DIRGE OF WALLACE. SONG. THEY lighted a taper at the dead of night, O CHERUB Content! at thy moss-cover'd shrine, And chanted their holiest hymn; I'd all the gay hopes of my bosom resign, But her brow and her bosom were damp with affright, I'd part with ambition thy vot'ry to be, Her eye was all sleepless and dim! And breathe not a sigh but to friendship and thee! And the lady of Elderslie wept for her lord, When a death-watch beat in her lonely room, But thy presence appears from my wishes to fly, When her curtain had shook of its own accord; Like the gold-color'd clouds on the verge of the sky; And the raven had flapp'd at her window-board, No lustre that hangs on the green willow-tree, To tell of her warrior's doom! Is so sweet as the smile of thy favor to me. “Now sing you the death-song, and loudly pray In the pulse of my heart I have nourish'd a care For the soul of my knight so dear; That forbids me thy sweet inspiration to share, And call me a widow this wretched day, The noon of my life slow departing I see, Since the warning of God is here! But its years as they pass bring no tidings of thee. For night-mare rides on my strangled sleep : The lord of my bosom is doom'd to die : O cherub Content! at thy moss-cover'd shrine, His valorous heart they have wounded deep; I would offer my vows if Matilda were mine ; And the blood-red tears shall his country weep, Could I call her my own, whom enraptured I see, For Wallace of Elderslie!” I would breathe not a sigh but to friendship and thee Yet bleeding and bound, though her Wallace wight For his long-loved country die, Than Wallace of Elderslie! Ilis head unentomb'd shall with glory be balm'd, A nobler was never embalm'd! SONG. My mind is my kingdom, but if thou wilt deign To sway there a queen without measure, Then come, o'er its wishes and homage to reign, And make it an empire of pleasure. Albeit, he tippled like a fish, Though not the same potation ; With nimbler mastication. One evening late, to pigeon About a league from Dijon ; On fagots briskly crackling: To Jacquez and to Jacqueline. In pious terms besought her Then of thoughts and emotions each mutinous crowd That rebellid at stern reason and duty, Returning shall yield all their loyalty proud To the halcyon dominion of Beauty. For water and a crust they crave, Those mouths that, even on Lent days, Scarce knew the taste of water, save When watering for dainties. Quoth Jacquez, " That were sorry cheer For men fatigued and dusty; You'd go to bed but crusty." Wine fit to feast Silenus, They laugh'd like two hyenas. Regaled each pardon-gauger, And lied as for a wager- With aëronautic martyrs ; Had only dipt her garters. With jaws three inch asunder, 'Twas partly out of weariness, And partly out of wonder. Then striking up duets, the frères Went on to sing in matches, From psalms to sentimental airs, From these to glees and catches. Like a baboon and tame bear, And shown them to their chamber. The room was high, the host's was nigh: Had wife or he suspicion Of chinks in the partition ? Their holy ears outreaching Almost as their own preaching? Shame on you, friars of orders grey, That peeping knelt, and wriggling, And when ye should have gone to pray, Betook yourselves to giggling! But every deed will have its meed: And hark! what information Has made the sinners, in a trice, Look black with consternation. The farmer on a hone prepares His knife, a long and keen one; And talks of killing both the frères, The fat one and the lean one. To-morrow by the break of day, He orders, too, saltpetre And pickling tubs_But, reader, stay, Our host was no man-eater. The priests knew not that country-folks Gave pigs the name of friars ; As if they trod on briers. The hair of either craven But that their heads were shaven. “What! pickle and smoke us limb by limb? God curse him and his larders! St. Peter will bedevil him If he saltpetre friare. Idea shakes one oddly; Beginning to be godly. Of all our sins and cogging, We had a whip to give and take A last kind mutual flogging. “O Dominick! thy nether end Should bleed for expiation, A glorious flagellation." They bow'd like weeping willows, Of all their peccadilloes. A thought their