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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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O'er his watch-fire's fading embers Now the foeman's cheek turns white,
"When his heart that field remembers. Where we tamed his tyrant might!
Never let him hind again
A chain like that we broke from then. Hark! the horn of combat calls— Ere the golden evening falls.
May we pledge that horn in triumph round! Many a heart that now beats high, In slumber cold at night shall lie,
Nor waken even at victory's sound-But oh, how blest that* hero's sleep. O'er whom a wond'ring world shall weep. |
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COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE.
Come, send round the wine, and leave points of belief
To simpleton sages and reasoning fools; This moment's a flower too fair and brief,
To be withered and stained by the dust of the schools. Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue,
But, while they are filled from the same bright bowl The fool that would quarrel for difference of hue
Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul. Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side
In the cause of mankind, If our creeds agree? Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, „
If he kneel not before the same altar with me? Prom the heretic girl of my soul should I fly
To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss? No—perish the hearts and the laws that try
Truth, valor, or love, by a standard like this! |
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LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.
Oh! the days are gone when beauty bright
My heart's chain wove, When my dream of life from morn till night
Was love, still love. New hopes may bloom and days may come
Of milder, calmer beam, But there's nothing half so sweet In life
As love's young dream. Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life
As love's young dream,
Tho' the bard to purer fame may soar,
When wild youth's past, Tho' he win the wise, who frowned before,
To smile at last; He'll never meet a joy so sweet.
In all his noon of fame. As when first he sung to woman's ear
His soul felt flame, And at every close she blushed to hear
The one loved name.
Oh, that fairy form Is ne'er forgot,
Which first love traced, Still It lingering haunts the greenest spot
On memory's waste. 'Twas odor, fled as soon as shed,
'Twas morning's winged dream, 'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream: Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream. |
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