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And mute the Moorish horn, that rang
O’er stream and mountain free, And the hymn the leagued Crusaders sang,
Hath died in Galilee.
But thou art swelling on, thou deep,
Through many an olden clime, Thy billowy anthem, ne'er to sleep
Until the close of time.
Thou liftest up thy solemn voice
To every wind and sky,
In that one harmony.
It fills the noontide's calm profound,
The sunset's heaven of gold;
Ev’n as when first it roll’d.
Let there be silence, deep and strange,
Where sceptred cities rose ! Thou speak’st of one who doth not change-So may our hearts
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled ;
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm ;
A proud, though child-like form.
The flames rolld on-he would not go,
Without his father's word;
* Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the Nile), after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned ; and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder.
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He call'd aloud—“Say, father, say
If yet my task is done?”
Unconscious of his son.
“Speak, Father !” once again he cried,
“If I may yet be gone!” -And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rollid on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair ;
In still, yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud,
“ My father ! must I stay ?” While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapt the ship in splendor wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And stream'd above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound
The boy-oh! where was he? -Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strew'd the sea !
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their partBut the noblest thing that perish'd there, Was that young faithful heart.
THE ADOPTED CHILD.
“Why wouldst thou leave me, oh! gentle child ?
“Oh! green is the turf where my brothers play,
“ Content thee, boy ! in my bower to dwell,