fancies tickled ; 'Twere better brave the window's height Than be at morning pickled. Both under breath imploring Their host and hostess snoring. The lean one 'lighted like a cat, Then scamper'd off like Jehu, Nor stopp'd to help the man of fat, Whose cheek was of a clay hue Who, being by nature more design'd For resting than for jumping, Fell heavy on his parts behind, That broaden'd with the plumping. There long beneath the window's sconce His bruises he sat pawing, Upon a Chinese drawing. The pigs, you'd thought for game-sake, Came round and nosed him lovingly, As if they'd known their namesake. Meanwhile the other flew to town, And with short respiration Bray'd like a donkey up and down, "Ass-ass-ass-assination!" That frantic capuchin began To cut fantastic capers Crying, “Help! hollo! the bellows blow, The pot is on to stew me; I am a pretty pig—but no! They shall not barbacue me." In truth he was hysterical, And that wrought like a miracle. Men left their beds, and night-capp'd heads Popp'd out from every casement; The cats ran frighten'd on the leads ; Dijon was all amazement. Doors bang'd, dogs bay'd, and boys hurra'd, Throats gaped aghast in bare rows, Till soundest sleeping watchmen woke, And even at last the mayor rose Who, charging him before police, Demands of Dominick surly, What earthquake, fire, or breach of peace Made all this hurly-burly? “Ass—" quoth the priest, “ ass-assins, sir, Are (hence a league, or nigher) And barrel up a friar." A troop from the gens-d'armes' house To storm the bloody farm's house. As they were cantering toward the place, Comes Jacquez to the swine-yard, But started when a great round face Cried, “ Rascal! hold thy whinyard." 'Twas Boniface, as mad's King Lear, Playing antics in the piggery : You mountain of a friar, eh?” And blubber'd with the vapors, Just as the horsemen halted near, Crying, “ Murderer, stop, ohoy, oh!" Jacquez was comforting the frère With a good glass of noyauWho beckon'd to them not to kick up A row; but waxing mellow, Squeezed Jacquez' hand, and with a hickup Said, “ You're a damn'd good fellow" Explaining lost but little breath Here ended all the matter; So God save Queen Elizabeth, And long live Henri Quatre ! Into horse-fits of laughter, Their horses neigh'd thereafter. Yawn'd weary, worn, and moody, So may my readers' too, perhaps, And thus I wish 'em good day 178 THE END OF CAMPBELL'S WORKS. ..... 130 PRISON AMUSEMENTS: 113 Moonlight ib. The Captive Nightingale 114 The Evening Star 115 Soliloquy of a Water-Wagtail 116 The Pleasures of Imprisonment, Epistle I. ib. Epistle II. 118 Extract from “The Bramin" 119 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS: The Grave.. 120 The Lyre 121 Remonstrance to Winter... 122 Song, “Round Love's Elysian Bowers"....... 123 Lines written under a drawing of Yardley Oak ib. Song, “When Friendship, Love, and Truth abound" ........ ib. Religion ib. “The Joy of Grief". 124 The Battle of Alexandria ib. The Pillow.... 125 To the Memory of Joseph Browne 127 The Thunder-Storm ib. Ode to the Volunteers 128 The Vigil of St. Mark 129 Hannah A Field Flower ...... 131 The Snow. Drop. ib. The Ocean ... 132 The Common Lot 133 The Harp of Sorrow 134 Pope's Willow........ ib. * A Walk in Spring A Deed of Darkness. .......... 136 The Swiss Cowherd's Song 137 The Oak ... ib. The Dial ib. The Roses 138 To Agnes ib. An Epitaph ib. The Old Man's Song. ib. The Glow.Worm 139 Bolehill Trees ib. The Mole-hill ib. The Cast-away Ship.. 141 The Sequel. 142 M. S. ib. The Peak Mountains..... 144 ib. Stanzas on Chatterton.......... 147 The Wild Rose.. ib. On Finding the Feathers of a Linnet........ 148 Sonnet, from P. Salandri 149 from Petrarch...... ib. from Gaetana Passerini. ib. from Benedetto dall' Uva ib. Departed Days... ib. Hope 150 A Mother's Love .... 151 The Time-Piece. ib. Stanzas to the Memory of the Rev. T. Spencer 152 Human Life... 153 The Visible Creation from Giambatista Cotta. The Crucifixion, from Crescembini. 154 Daughter Woman 126 The Climbing Boy's Soliloquies “ Thou, God, seest me," Gen. xvi. 13.. Sonnet; Christ Crucified, from Gabriele Fiamma ta Sonnet; Christ laid in the Sepulchre, from the same..... ..... 135 ... 145 |