Sees but the dying man. She stooped her by the runnel's side, Where water, clear as diamond-spark, Above, some half-worn letters say : "Drink. weary. pilgrim. drink. and pray. A Monk supporting Marmion's head; To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. With fruitless labour, Clara bound, And that the priest he could not hear; For that she ever sung, "In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!" So the note's rung; "Avoid thee, Fiend!-with cruel hand, Shake not the dying sinner's sand !— Oh look, my son, upon yon sign Of the Redeemer's grace divine; Oh think on faith and bliss!- Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" THERE was a sound of revelry by night, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! Did ye not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind, No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet And nearer, clearer, deadlier, than before! Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering with white lips-"The foe! They come ! they come !" And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose, And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, grow And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial blent! E |