Sternly and sadly heard, As it quench'd the wood-fire's glow, Which had cheer'd the board with the mirthful word, Flung out from every fane, On harp, and lip, and spirit, fell, Woe for the pilgrim then, In the wild deer's forest far! No cottage-lamp, to the haunts of men, And woe for him whose wakeful soul, Would have lived o'er some immortal scroll, And yet a deeper woe For the watcher by the bed, Where the fondly loved in pain lay low, For the mother, doom'd unseen to keep And to feel its flitting pulse and weep, Darkness in chieftain's hall! Darkness in peasant's cot! While freedom, under that shadowy pall, Oh! the fireside's peace we well may prize! For blood hath flow'd like rain, Pour'd forth to make sweet sanctuaries Of England's homes again. Heap the yule-fagots high, Till the red light fills the room! It is home's own hour when the stormy sky Grows thick with evening-gloom. Gather ye round the holy hearth, Unto thankful bliss we will change our mirth, THE CALL TO BATTLE. "Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, BYRON. THE Vesper-bell, from church and tower, And the household, in the hush of eve, A voice rang through the olive-wood, with a sudden trumpet's power "We rise on all our hills! come forth! 't is thy country's gathering hour There's a gleam of spears by every stream, in each old battle-dell Come forth, young Juan! bid thy home a brief and proud farewell!" Then the father gave his son the sword, "Haste, haste! the hunters of the foe are up, and who shall stand The lion-like awakening of the roused indignant land? Our chase shall sound through each defile where swept the clarion's blast, With the flying footsteps of the Moor in stormy ages past." Then the mother kiss'd her son with tears That o'er his dark locks fell: "I bless, I bless thee o'er and o'er, Yet I stay thee not-Farewell!" "One moment! but one moment give to parting thought or word! It is no time for woman's tears when manhood's heart is stirr❜d. Bear but the memory of thy love about thee in the fight, To breathe upon th' avenging sword a spell of keener And a maiden's fond adieu was heard, "Come forth! come as the torrent comes when the winter's chain is burst! So rushes on the land's revenge, in night and silence The night is past, the silence o'er-on all our hills we rise We wait thee, youth! sleep, dream no more! the voice of battle cries." There were sad hearts in a darken'd home, SONGS FOR SUMMER HOURS.1 I. AND I TOO IN ARCADIA. A celebrated picture of Poussin represents a band of shepherd youths and maidens suddenly checked in their wanderings, and affected with various emotions, by the sight of a tomb which bears this inscription" Et in Arcadia ego." THEY have wander'd in their glee They have climb'd o'er heathery swells, Fragrant bell and starry cup: Chaplets are on every brow What hath staid the wand'rers now? 1 Of these songs, the ones entitled, "Ye are not missed, fair Flowers," the "Willow Song," "Leave me not yet," and the 'Orange Bough," are in the possession of Mr. Willis, by whom they will be published with music. |