Milder yet thy snowy breezes Pour on yonder tented shores, Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, Oh winds of winter! list ye there To many a deep and dying groan; Or start, ye demons of the midnight air, At shrieks and thunders louder than your own. Alas! ev'n your unhallow'd breath May spare the victim, fallen low; But man will ask no truce to death,— 3 This ode was written in Germany, at the close of 1800, before the conclusion of hostilities. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. OUR bugles sang truce-for the night-cloud had low'r'd, And the centinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpow'r'd, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, 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, sung. Then pledg'd 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, wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. And my Stay, stay with us―rest, thou art weary and worn ; THE TURKISH LADY. 'Twas the hour when rites unholy Call'd each Paynim voice to pray'r, And the star that faded slowly Left to dews the freshen'd air. Day her sultry fires had wasted, Calm and sweet the moonlight rose: Ev'n a captive spirit tasted Half oblivion of his woes. Then 'twas from an Emir's palace Saw and lov'd an English knight. Tell me, captive, why in anguish 'Foes have dragg'd thee here to dwell, Where poor Christians as they languish • Hear no sound of sabbath bell ?' 'Twas on Transylvania's Bannat 'Like a pale disastrous planet |