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By torch and trumpet fast array'd
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neigh’d,
To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills, with thunder riven,
Then rush'd the steed to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery.
But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stained snow ; .
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly,
'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank,* and fiery Hunt
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich! I all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry!
Few, few shall part where many meet !
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre !
OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had
lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the
sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground over
power'd, 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 roam'd on a desolate track: 'Twas autumn—and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me
I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was
Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never
to part : My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of
“Stay, stay with us—rest, thou are weary and
worn;" And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
Libe in Hobe; 'tis Pleasant Libing.
BE not harsh and unforgiving;
Live in love,—'tis pleasant living.
If an angry man should meet thee,
And assail thee indiscreetly,
Turn not thou again and rend him,
Lest thou needlessly offend him ;
Show him love hath been thy teacher ;
Kindness is a potent preacher :
Gentleness is e'er forgiving-
Live in love ; 'tis pleasant living.
Why be angry with each other?
Man was made to love his brother ;
Friendship is a human duty,
Meekness a celestial beauty.
Kindly words, when spoke in season,
Have a weight, with men of reason.
Don't be others' follies blaming,
And their little vices naming ;
Charity's a cure for railing,
Suffers much, is all-prevailing.
Courage, then, and be forgiving—
Live in love; 'tis pleasant living.
Let thy loving be a passion,
Not a complimental fashion.
Love is wisdom, ever proving
True philosophy is loving.
Hast thou known that bitter feeling
'Gendered by our hate's concealing ?
Better love, though e'er so blindly ;
E'en thy foes will call it kindly.
Words are wind; oh, let them never
Friendship’s golden love-cords sever,
Nor be angry, though another
Scorn to call thee friend or brother :
“ Brother,” say, “ let's be forgiving-
Live in love; 'tis pleasant living."
Lapland is a country in the extreme north of Europe. In the summer the sun remains above the horizon for many weeks without setting, and in the winter for a similar time never appears.
The darkness in winter, however, is relieved by the great amount of moonlight, and by the Aurora Borealis.
WEITH blue cold nose, and wrinkled brow,
Traveller, whence comest thou ?
From Lapland's woods, and hills of frost,
By the rapid reindeer cross'd;
Where tapering grows the gloomy fir,
And the stunted juniper ;
Where the wild hare and the crow
Whiten in surrounding snow;
Where the shivering huntsmen tear
Their fur coats from the grim white bear;
Where the wolf and northern fox
Prowl among the lonely rocks ;
And tardy suns to deserts drear,
Give days and nights of half a year :
From icy oceans, where the whales
Toss in foam their lashing tails ;
Where the snorting sea-horse shows
His ivory teeth in grinning rows,
Where, tumbling in their seal-skin coat,
Fearless, the hungry fishers float,
And, from teeming seas, supply
The food their niggard plains deny.