Dream of battle fields || no more, Days of danger', || nights of waking'. Hands unseen || thy couch are strewing, Every sense in slumber dewing Soldier', rest! || thy warfare o'er', Dream of battle fields || no more, Sleep the sleep || that knows not breaking' Morn of toil', || nor night of waking. 2. No rude sound shall reach thine ear", Mustering clan', or squadron' tramping. Booming from the sedgy shallow. 3. Huntsman', rest! thy chase is done`; Bugles here shall sound reveille'. Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying`· How thy gallant steed lay dying'. XXXVII.-BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. BY CHARLES WOLFE. REV. CHARLES WOLFE was a clergyman of the Church of England, who died in early life, leaving but few specimens of his poetic talent. Byron said of this ballad, that he would rather be the author of it than of any one ever written. 1. Nor a drum was heard, || not a funeral note, 2. We buried him | darkly, || at dead of night, 3. No useless coffin' || inclosed | his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud || we wound him; 4. Few and short' || were the prayers` we said, And we steadfastly gazed || on the face of the dead, 5. We thought, || as we hollowed his narrow bed, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away || on the billow. 6. Lightly they'll talk || of the spirit | that's gone', But little he'll reck, || if they'll let him sleep on 7. But half of our heavy task || was done, When the clock || struck the hour for retiring; 8. Slowly and sadly || we laid him down, From the field of his fame, || fresh and gory; XXXVIII.-MARY, THE MAID OF THE INN. FROM SOUTHEY. 1. WHERE is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly-fixed eyes Seem a heart overcharged to express? She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs; 2. No aid', no compassion', the maniac will seek; Cold and hunger awake not her care; Through the rags, do the winds of the winter blow bleak On her poor withered bosom, half bare`; and her cheek Has the deadly pale hue of despair. 3. Yet cheerful and happy', nor distant the day, The traveler remembers, who journeyed this way, As Mary, the Maid of the Inn. 4. Her cheerful address filled the guests with delight, 5. She loved', and young Richard had settled the day`; But Richard was idle and worthless; and they 6. 'Twas in autumn', and stormy and dark was the night, And fast were the windows and door; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright 7. ""T is pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fireside, To hear the wind whistle without." "A fine night for the Abbey'!" his comrade replied: "Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried, Who would wander the ruins about. 8. "I myself", like a school-boy, should tremble to hear And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear, 9. "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, "Then wager, and lose`:" with a sneer he replied; 10. "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?" "I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, 11. With fearless good-humor did Mary comply`, 12. O'er the path so well known, still proceeded the maid, Through the gate-way, she entered, she felt not afraid; 13. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she passed, Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle. 14. Well pleased did she reach' it, and quickly drew near, When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear; And her heart panted fearfully now! 15. The wind blew`; the hoarse ivy shook over her head`; The wind ceased'; her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, Of footsteps approaching her near. 16. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, That instant, the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, 17. Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold, It blew off the hat of the one, and, behold, 18. "Stop! the hat!" he exclaims. "Nay', come on, and fast hide 19. She ran with wild speed'; she rushed in at the door'; Her limbs could support their faint burden no more; 20. Ere yet her pale lips could her story impart, For a moment, the hat met her view: Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, O Heaven! what cold horror thrilled through her heart, 21. Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by', Not far from the inn, it engages the eye'; XXXIX.-JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. FROM N. P. WILLIS. FOR the scene which this describes, see the eleventh chapter of the Book of Judges, from the 29th verse through. 1. SHE stood before her father's gorgeous tent, To listen for his coming. |