THE TRIUMPHAL ENTRY

OF A VICTORIOUS ARMY.

"Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths!"

SHAKSPEARE.

THEY come, they come! with banners bright,

With glittering spear and shield

They that were victors in the fight,
Who knew not how to yield-
They march along with stern delight,
Triumphant from the field.

With stately tread and martial air,
In beautiful array-

Aloft the dreaded warriors bear
The trophies of the day!

The Lion in his forest lair

Seems not more fierce than they.

The music of the fife and drum

Swell on the gladdened ear;

The anxious look, the eager hum,
Proclaim that home is near;

How proudly in their ranks they come-
How glorious they appear!

Remembrance of each gallant deed

Within their breasts shall thrillBut mem'ry now will take less heed Of those whose hearts are still; Away! Death is the Soldier's meed, Come how and when it will.

But still the beautiful! the brave!

Who rest upon the plain

Some thoughts of them, their memʼries crave;
They do not sleep in vain,

For holy is each Warrior's grave
While lives the Poet's strain!

They come, they come! the heroes greet,
While music floats around-

Let trumpets to the sky repeat
The glad triumphant sound;

And let the brave, as is most meet,

With laurel wreaths be crown'd!

FAREWELL.

“Look here, IAGO, all my fond love Thus do I blow to Heaven:-'tis gone!"

SHAKSPEARE.

FAREWELL! FAREWELL! that bitter word

I never thought to speak—
The love that in my bosom stirred,
Nor transient was nor weak;

I loved thee in thine hour of grief,
When few would minister relief.

Farewell!

I loved thee when dark clouds above,
Thy youthful fate obscured-
When few there were to soothe or love,
And much thy soul endured;
But now those clouds away are cleared,

Thy love for me hath disappeared.

Farewell!

Thy sunny smile, thy cheerful brow,
Have altogether fled;

The looks that gladdened once, are now
Cold as the silent dead;

E'en changed to me appears that voice
Which once could bid my heart rejoice.

It

Farewell!

may be now while Fortune strews
Thy youthful path with flow'rs,
And pleasures throng with varied hues
To deck the passing hours-

It may be that unworthy pride

Hath turned thine early love aside.

Farewell!

If Fortune's smiles can change thy heart,

And drive thy love away,

'Tis better for us we should part,

Than feel love's slow decay;

For Love is an undying flame,

That smiles or frowns should never tame!

Farewell!

'Tis bitter thus to break the link

That bound my heart to thine, Nor more upon that form to think, Which once I deemed was mine;

F

But better far to feel this grief,

Than trust to love so vain and brief.

Farewell!

Then, fare thee well!-when mem❜ry brings

The clouded past to view,

And hope no more with fleeting wings

Will paint the future true—

Perchance remembrance then will dwell

On HIM who only loved too well.

Farewell!