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The flames rolled on-he would not go without his father's word;
That father faint in death below, his voice no longer heard.
He called aloud:-" Say, father, say, if yet my task is done ?"
He knew not that the Chieftain lay unconscious of his son.
"Speak, father!" once again he cried, "if I may yet be gone!"
But now the booming shots replied, and fast the flames rolled on :
Upon his brow he felt their breath, and in his waving hair;
And looked from that lone post of death, in still, but brave despair;

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, like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder-sound ;-the boy-Oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around with fragments strewed the sea!
With mast and helm, and pennon fair, that well had borne their part-
But the noblest thing that perished there, was that young faithful heart.

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THE tumult of battle had ceased-high in air
The standard of Britain triumphantly waved;
And the remnant of foes had all fled in despair,
Whom night, intervening, from slaughter had saved;
When a Veteran was seen, by the light of his lamp
Slow-pacing the bounds of the carcass-strown plain;
Not base his intent,-for he quitted his camp
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,
And found his brave son amid hundreds of slain,
The corse of a comrade supporting his head.
"My Henry!"-the sorrowful parent exclaimed,
"Has fate rudely withered thy laurels so soon ?"
The youth oped his eyes as he heard himself named,
And awoke for a while from his death-boding swoon.
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 soon! ah, too soon, we for ever must part!

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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;
Ah! check, ere it rises, the heart-rending sigh!
I fought for my king-for my country!-I fell
In defence of their rights: and I glory to die!"

X.-CRESCENTIUS.-L. E. L. (Mrs. Maclean.)
I LOOKED upon his brow;-no sign
Of guilt or fear was there;

He stood as proud by that death-shrine,
As even o'er despair

He had a power; in his eye

There was a quenchless energy-

A spirit that could dare

The deadliest form that death could take,

And dare it for the daring's sake.

He stood, the fetters on his hand-
He raised them haughtily;

And had that grasp been on the brand,
It could not wave on high

With freer pride than it waved now:
Around he looked, with changeless brow,
On many a torture nigh-

The rack, the chain, the axe, the wheel,
And, worst of all, his own red steel!

I saw him once before; he rode
Upon a coal-black steed,

And tens of thousands thronged the road,
And bade their warrior speed.

His helm, his breastplate, were of gold,
And graved with many a dent, that told
Of many a soldier's deed;

The sun shone on his sparkling mail,
And danced his snow-plume in the gale.
But now he stood, chained and alone;
The headsman by his side;

The plume, the helm, the charger gone;
The sword, that had defied
The mightiest, lay broken near ;-
And yet no sign or sound of fear
Came from that lip of pride:
And never king or conqueror's brow
Wore higher look than his did now.
He bent beneath the headsman's stroke
With an uncovered eye;

A wild shout from the numbers broke,
That thronged to see him die.
It was a people's loud acclaim,
The voice of anger and of shame-
A nation's funeral cry ;-
Rome's wail above her only son,
Her Patriot-and her latest one!

XI. THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.-H. Kirke White.

WHEN marshalled on the nightly plain,

The glittering host bestud the sky,
One star alone of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! hark!-to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem;
But one alone the Saviour speaks-
It is the Star of Bethlehem!

Once on the raging seas I rode;

The storm was loud-the night was dark-
The ocean yawned-and rudely blowed

The wind, that tossed my foundering bark.
Deep horror then my vitals froze-
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem-
When suddenly a star arose !-

It was the Star of Bethlehem!

It was my guide-my light-my all!
It bade my dark forebodings cease;
And through the storm, and danger's thran,
It led me to the port of peace.

Now, safely moored, my perils o'er,

I'll sing, first in night's diadem,

For ever, and for evermore,

The Star-the Star of Bethlehem !

XII.—THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.-Campbell.

OUR bugles sang truce-for the night-cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground, overpowered-
The weary to sleep, and the wounded-to die!
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,

And thrice, ere the morning, I dreamt it again.
Methought, from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track;
'Twas autumn-and sunshine arose on the way

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back!

I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;

I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup; and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,

And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart:

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"Stay! stay with us!-rest! thou art weary and worn!"
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay-
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

XIII.-BRUCE TO HIS ARMY.-Burns.
SCOTS! wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to glorious victory!

Now's the day and now's the hour!
See the front of battle lour!

See, approach proud Edward's power-
Edward!-chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be-a slave?

Traitor! coward! turn and flee!
Wha, for Scotland's king and law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or Freeman fa'?
Caledonian!-on wi' me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall-they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Forward!-let us do, or die!

XIV.-ELIZA.-Darwin.

Now stood Eliza on the wood-crowned height,
O'er Minden's plain, spectatress of the fight;
Sought with bold eye, amid the bloody strife,
Her dearer self, the partner of her life;
From hill to hill the rushing host pursued,
And viewed his banner, or believed she viewed.
Pleased with the distant roar, with quicker tread
Fast by his hand one lisping boy she led;
And one fair girl amid the loud alarm
Slept on her kerchief, cradled by her arm;
While round her brow bright beams of honour dart,
And love's warm eddies circle in her heart.
Near and more near the intrepid beauty pressed,
Saw through the driving smoke, his dancing crest;
Heard the exulting shout, "They run! they run!"
"O joy!" she cried, "he's safe! the battle's won!"
A ball now hisses through the airy tides,
(Some Fury wings it, and some Demon guides

Parts the fine locks her graceful head that deck,
Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck;
The red stream issuing from her azure veins,
Dyes her white veil, her ivory bosom stains.
"Ah, me!" she cried, and, sinking on the ground,
Kissed her dear babes, regardless of the wound;
"Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn!
Wait, gushing life, oh, wait my love's return;
Hoarse barks the wolf, the vulture screams from far!
The angel, Pity, shuns the walks of war!

Oh, spare, ye war-hounds, spare their tender age!-
On me, on me," she cried, "exhaust your rage!",
Then, with weak arms, her weeping babes caressed,
And, sighing, hid them in her blood-stained vest.
From tent to tent the impatient Warrior flies,
Fear in his heart and frenzy in his eyes;
"Eliza!" loud along the camp he calls,
"Eliza!" echoes through the canvas walls:

Quick through the murmuring gloom his footsteps tread
O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead;
Vault o'er the plain, and, in the tangled wood,
Lo! dead Eliza weltering in her blood!

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Soon hears his listening son the welcome sounds,
With open arms and sparkling eyes he bounds:-
'Speak low," he cries, and gives his little hand,
"Mamma's asleep upon the dew-cold sand.
Alas! we both with cold and hunger quake-
Why do you weep?-Mamma will soon awake."
"She'll wake no more!" the hopeless mourner cried,
Upturned his eyes, and clasped his hands, and sighed.
Stretched on the ground, a while entranced he lay,
And pressed warm kisses on the lifeless clay;
And then upsprung with wild convulsive start,
And all the father kindled in his heart.

"O heaven!" he cried, "my first rash vow forgive!
These bind to earth, for these I pray to live!"
Round his chill babes he wrapped his crimson vest,
And clasped them, sobbing, to his aching breast.

XV.-LOCHINVAR.-Scott.

O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west!

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And, save his good broad-sword, he weapon had none;
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone!

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar !

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Esk river where ford there was none-

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented!-the gallant came late :
For, a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar!

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