Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.

[Byron.

THE BATTLE OF BUSACO.

BEYOND Busaco's mountains dun
When far had rolled the sultry sun,
And night her pall of gloom had thrown
On nature's still convexity;

High on the heath our tents were spread,
The cold turf was our cheerless bed,
And o'er the hero's dew-chilled head
The banners flapped incessantly.

The loud war-trumpet woke the morn,-
The quivering drum, the pealing horn,-
From rank to rank the cry is borne,
"Arouse for death or victory!"

The orb of day, in crimson dye,
Began to mount the morning sky;
Then, what a scene for warrior's eye
Hung on the bold declivity!

The serried bayonets glittering stood,
Like icicles on hills of blood;
An aerial stream, a silver wood,

Reeled in the flickering canopy.

Like waves of ocean rolling fast,
Or thunder-cloud before the blast,
Massena's legions, stern and vast,

Rushed to the dreadful revelry.

The pause is o'er: the fatal shock
A thousand thousand thunders woke;
The air grows thick; the mountains rock;
Red ruin rides triumphantly.

Light rolled the war-cloud to the sky,
In phantom towers and columns high,
But dark and dense their bases lie

Prone on the battle's boundary.

The thistle waved her bonnet blue,
The harp her wildest war-notes threw,
The red rose gained a fresher hue,
Busaco, in thy heraldry.

Hail, gallant brothers! Woe befall
The foe that braves thy triple wall!—
Thy sons, O wretched Portugal!

Roused at their feats of chivalry.

[Anonymous.

PULASKI'S

BANNER.

"The standard of Count Pulaski, the noble Pole, who fell in the attack on Savannah, during the American Revolution, was of crimson silk, embroidered by the Moravian nuns of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania."

WHEN the dying flame of day
Through the chancel shot its ray,
Far the glimmering tapers shed.
Faint light on the cowléd head,
And the censer burning swung,

Where before the altar hung

That round banner, which, with prayer,

Had been consecrated there;

And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while
Sung low in the deep mysterious aisle.

"Take thy banner. May it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave,
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the sabbath of our vale,
When the clarion's music thrills
To the hearts of these lone hills,
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance shivering breaks.

Take thy banner; and beneath
The war-cloud's encircling wreath,
Guard it till our homes are free,-
Guard it,-God will prosper thee!
In the dark and trying hour,
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.

"Take thy banner. But when night
Closes round the ghastly fight,
If the vanquished warrior bow,
Spare him; by our holy vow,
By our prayers and many tears,
By the mercy that endears,

Spare him; he our love hath shared,

Spare him, as thou wouldst be spared.

"Take thy banner; and if e'er

Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
Then this crimson flag shall be

Martial cloak and shroud for thee !"

And the warrior took that banner proud,
And it was his martial cloak and shroud.

[Anonymous.

[ocr errors]

GINEVRA.

SHE was an only child, her name Ginevra,
The joy, the pride of an indulgent father;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francisco Doria,
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
She was all gentleness, all gayety,

Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
Now frowning, smiling for the hundreth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum;
And in the luster of her youth she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francisco.

Great was the joy; but at the nuptial feast,
When all sat down, the bride herself was wanting,
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
"Tis but to make a trial of our love !"

And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
'T was but that instant she had left Francisco,
Laughing and looking back and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger;
But, now, alas! she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could anything be guessed,
But that she was not!

Weary of his life,

Francisco flew to Venice, and embarking,

Flung it away in battle with the Turk.

The father lived, and long might you have seen

An old man wandering as if in quest of something,-
Something he could not find, he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remained awhile:
Silent and tenantless,-then went to strangers.
Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten,

When on an idle day, a day of search, 'Mid the old lumber in the gallery,

That moldering chest was noticed, and 't was said By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, "Why not remove it from its lurking-place?" 'Twas done as soon as said, but on the way It burst, it fell; and lo! a skeleton,

With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold.
All else had perished,-save a wedding ring
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,

Engraven with a name, the name of both, "Ginevra.”
There then she had found a grave!

Within that chest had she concealed herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy,
When a spring lock that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down forever!

[Rogers.

HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.

BUT meanwhile axe and lever

Have manfully been plied,

And now the bridge hangs tottering
Above the boiling tide.

"Come back, come back, Horatius!"
Loud cried the Fathers all:

"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius!
Back, ere the ruin fall!"

Back darted Spurius Lartius;
Herminius darted back:

And, as they passed, beneath their feet
They felt the timbers crack.

« AnteriorContinuar »