THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. . DACTYLICS. WEARY way-wanderer languid and sick at heart, Sorely thy little one drags by thee bare-footed, Woe-begone mother, half anger, half agony, As over thy shoulder thou lookest to hush the babe, Thy husband will never return from the war again, Cold are thy famished babes-God help thee, widowed one. THE WIDOW. SAPPHICS. COLD was the night wind, drifting fast the snow fell, Drear were the downs, more dreary her reflections; Fast o'er the heath a chariot rattled by her; "Once I had friends, but they have all forsook me! "I had a home once-I had once a husband- Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining, Then on the snow she laid her down to rest her; Worn out with anguish, toil, and cold, and hunger, THE CHAPEL BELL. Lo I, the man who erst the muse did ask For cap and gown to leave my minstrel weeds; For yon dull tone that tinkles on the air Bids me lay by the lyre, and go to morning prayer. Oh, how I hate the sound! it is the knell That still a requiem tolls to comfort's hour; And loth am I, at superstition's bell, To quit or Morpheus or the muse's bower: Better to lie and doze than gape amain, Hearing still mumbled o'er the same eternal strain. Thou tedious herald of more tedious prayers, Or roused one pious transport in the breast? To linger out the hour in listlessness or sleep? I love the bell that calls the poor to pray, And all the rustic train are gathered round, And would full fain recline my head, and be at peace. But thou, memorial of monastic gall! What fancy sad or lightsome thou hast given! Thy vision-scaring sounds alone recal The prayer that trembles on a yawn to heaven! And this dean's gape, and that dean's nasal toe, And Roman rites retained, though Roman faith be flown. THE RACE OF BANQUO. FLY, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly! O'er the heath the stripling fled, The wild storm howling round his head. Fear mightier through the shades of night Urged his feet, and winged his flight; And still he heard his father cry, Fly, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly! Fly, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly! On every blast was heard the moan, The anguished shriek, the death-fraught groan; |