THE CHIEFTAIN'S SON. * YES, it is ours!—the field is won, A dark and evil field! Lift from the ground my noble son, And bear him homewards on his bloody shield ! Let me not hear your trumpets ring, Swell not the battle-horn! Thoughts far too sad those notes will bring, When to the grave my glorious flower is borne ! * From a publication now out of print. Speak not of victory !-in the name There is too much of woe! Hush'd be the empty voice of Fame— Call me back his whose graceful head is low. Speak not of victory!-from my halls The sunny hour is gone! The ancient banner on my walls, Must sink ere long-I had but him—but one! Within the dwelling of my sires The hearths will soon be cold, With me must die the beacon-fires That stream'd at midnight from the mountain-hold. And let them fade, since this must be, My lovely and my brave! Was thy bright blood pour'd forth for me, And is there but for stately youth a grave? Speak to me once again, my boy! Wilt thou not hear my call? Thou wert so full of life and joy, I had not dreamt of this-that thou couldst fall! Thy mother watches from the steep For thy returning plume; How shall I tell her that thy sleep Is of the silent house, th' untimely tomb? Thou didst not seem as one to die, With all thy young renown! -Ye saw his falchion's flash on high, In the mid-fight, when spears and crests went down! Slow be your march! the field is won! A dark and evil field! Lift from the ground my noble son, And bear him homewards on his bloody shield. PSYCHE BORNE BY ZEPHYRS TO THE ISLAND OF PLEASURE. Written for a Picture. FEARFULLY and mournfully Thou bidd'st the earth farewell, And yet thou'rt passing, loveliest one! In a brighter land to dwell. Ascend, ascend rejoicing! The sunshine of that shore Around thee, as a glorious robe, Shall stream for evermore. The breezy music wandering There through the Elysian sky, Hath no deep tone that seems to float From a happier time gone by: And there the day's last crimson No thought of dead or distant friends, Yet fearfully and mournfully Thou bidd'st that earth farewell, Although thou'rt passing, loveliest one, In a brighter land to dwell. A land where all is deathless- The wood, with its rich melodies, The summer and the rose. N |