battle had ceased-high in air When a veteran was seen, by the light of his lamp, To comfort the dying, not plunder the slain. Though dauntless in war, at a story of woe Down his age-furrowed cheeks the warm tears often ran; Alike proud to conquer, or spare a brave foe, He fought like a hero!-but felt like a man! As he counted the slain,-"Ah, conquest !" he cried, "Thou art glorious, indeed, but how dearly thou'rt won!" "Too dearly, alas !" a voice faintly replied It thrilled through his heart!-'twas the voice of his son! He listened aghast!—all was silent again; He searched by the beams which his lamp feebly shed, "My Henry!" the sorrowful parent exclaimed, He gazed on his father, who knelt by his side, And, seizing his hand, pressed it close to his heart; "Thank heaven! thou art here, my dear father!" he cried; "For scon, ah, too soon, we forever must part! "Though death early calls me from all that I love, From glory, from thee, yet perhaps 'twill be given To meet thee again in yon regions above!" His eyes beamed with hope, as he fixed them on heaven. "Then let not thy bosom with vain sorrow swell; ODE FOR INDEPENDENCE. WHEN Freedom, 'midst the battle storm, Great Washington appeared, "Spurn, spurn despair! be great, be free! Go and proclaim a world is born, Be just, be brave! and let thy name And wear the oaken weath of fame, He said and lo! the stars of night And morn, with pencil dipp'd in light, And, gloriously unfurled, BOADICEA. WHEN the British warrior-queen, Sage, beneath a spreading oak, "Princess, if our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, "Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. "Rome shall perish! write that word "Rome, for empire far renowned, Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the groundHark! the Gaul is at her gates! "Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame! "Then, the progeny that springs "Regions Cæsar never knew, Such the bard's prophetic words, She, with all a monarch's pride, "Ruffians! pitiless as proud, Shame and ruin wait for you!" Cowper. THE DYING ARCHER. THE day has near ended, the light quivers through The low room is darkened, there breathes not a sound, The lattice is opened; and now the blue sky "And when we are parted, and when thou art dead, Oh where shall we lay thee ?" his followers said. Then up rose the Archer, and gazed once again And there shall the hunter in slumber be laid, Where wild-deer are bounding beneath the green shade. His last words are finished; his spirit has fled, R. C. Waterston. |