"Was the voice I heard, thy voice, O Death? And is thy day so near? Then on the field shall my life's last breath "Banners shall float, with the trumpet's note, Above me as I die! And the palm tree wave o'er my noble grave, "High hearts shall burn in the royal hall, When the minstrel names that spot; But I can bend its pride! How shouldst thou know that thy soul will part In the hour of victory's tide? "It may be far from thy steel-clad bands, It may be lone on the desert sands, "It may be deep amidst heavy chains, I have slow dull steps and lingering pains, "Death, Death! I go to a doom unblest, But the cross is bound upon my breast, "Thou art gone home! from that divine repose Never to roam! Never to say farewell, to weep in vain, "Sound, clarion, sound!-for my vows are given To read of change, in eyes beloved, again— To the cause of the holy shrine; I bow my soul to the will of Heaven, O Death!-and not to thine!" THE TWO VOICES. Two solemn Voices, in a funeral strain, Thou art gone home! 'By the bright waters now thy lot is cast,— Joy for thee, happy friend! thy bark hath past The rough sea's foam! Now the long yearnings of thy soul are stilled,— Home! home!-thy peace is won, thy heart is filled. -Thou art gone home!" "There is no glory left us now, Like the glory with the dead : I would that where they slumber low Oh! thou dark Tree, thou lonely Tree, A peasant's home in thy shades I see, A lovely and a mirthful sound Of laughter meets mine ear; For the poor man's children sport around On the turf, with nought to fear. And roses lend that cabin's wall A happy summer-glow; And the open door stands free to all And the village bells are on the breeze, YE have been holy, O founts and floods! Hallowed by man, and his dreams of old, Therefore the flowers of bright summers gone, Nor seems it strange that the heart hath been And the ivyed chapels of colder skies. On your wild banks arise. For the loveliest scenes of the glowing earth, Are those, bright streams! where your springs have birth; Whether their caverned murmur fills, With a tone of plaint the hollow hills, Or whether ye gladden the desert-sands, Where a few lone palm-trees lift their heads, Or whether, in bright old lands renowned, Voices and lights of the lonely place! There sucks the bee, for the richest flowers | And the Halcyon's breast, like the skies arrayed, Gleams through the willow-shade. But the wild sweet tales, that with elves and fays These are your charms, bright streams! Now is the time of your flowery rites, -And the woods again are lone. Yet holy still be your living springs Making the heart a shrine! THE VOICE OF THE WIND. There is nothing in the wide world so like the voice of a spirit-Gray's Letters. OH! many a voice is thine, thou Wind! full many a voice is thine, From every scene thy wing o'ersweeps thou bearest a sound and sign; A minstrel wild and strong thou art, with a mastery all thine own, And the spirit is thy harp, O Wind! that gives the answering tone. Thou art come from long-forsaken homes, wherein our young days flew, Thou hast found sweet voices lingering there, the loved, the kind, the true; Thou callest back those melodies, though now all changed and fled,— Be still, be still, and haunt us not with music from the dead! Are all these notes in thee, wild Wind? these many notes in thee? Far in our own unfathomed souls their fount must surely be; Yes! buried, but unsleeping, there Thought watches, Memory lies, Thou hast been across red fields of war, where From whose deep urn the tones are poured, shivered helmets lie, And thou bringest thence the thrilling note of a clarion in the sky; A rustling of proud banner-folds, a peal of stormy drums, All these are in thy music met, as when a leader comes. through all Earth's harmonies. THE VIGIL OF ARMS.* A SOUNDING step was heard by night Thou hast been o'er solitary seas, and from their As a mail-clad youth, till morning's light, wastes brought back Midst the tombs his vigil kept. Each noise of waters that awoke in the mystery of He walked in dreams of power and fame, thy track; He lifted a proud, bright eye, The chime of low soft southern waves on some For the hours were few that withheld his name green palmy shore, The hollow roll of distant surge, the gathered bil lows roar. Thou art come from forests dark and deep, thou mighty rushing Wind! And thou bearest all their unisons in one full swell combined; The restless pines, the moaning stream, all hidden things and free, Of the dim old sounding wilderness, have lent their soul to thee. Thou art come from cities lighted up for the conqueror passing by, Thou art wafting from their streets a sound of haughty revelry; The rolling of triumphant wheels, the harpings in the hall, The far-off shout of multitudes, are in thy rise and fall. Thou art come from kingly tombs and shrines, from ancient minsters vast, Through the dark aisles of a thousand years thy | lonely wing hath passed; Thou hast caught the anthein's billowy swell, the stately dirge's tone, From the roll of chivalry. Down the moon-lit aisles he paced alone, And the floor gave back a muffled tone The haughty chiefs of the war-array- But no dim warning of time or fate That youth's flushed hopes could chill, He looked to the banners on high that hung, And a royal masque of splendour seemed The candidate for knighthood was under the necessity For a chief, with sword, and shield, and helm, to church, and completely armed. This was called "the Vigil of keeping watch, the night before his inauguration, in a There were crested knight, and gorgeous dame, Glittering athwart the gloom, And he followed, till his bold step came To his warrior-father's tomb. But there the still and shadowy might Of the monumental stone, And the holy sleep of the soft lamp's light, That over its quiet shone, And the image of that sire, who died In his noonday of renown These had a power unto which the pride Of fiery life bowed down. And a spirit from his early years Came back o'er his thoughts to move, Till his eye was filled with memory's tears, And his heart with childhood's love! And he looked, with a change in his softening glance, To the armour o'er the grave,— For there they hung, the shield and lance, And the sword of many a field was there, When the knight's bold war-cry hath sunk in prayer, And the spear is a broken reed! -Hush! did a breeze through the armour sigh? He had heard that voice bid clarions blow, And it said," The sword hath conquered kings, Heart! that lovedst the clarion's blast, Silent is thy place at last; Silent, sa -save when early bird Sings where once the mass was heard; No! brave heart!-though cold and lone Is the noble Douglas nigh, Nor, amidst its lone domain, NATURE'S FAREWELL. THE HEART OF BRUCE IN MELROSE ABBEY. HEART! that didst press forward still,* "Now pass thou forward, as thou wert wont, and Douglas will follow thee or die!" With these words Douglas threw from him the heart of Bruce, into mid-battle against the Moors of Spain. The beautiful is vanished, and returns not. Coleridge's Wallenstems A YOUTH rode forth from his childhood's home, "Under the arch by our mingling made, |