Sivut kuvina
PDF
ePub

Hell-hound ! by thee my child's devoured !”

The frantic father cried,
And to the hilt his vengeful sword

He plunged in Gelert's side !

His suppliant, as to earth he fell,

No pity could impart;
But still his Gelert's dying yell,

Passed heavy o'er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,

Some slumberer wakened nigh; What words the parent's joy can tell,

To hear his infant cry!

Concealed beneath a mangled heap,

His hurried search had missed, All glowing from his rosy sleep,

His cherub boy he kissed !

Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread

But the same couch beneath,
Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead-

Tremendous still in death!

Ah! what was then 'Llewellyn's pain,

For now the truth was clear;
The gallant hound the wolf had slain,

To save Llewellyn's heir.

Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe,

“ Best of thy kind adieu ! The frantic deed which laid thee low,

This heart shall ever rue !"

And now a gallant tomb they raise,

With costly sculpture decked ; And marbles, storied with his praise,

Poor Gelert's bones protect.

Here never could the spearman pass,

Or forester, unmoved ;
Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass

Llewellyn's sorrow proved.

And here he hung his horn and spear ;

And, oft as evening fell,
In fancy's piercing sounds would hear

Poor Gelert's dying yell !

THE DROWNING FLY.

In yonder vase behold a drowning fly!
Its little feet how vainly does it ply!
Its cries I understand not, yet it cries,
And tender hearts can feel its agonies ;
Poor helpless victim! And will no one save?
Will no one snatch thee from the threat'ning grave ?
Is there no friendly hand, no helper nigh?
And must thou, little struggler, must thou die ?
Thou shalt not, while this hand can set thee free;
Thou shalt not die ! this hand shall rescue thee !
My finger's tip shall prove a friendly shore :-
There, trembler, all thy dangers now are o'er ;
Wipe thy wet wings, and banish all thy fear;
Go join thy buzzing brothers in the air.
Away it flies—resumes its harmless play,
And sweetly gambols in the golden ray.

Smile not, spectators, at this humble deed !
For you, perhaps, a nobler task's decreed;
A young and sinking family to save,
To raise the infant from destruction's wave;
To
you

for help the victims lift their eyes ;
Oh! hear, for pity's sake, their plaintive cries !
Ere long, unless some guardian interpose,
O'er their devoted heads the flood may close.

THE BATTLE OF BUSACO.

Beyond Busaco's mountains dun,
When far had rolled the sultry sun,
And night her pall of gloom had thrown

O'er nature's still convexity !
High on the heath our tents were spread,
The cold turf was our cheerless bed,
And o'er the hero's dew-chilled head.

The banners flapped incessantly. The loud war-trumpet woke the morn, The quivering drum, the pealing horn,From rank to rank the cry is borne,

Arouse for death or victory!"
The orb of day, in crimson dye,
Began to mount the morning sky;
Then, what a scene for warrior's eye

Hung on the bold declivity!
The serried bayonets glittering stood,
Like icicles, on hills of blood ;
An aerial stream, a silver wood,

Reeled in the Aickering canopy.
Like waves of ocean rolling fast,
Or thunder-cloud before the blast,
Massena's legions, stern and vast,

Rushed to the dreadful revelry. The

pause is o'er; the fatal shock A thousand thousand thunders woke : The air grows sick ; the mountains rock;

Red ruin rides triumphantly.
Light boiled the war cloud to the sky,
In phantom towers and columns high,
But dark and dense their bases lie,

Prone on the battle's boundary.

The Thistle waved her bonnet blue,
The Harp her wildest war-notes threw,
The Red Rose gained a fresher hue,

Busaco, in thy heraldry.
Hail, gallant brothers ! Wo befall
The foe that braves thy triple wall !
Thy sons, O wretched Portugal!

Řoused at their feats of chivalry.

knew;

THE TWO OWLS AND THE SPARROW.

Two formal Owls together sat,
Conferring thus in solemn chat :
6. How is the modern taste decayed !
“Where's the respect to wisdom paid ?
“ Our worth the Grecian

sages
They gave our sires the honour due :
“ They weighed the diguity of fowls,
“And pried into the depth of Owls.

Athens, the seat of learned fame,
“ With general voice revered our name;
“On merit, title was conferred,
" And all adored the Athenian bird.”

“ Brother, you reason well,” replies
The solemn mate, with half-shut

eyes ; Right, -Athens was the seat of learning, “And truly wisdom is discerning.

Besides, on Pallas' helm we sit,
“The type and ornament of wit ;
“But now, alas! we're quite neglected,
“And a pert Sparrow's more respected.”

A Sparrow, who was lodged beside,
O’erhears them soothe each other's pride,
And thus he nimbly vents his heat :

• Who meets a fool must find conceit.

D

“I grant, you were at Athens graced,
“And on Minerva's helm were placed ;
“But every bird that wings the sky,

Except an Owl, can tell you why.

From hence they taught their schools to know “ How false we judge by outward show; “ That we should never looks esteem, “ Since fools as wise as you might seem. Would ye contempt and scorn avoid, “Let your vain-glory be destroyed : “Humble your arrogance of thought, “Pursue the ways by Nature taught; “So shall you find delicious fare, “And grateful farmers praise your care: “ So shall sleek mice your chase reward, “And no keen cat find more regard.”

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

Tre Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen :
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still !
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

« EdellinenJatka »