For beyond that old church-tower, embosomed in pines, Was the spot which contained all the bliss of my life, Near yon grey granite rock, where the red ash reclines, Stood the cottage where dwelt my loved children and wife. Long since did the blasts of the war-trumpet cease, The drum slept in silence, the colours were furled, Serene over France rose the day-star of Peace, And the beams of its splendour gave light to the world. When near to the land of my fathers I drew, And the drawn light her features of grandeur unveiled, As I caught the first glimpse of her ice-mountains blue, Our old native Alps with what rapture I hailed. "Oh! soon, I exclaimed, will those mountains be passed, And soon shall I stop at my own cottage door, There my children's caresses will greet me at last, And the arms of my wife will enfold me once more. "While the fulness of joy leaves me powerless to speak, Emotions which language can never define, When her sweet tears of transport drop warm on my cheek, And I feel her fond heart beat once more against mine. "Then my boy, when our tumults of rapture subside, Will anxiously ask how our soldiers have sped, Will flourish my bay'net with infantile pride, And exultingly place my plumed cap on his head. "Then my sweet girl will boast how her chamois has grown; And make him repeat all his antics with glee, Then she'll haste to the vine that she claims as her own, And fondly select its ripe clusters for me. "And when round our fire we assemble at night, With what interest they'll list to my tale of the war, How our shining arms gleamed on St. Bernard's vast height, While the clouds in white billows rolled under us far. "Then I'll tell how the legions of Austria we braved, How we fought on Marengo's victorious day, When the colours of conquest dejectedly wave Where streamed the last blood of the gallant Dessaix." 'Twas thus in fond fancy my bosom beat light As I crossed the rude bridge where the wild waters roll, When each well-known scene crowded fast on my sight, And Hope's glowing visions came warm to my soul. Through the pine-grove I hastened with footsteps of air Already my lov'd ones I felt in embrace, When I came--of my cot not a vestige was there-- But a hilloc of snow was heap'd high in its place. The heart-rending story too soon did I hear-- An avalanche, loosed from the near mountain's side, Our cottage o'erwhelmed in its thundering career, And beneath it my wife and my children had died. --IMOGEN. _Port Folio_, VII (n. s. I)-350, Apr. 1809, Phila. BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN. By THOMAS CAMPBELL, Esq. _Visitor_, I-47, Apr. 22, 1809, Richmond.