The Burial in the Desert.

Triumphantly, triumphantly!

Sing to the woods, I go!

For me, perchance, in other lands,

The glorious rose may blow.

The sky's transparent azure,

And the greensward's violet breath, And the dance of light leaves in the wind, May there know naught of death.

No more, no more sing mournfully!
Swell high, then break, my heart!
With love, the spirit of the woods,
With summer I depart!

THE BURIAL IN THE DESERT.

"How weeps yon gallant band

O'er him their valour could not save!
For the bayonet is red with gore,

And he, the beautiful and brave,

Now sleeps in Egypt's sand."-WILSON.

IN the shadow of the Pyramid

I tur brother's grave we made,

When the battle-day was done,
And the desert's parting sun
A field of death surveyed.

The blood-red sky above us
Was darkening into night,
And the Arab watching silently
Our sad and hurried rite;

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240

The Burial in the Desert.

The voice of Egypt's river

Came hollow and profound;

And one lone palm-tree, where we stood,
Rocked with a shivery sound:

While the shadow of the Pyramid
Hung o'er the grave we made,
When the battle-day was done,
And the desert's parting sun
A field of death surveyed.

The fathers of our brother

Were borne to knightly tombs,

With torch-light and with anthem-note,
And many waving plumes:

But he, the last and noblest

Of that high Norman race,

With a few brief words of soldier-love
Was gathered to his place;

In the shadow of the Pyramid,
Where his youthful form we laid,
When the battle-day was done,
And the desert's parting sun
A field of death surveyed.

But let him, let him slumber

By the old Egyptian wave!

It is well with those who bear their fame
Unsullied to the grave!

When brightest names are breathed on,
When loftiest fall so fast,

The Mirror in the Deserted Hall.

We would not call our brother back-
On dark days to be cast,—

From the shadow of the Pyramid,
Where his noble heart we laid,
When the battle-day was done,
And the desert's parting sun
A field of death surveyed.

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THE MIRROR IN THE DESERTED HALL.

DIM, forsaken mirror!

How many a stately throng

Hath o'er thee gleamed in vanished hours

Of the wine-cup and the song!

The song hath left no echo ;

The bright wine hath been quaffed;

And hushed is every silvery voice
That lightly here hath laughed.

O mirror-lonely mirror!

Thou of the silent hall!

Thou hast been flushed with beauty's bloom

Is this, too, vanished all?

It is, with the scattered garlands
Of triumphs long ago,

With the melodies of buried lyres,

With the faded rainbow's glow.

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The Stream set Free.

And for all the gorgeous pageants—
For the glance of gem and plume,
For lamp, and harp, and rosy wreath,
And vase of rich perfume—

Now, dim, forsaken mirror!

Thou givest but faintly back

The quiet stars, and the sailing moon,

On her solitary track.

And thus with man's proud spirit
Thou tellest me 'twill be,

When the forms and hues of this world fade
From his memory, as from thee:

And his heart's long troubled waters
At last in stillness lie,

Reflecting but the images

Of the solemn world on high.

THE STREAM SET FREE.

LOW on, rejoice, make music,

The troubled haunts of care and strife
Were not for thee!

The woodland is thy country,

Thou art all its own again;

The wild birds are thy kindred race,

That fear no chain.

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The Stream set Free.

Flow on, rejoice, make music

Unto the glistening leaves ! Thou, the beloved of balmy winds And golden eaves !

Once more the holy starlight

Sleeps calm upon thy breast,

Whose brightness bears no token more

Of man's unrest.

Flow, and let freeborn music

Flow with thy wavy line,

While the stock-dove's lingering, loving voice
Comes blent with thine.

And the green reeds quivering o'er thee,

Strings of the forest-lyre,

All filled with answering spirit-sounds,

In joy respire.

Yet, midst thy song's glad changes,
Oh! keep one pitying tone

For gentle hearts, that bear to thee

Their sadness lone.

One sound, of all the deepest,

To bring, like healing dew,
A sense that nature ne'er forsakes
The meek and true.

Then, then rejoice, make music,
Thou stream, thou glad and free!
The shadows of all glorious flowers
Be set in thee!