And with sweet tears and gentle words infusing
The holy calm that leads to heavenly musing.

-But hark, the din of arms! no time for sorrow.
To horse, to horse! A day of blood to-morrow!
One parting pang, and then—and then I fly,
Fly to the field, to triumph—or to die!—
He goes, and Night comes as it never came!
With shrieks of horror!-and a vault of flame!
And lo! when morning mocks the desolate,
Red runs the river by; and at the gate

Breathless a horse without his rider stands!

But hush! a shout from the victorious bands!

And oh the smiles and tears, a sire restored!
One wears his helm, one buckles on his sword;
One hangs the wall with laurel-leaves, and all
Spring to prepare the soldier's festival;

While She best-loved, till then forsaken never,
Clings round his neck as she would cling for ever!
Such golden deeds lead on to golden days,
Days of domestic peace-by him who plays
On the great stage how uneventful thought;
Yet with a thousand busy projects fraught,
A thousand incidents that stir the mind
To pleasure, such as leaves no sting behind!
Such as the heart delights in-and records
Within how silently-in more than words!
A Holiday-the frugal banquet spread
On the fresh herbage near the fountain-head
With quips and cranks-what time the wood-lark there
Scatters her loose notes on the sultry air,

What time the king-fisher sits perched below,
Where, silver-bright, the water-lilies blow:-
A Wake-the booths whitening the village-green,
Where Punch and Scaramouch aloft are seen;
Sign beyond sign in close array unfurled,
Picturing at large the wonders of the world;

And far and wide, over the vicar's pale,

Black hoods and scarlet crossing hill and dale,

All, all abroad, and music in the gale:

:

A Wedding-dance-a dance into the night

On the barn-floor, when maiden-feet are light;
When the young bride receives the promised dower,
And flowers are flung, herself a fairer flower:-
A morning-visit to the poor man's shed,

(Who would be rich while One was wanting bread?) When all are emulous to bring relief,

And tears are falling fast-but not for grief:-
A Walk in Spring-GRATTAN, like those with thee
By the heath-side (who had not envied me?)
When the sweet limes, so full of bees in June,
Led us to meet beneath their boughs at noon;
And thou didst say which of the Great and Wise,
Could they but hear and at thy bidding rise,
Thou wouldst call up and question.

Graver things

Come in their turn. Morning, and Evening, brings
Its holy office; and the sabbath-bell,

That over wood and wild and mountain-dell
Wanders so far, chasing all thoughts unholy
With sounds most musical, most melancholy,
Not on his ear is lost. Then he pursues
The pathway leading through the aged yews,
Nor unattended; and, when all are there,
Pours out his spirit in the House of Prayer,