RHINEFIELD! as through thy solitude I rove,
Now lost amid the deep wood's gloomy night,
Doubtful I trace a ray of glimmering light;
Now where some antique oak, itself a grove,

Spreads its soft umbrage o'er the sunny glade,
Stretched on its mossy roots at early dawn

While o'er the furze with light bound leaps the fawn, I count the herd that crops the dewy blade:

Frequent at eve list to the hum profound

That all around upon the chill breeze floats, Broke by the lonely keeper's wild, strange notes, At distance followed by the browsing deer; Or the bewilder'd stranger's plaintive sound That dies in lessening murmurs on the ear.

ON CROSSING THE ANGLESEY STRAIT.

SKIRID,

A HILL NEAR ABERGAVENNY.

SKIRID! remembrance thy loved scene renews;
Fancy, yet lingering on thy shaggy brow,
Beholds around the lengthened landscape glow,
Which charmed, when late the day-beam's parting hues
Purpled the distant cliff. The crystal stream
Of Usk bright winds the verdant meads among;
The dark heights lower with wild woods o'erhung;
Pale on the grey tower falls the twilight gleam.
And frequent I recal the sudden breeze,

Which, as the sun shot up his last pale flame,
Shook every light leaf shivering on the trees:

Then, bathed in dew, meek evening silent came, While the low wind, that faint and fainter fell, Soft murmured to the dying day-FAREWELL!

ON CROSSING THE ANGLESEY STRAIT TO BANGOR AT MIDNIGHT.

"TWAS night, when from the Druid's gloomy cave,
Where I had wander'd, tranced in thought, alone
'Mid Cromlech's and the Carnedd's funeral stone,
Pensive and slow I sought the Menai's wave:

Lulled by the scene, a soothing stillness laid
Each pang to rest. O'er Snowdon's cloudless brow
The moon, that full orb'd rose, with peaceful glow
Beamed on the rocks; with many a star arrayed,
Glitter'd the broad blue sky; from shore to shore

O'er the smooth current streamed a silver light,
Save where along the flood the lonely height
Of rocky Penmaenmaur deep darkness spread;
And all was silence, save the ceaseless roar
Of Conway bursting on the ocean's bed.

OUR band is few, but true and tried,

Our leader frank and bold;

The British soldier trembles

When Marion's name is told.

Our fortress is the good greenwood,

Our tent the cypress-tree;

We know the forest round us,

As seamen know the sea.

SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.

Wo to the English soldiery,
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear:
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again.
And they who fly in terror deem

A mighty host behind,

And hear the tramp of thousands

Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil:

We talk the battle over,

And share the battle's spoil.

The woodland rings with laugh and shout,

As if a hunt were up,

And woodland flowers are gathered

To crown the soldier's cup.

With merry songs we mock the wind

That in the pine-top grieves,

And slumber long and sweetly

On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon

The band that Marion leads

The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain;

'Tis life to feel the night-wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp-
A moment-and away
Back to the pathless forest,

Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs,

Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton,
For ever, from our shore.