Soon was the hospitable banquet plac'd; XVI. 'But this is not a time,'-he started up, And smote his breast with woe-denouncing hand• This is no time to fill the joyous cup, [Brandt,"The Mammoth comes,-the foe,-the Monster With all his howling desolating band;— 'These eyes have seen their blade, and burning pine, 'Awake at once, and silence half your land. 'Red is the cup they drink; but not with wine: 'Awake, and watch to-night, or see no morning shine! XVII. 'Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe, ''Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth: 'Accursed Brandt! he left of all my tribe 'Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth: "No! not the dog, that watch'd my household hearth, Escap'd, that night of blood, upon our plains! 'All perish'd!-I alone am left on earth! To whom nor relative nor blood remains, "No!-not a kindred drop that runs in human veins! XVIII. 'But go!-and rouse your warriors; for, if right These old bewilder'd eyes could guess, by signs 'Of strip'd and starred banners, on yon height • Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines'Some fort embattled by your country shines: 'Deep roars th' innavigable gulph below 'Its squared rock, and palisaded lines. 'Go! seek the light its warlike beacons show; [foe! • Whilst I in ambush wait, for vengeance, and the XIX. Scarce had he utter'd-when Heav'n's verge ex- XX. Then look'd they to the hills, where fire o'erhung XXI. Then came of every race the mingled swarm; His plumed host the dark Iberian joins- [shines. XXII. And in, the buskin'd hunters of the deer, Calm, opposite the Christian father rose. XXIV. Short time is now for gratulating speech; Thy country's flight, yon distant tow'rs to reach, XXV. Past was the flight, and welcome seem'd the tow'r, The lofty summit of that mountain green; [scene. XXVI. A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun, 'Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this earth,⚫ And thee, more lov'd, than aught beneath the sun, 'If I had liv'd to smile but on the birth Of one dear pledge;-but shall there then be none, "In future times-no gentle little one, To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me? 'Yet seems it, ev'n while life's last pulses run, 'A sweetness in the cup of death to be, 'Lord of my bosom's love! to die beholding thee!" On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow, But Linden saw another sight, By torch and trumpet fast array'd, Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n, Far flash'd the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow "Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Few, few, shall part where many meet! BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. I. Of Nelson and the North, Sing the glorious day's renown, All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand, In a bold determin'd hand, And the Prince of all the land Again! again! again! IV. And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back ;- As they strike the shatter'd sail; V. Out spoke the victor then, And we conquer but to save : 'So peace instead of death let us bring: 'But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, 'With the crews, at England's feet, And make submission meet ''To our king.' VI. Then Denmark blest our chief, That he gave her wounds repose; As death withdrew his shades from the day: O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of fun'ral light Died away. ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. THE FARMER'S BOY. SPRING. INTRODUCTION. O come, blest Spirit! whatsoe'er thou art, Be thou my Muse; and faithful still to me, No deeds of arms my humble lines rehearse; 'Twas thus with Giles: meek, fatherless, and poor: Where noble Grafton spreads his rich domains, Serv'd from affection, for his worth rever'd; A happy offspring blest his plenteous board, And never lack'd a job for Giles to do. Fled now the sullen murmurs of the North, The splendid raiment of the Spring peeps forth; Her universal green, and the clear sky, Delight still more and more the gazing eye. Wide o'er the fields, in rising moisture strong, Shoots up the simple flower, or creeps along The mellow'd soil; imbibing fairer hues, Or sweets from frequent showers and evening dews; That summon from their shed the slumb'ring ploughs, While health impregnates every breeze that blows. No wheels support the diving, pointed share; No groaning ox is doom'd to labour there; No helpmates teach the docile steed his road; (Alike unknown the ploughboy and the goad;) But, unassisted through each toilsome day, With smiling brow the ploughman cleaves his way, Draws his fresh parallels, and, wid'ning still, Treads slow the heavy dale, or climbs the hill: Strong on the wing his busy followers play, [day; Where writhing earth-worms meet th' unwelcome Till all is chang'd, and hill and level down Assume a livery of sober brown: Again disturb'd, when Giles with wearying strides From ridge to ridge the ponderous harrow guides; His heels deep sinking every step he goes, Till dirt adhesive loads his clouted shoes. Welcome green headland! firm beneath his feet; Welcome the friendly bank's refreshing seat; There, warm with toil, his panting horses browse Their shelt'ring canopy of pendent boughs; Till rest, delicious, chase each transient pain, And new-born vigour swell in every vein. Hour after hour, and day to day succeeds; Till every clod and deep-drawn furrow spreads To crumbling mould; a level surface clear, And strew'd with corn to crown the rising year; And o'er the whole Giles once transverse again, In earth's moist bosom buries up the grain. The work is done; no more to man is given; The grateful farmer trusts the rest to Heaven. Yet oft with anxious heart he looks around, And marks the first green blade that breaks the In fancy sees his trembling oats uprun, [ground; His tufted barley yellow with the sun; Sees clouds propitious shed their timely store, And all his harvest gather'd round his door. But still unsafe the big swoln grain below, A fav'rite morsel with the rook and crow; |