ΤΟ MUSIC, when soft voices die, Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Rose-leaves, when the rose is dead, FELICIA HEMANS. Born 1793. Died 1835. A BALLAD OF RONCESVALLES. THOU hast not been with the festal throng Men bear not from the hall of song So dark a mien as thine! There's blood upon thy shield, There's dust upon thy plume, Thou that hast brought from some disastrous field That brow of wrath and gloom." "And is there blood upon my shield! We have sent the streams from our battle-field We have given the founts a stain And the ground is wet-but not with rain, "The ground is wet-but not with rain; And the noblest blood of Christian Spain I have seen the strong man die, There's many a fair young face Which the war-steed hath gone o'er; At many a board there is kept a place For those those that come no more!" "Alas for love, for woman's breast, Hast thou seen a youth with an eagle crest With his proud quick-flashing eye, And his mien of kingly state, Doth he come from where the swords flashed high "In the gloomy Roncesvalles' Strait "Thou canst not say that he lies low, Oh none could look on his joyous brow Dark, dark perchance the day From the Roncesvalles' Strait. There is dust upon his joyous brow, And the war-horse will not wake him now, THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. THE stately homes of England, The deer across their greensward bound And the swan glides past them with the sound The merry homes of England Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love There woman's voice flows forth in song The blessed homes of England, That breathes from Sabbath hours! Of breeze and leaf are born. The cottage homes of England! They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, The free fair homes of England! May hearts of native proof be reared And green for ever be her groves, And bright the flowery sod, Where first the child's glad spirit loves Its country and its God. A DIRGE. CALM on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit, rest thee now! E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod His seal was on thy brow. Dust, to its narrow house beneath! Soul, to its place on high! They that have seen thy look in death THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. THEY grew in beauty side by side, The same fond mother bent at night One 'midst the forests of the west, The Indian knows his place of rest, The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one- He was the loved of all, yet none One sleeps where southern vines are drest He wrapt his colours round his breast And one-o'er her the myrtle showers And parted thus they rest who played They that with smiles lit up the hall, And cheered with song the hearth!— Alas, for love! if thou wert all, CASABIANCA. THE boy stood on the burning deck, A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though child-like form! The flames rolled on-he would not go That father, faint in death below, He knew not that the chieftain lay "Speak, father!" once again he cried, And but the booming shots replied, And looked from that lone post of death, And shouted but once more aloud, "My father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child, There came a burst of thunder sound,- THOMAS CAMPBELL. Born 1777. Died 1844. YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. YE mariners of England! That guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved a thousand years Your glorious standard launch again And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave !— For the deck it was their field of fame, Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell |