Its sinking arches once gave back as proud An echo to the war-blown clarion's peal, As gallant hearts its battlements did crowd As ever beat beneath a vest of steel, When herald's trump on knighthood's haughtiest day Called forth chivalric host to battle fray: For here amid these woods did He keep court, Before whose mighty soul the common crowd Of heroes, who alone for fame have fought, Are like the Patriarch's sheaves to Heav'n's chos'n bowed-- HE who his country's eagle taught to soar, And fired those stars which shine o'er every shore. And sights and sounds at which the world have wondered, Within these wild ravines have had their birth; Young Freedom's cannon from these glens have thundered, And sent their startling echoes o'er the earth; And not a verdant glade nor mountain hoary But treasures up within the glorious story. And yet not rich in high-souled memories only, Is every moon-touched headland round me gleaming, Each cavernous glen and leafy valley lonely, And silver torrent o'er the bald rock streaming: But such soft fancies here may breathe around, As make Vaucluse and Clarens hallow'd ground. Where, tell me where, pale watcher of the night-- Thou that to love so oft hast lent its soul, Since the lorn Lesbian languished 'neath thy light, Or fiery Romeo to his Juliet stole-- Where dost thou find a fitter place on earth To nurse young love in hearts like theirs to birth? But now, bright Peri of the skies, descending Thy pearly car hangs o'er yon mountain's crest, And Night, more nearly now each step attending, As if to hide thy envied place of rest, Closes at last thy very couch beside, A matron curtaining a virgin bride. Farewell! Though tears on every leaf are starting, While through the shadowy boughs thy glances quiver, As of the good when heavenward hence departing, Shines thy last smile upon the placid river. So--could I fling o'er glory's tide one ray-- Would I too steal from this dark world away. ANACREONTIC. BY A. H. BOGART. _Ob_: 1826, _æt._ 22. The flying joy through life we seek For once is ours--the wine we sip Blushes like Beauty's glowing cheek, To meet our eager lip. Round with the ringing glass once more! Friends of my youth and of my heart-- No magic can this hour restore-- Then crown it ere we part. Ye are my friends, my chosen ones-- Whose blood would flow with fervour true For me--and free as this wine runs Would mine, by Heaven! for you. Yet, mark me! When a few short years Have hurried on their journey fleet, Not one that now my accents hears Will know me when we meet. Though now, perhaps, with proud disdain, The startling thought ye scarce will brook, Yet, trust me, we'll be strangers then In heart as well as look.