I gazed, and felt upon my lips The unfinished accents hang: One moment’s bliss, one burning kiss, To rapture changed each pang. And though as swift as lightning’s flash Those trancèd moments flew, Not all the waves of time shall wash Their memory from my view. But duly shall my raptured song, And gladly shall my eyes Still bless this day’s return, as long As thou shalt see it rise. HOHENLINDEN. On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the 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. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Each horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neighed, To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of heaven, Far flashed the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden’s hills of stainèd snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. ’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, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry! Few, few, shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier’s sepulchre. GLENARA. O heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail? ’Tis the chief of Glenara[74] laments for his dear; And her sire, and the people, are called to her bier. Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud; Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud: Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around: They marched all in silence,—they looked on the ground. In silence they reached over mountain and moor, To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar; “Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn: Why speak ye no word!”—said Glenara the stern. “And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse, Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?” So spake the rude chieftain:—no answer is made, But each mantle unfolding a dagger displayed. “I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,” Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; “And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem: Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!” O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, ’Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn: