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And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,
As death withdrew his shades from the day.
While the sun look'd smiling bright
O’er a wide and woful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Died away.-

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VII.
Now joy, old England, raise !
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
Whilst the wine cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !-

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VIII.
Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died,
With the gallant good Riou :
Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave !-

A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YEAR.

[THE RIVER OF LIFE.]
The more we live, more brief appear

Our life's succeeding stages :
A day to childhood seems a year,

And years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our youth,

Ere passion yet disorders,
Steals, lingering like a river smooth

Along its grassy borders.
But, as the care-worn cheek grows wan,
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,

10 Ye stars, that measure life to man,

Why seem your courses quicker ?
When joys have lost their bloom and breath,

And life itself is vapid,
Why, as we reach the Falls of death,

Feel we its tide more rapid ?

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It may be strange-yet who would change

Time's course to slower speeding;
When one by one our friends have gone,

And left our bosoms bleeding ?
Heaven gives our years of fading strength

Indemnifying fleetness;
And those of youth, a seeming length,

Proportioned to their sweetness.

TO A SKYLARK.

ETHEREAL minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky !
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

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[To the last point of vision, and beyond,
Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain,
('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond)
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain: 10
Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All independent of the leafy spring:]

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Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine :
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ;
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!

WHY ART THOU SILENT? IS THY LOVE A

PLANT.

[TO A DISTANT FRIEND.]

Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair ?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ?

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Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant,
Bound to thy service with unceasing care,
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.

Speak—though this soft warm heart, once free to

hold A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, 10 Be left more desolate, more dreary cold

Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine-
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may

know !

CAMPBELL

HOHENLINDEN.

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.

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By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neigh’d,

To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven
Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,

Far flash'd the red artillery.

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