Below the mud of Nile, And 'neath Arabian sand; And at midnight, from his grave, And mounted on his horse, A loud shrill blast he blows. On aëry coursers then, Beneath the casque their blanched skulls Their long sharp swords they bear. And at midnight from his tomb A little hat he wears, A coat quite plain has he, A little sword for arms At his left side hangs free. O'er the vast plain, the moon The ranks present their arms, Marshals and generals round The word goes down the ranks, 'Tis there, at midnight hour, In the Champs Elysées. 54.-THE LAST MAN THOMAS CAMPBELL. [See page 195.] ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloon I saw a vision in my sleep That gave my spirit strength to sweep I saw the last of human mould, The sun's eye had a sickly glare, Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, That shook the sere leaves from the wood Saying, We are twins in death, proud sun, Thy face is cold, thy race is run, "Tis mercy bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill; And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, The vassals of his will ; Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, For all those trophied arts And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Heal'd not a passion or a pang Entail'd on human hearts. Go, let oblivion's curtain fall Upon the stage of men, Nor with thy rising beams recall Its piteous pageants bring not back, Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd, Even I am weary in yon skies My lips that speak thy dirge of death- The eclipse of nature spreads my pall,- This spirit shall return to Him Go, sun, whilst mercy holds me up The darkening universe defy Or shake his trust in God! 55. THE SWORD SONG. THEODORE KÖRNER. [Theodore Körner, the eminent German poet, was born at Dresden in 1791. After studying at Leipsic he became secretary to the Court Theatre of Vienna, and commenced as a dramatist. In 1812 he entered the Prussian army and signalized himself equally by his bravery and his martial songs. For his conduct at the battle at Lützen he was promoted, and afterwards, having been twice wounded, was made a lieutenant. He was killed in a skirmish with the French at Mecklenburg, August 26th, 1813. His lyrical poems were published after his death under the appropriate title of "The Lyre and the Sword," and his dramas, poems, and literary remains have since been published in Germany.] THOU Sword upon my belted vest, What means thy glittering polished crest? "A horseman brave supports my blade, Through blood and death-Hurrah!" Yes, my good sword, behold me free, As though thou wert betrothed to me, "Soldier of Fortune, I am thine, Soon as our bridal morn shall rise, "O sacred union!-haste away, Ye tardy moments of delay I long, my bridegroom, for the day Why cling'st thou in the scabbard-why? So wild-so fond of battle-cry, Why cling'st thou so ?-Hurrah! "I hold myself in dread reserve, Rest-still in narrow compass rest- "Oh let me not too long await I love the gory field of fate, Where death's rich roses grow elate In bloody bloom-Hurrah!” Come forth! quick from thy scabbard fly, Thy native home-Hurrah! "O glorious thus in nuptial tie, Glitters your bride-Hurrah!" Then out, thou messenger of strife, When clasping thee ?-Hurrah! When in thy scabbard on my side, Thee glowing to my lips I'll press, Who thee forsakes!- Hurrah! Let joy sit in thy polished eyes, 56.-CHILDE HAROLD'S FAREWELL. LORD BYRON. [See page 205.] “ADIEU, adieu! my native shore The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, Yon sun that sets upon the sea "A few short hours and he will rise And I shall hail the main and skies, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weedsare gathering on the wall; |