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Shall we know each other's eyes,

And the thoughts that in them lay,
When we mingled sympathies-

Oh! if this may be So,

"Passing away?"

Speed, speed thou closing day!

How blest, from earth's vain show

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THOU that hast loved so long and well

The vale's deep quiet streams, Where the pure water-lilies dwell,

Shedding forth tender gleams; And o'er the pool the May-fly's wing Glances in golden eves of spring.

Oh! lone and lovely haunts are thine,
Soft, soft the river flows,
Wearing the shadow of thy line,

The gloom of alder-boughs;

This, and the following poem, were originally written for a work entitled Death's Doings, edited by Mr Alaric Watts.

THE ANGLER.

And in the midst, a richer hue,

One gliding vein of heaven's own blue.

And there but low sweet sounds are heard

The whisper of the reed,

The plashing trout, the rustling bird,
The scythe upon the mead :

Yet, through the murmuring osiers near,
There steals a step which mortals fear.

'Tis not the stag, that comes to lave,
At noon, his panting breast;
'Tis not the bittern, by the wave
Seeking her sedgy nest;

The air is fill'd with summer's breath,

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The young flowers laugh-yet look! 'tis death!

But if, where silvery currents rove,

sage,

Thy heart, grown still and
Hath learn'd to read the words of love

That shine o'er nature's page;

If holy thoughts thy guests have been,
Under the shade of willows green;

Then, lover of the silent hour,

By deep lone waters past,

Thence hast thou drawn a faith, a power,
To cheer thee through the last;

And, wont on brighter worlds to dwell,
May'st calmly bid thy streams farewell.

DEATH AND THE WARRIOR.

"Ay, warrior, arm! and wear thy plume
On a proud and fearless brow!
I am the lord of the lonely tomb,
And a mightier one than thou!

"Bid thy soul's love farewell, young chief— Bid her a long farewell!

Like the morning's dew shall pass that griefThou comest with me to dwell!

"Thy bark may rush through the foaming deep Thy steed o'er the breezy hill;

But they bear thee on to a place of sleep,
Narrow, and cold, and chill!"

"Was the voice I heard, thy voice, oh Death!

And is thy day so near?

Then on the field shall my life's last breath

Mingle with victory's cheer!

“Banners shall float, with the trumpet's note, Above me as I die!

And the palm-tree wave o'er my noble grave,
Under the Syrian sky.

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High hearts shall burn in the royal hall,
When the minstrel names that spot;

And the eyes I love shall weep my fall,—
Death, Death, I fear thee not!"

SONG FOR AIR BY HUMMEL.

"Warrior! thou bear'st a haughty heart,

But I can bend its pride!

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How should'st thou know that thy soul will part In the hour of victory's tide?

“It may be far from thy steel-clad bands,
That I shall make thee mine;

It may be lone on the desert sands,
Where men for fountains pine!

"It may be deep amidst heavy chains,
In some deep Paynim hold;—

I have slow dull steps and lingering pains,
Wherewith to tame the bold!"

"Death, Death! I go to a doom unblest,
If this indeed must be;

But the Cross is bound upon my breast,
And I may not shrink for thee!

"Sound, clarion, sound!-for my vows are given To the cause of the holy shrine;

I bow my soul to the will of Heaven,
Oh Death!-and not to thine!"

SONG FOR AIR BY HUMMEL.

OH! if thou wilt not give thine heart,
Give back my own to me;

For if in thine I have no part,

Why should mine dwell with thee? *

Yet no! this mournful love of mine,
I will not from me cast;

Let me but dream 'twill win me thine,
By its deep truth at last!

Can aught so fond, so faithful, live
Through years without reply?
-Oh! if thy heart thou wilt not give,
Give me a thought, a sigh!

TO THE

MEMORY OF LORD CHARLES MURRAY,

SON OF THE DUKE OF ATHOLL, WHO DIED IN THE CAUSE,
AND LAMENTED BY THE PEOPLE OF GREECE.

"Time cannot teach forgetfulness,
When grief's full heart is fed by fame."

BYRON.

THOU should'st have slept beneath the stately pines,
And with the ancestral trophies of thy race;
Thou that hast found, where alien tombs and shrines
Speak of the past, a lonely dwelling-place!
Far from thy brethren hath thy couch been spread,
Thou bright young stranger 'midst the mighty dead!

Yet to thy name a noble rite was given,

Banner and dirge met proudly o'er thy grave,

* The first verse of this song is a literal translation from the German.

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