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352

FUNERAL SONG.

Long, through evil and through good,
With unshaken fortitude;

Of peace in battle twice achieved;
Of her fiercest foe subdued,

And Europe from the yoke relieved,
Upon that Brabantine plain :
Such the proud, the virtuous story,
Such the great, the endless glory,
Of her father's splendid reign.
He, who wore the sable mail,
Might at this heroic tale,
Wish himself on earth again.

One who reverently, for thee,
Raised the strain of bridal verse,
Flower of Brunswick! mournfully
Lays a garland on thy herse.

FINIS.

TABLE OF FIRST LINES.

A BEAUTIFUL and laughing thing
Alas! the days of chivalry are fled

Alone beneath the moon I roved

An anxious, lingering, perilous voyage past
And is there glory from the Heavens departed
And this is death! how cold and still

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And thou hast walk'd about-how strange a story

A Pilgrim of the Harp was he

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Apollo has peep'd through the shutter

Are other eyes beguiling, Love

Art thou a thing of mortal birth

Ask'st thou my home? my pathway wouldst thou know

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As sweeps the bark before the breeze

As

At midnight, in his guarded tent

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young and pretty as the bird

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354

TABLE OF FIRST LINES.

Behold this ruin!-'twas a skull

Bird of the heavens! whose matchless eye Bright, bright is the eye of the wild gazelle 'Britannia rules the waves'

Clouds gather'd o'er the dark blue sky
Cold is the breast, extinct the vital spark
Could'st thou but know what 'tis to weep

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Fare thee well, soul of sweet romance! farewell
Farewell-a long farewell to thee

Father, whither art thou gone

Fill the goblet again! for I never before

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Forget thee?"-if to dream by night

Graceful "Phantom of delight!"

Green wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest

Harp of the winds! what music may compare

He must be rich whom I could love

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How beautiful upon the wave

Howe'er the sceptic scoffs, the poet sighs

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How may this little tablet feign
How vain to cast my love away

I call upon thee in the night

but they had pass'd away

I came,
I do not love thee!-no! I do not love thee

If I had thought thou couldst have died

I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone

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I heard thy fate without a tear

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I knew thee not! then wherefore gaze

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I lookit east-I lookit west

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I love my love in the morning

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I love this glad season, as it yearly comes

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In a young lady's heart once a secret was lurking

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I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name

Is she not beautiful, although so pale

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TABLE OF FIRST LINES.

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It was a lonely hamlet, where the trees
It was an aged man, who stood .

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Long years have pass'd since last I stray'd
Love is a plant of holier birth

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Magnificent creature! so stately and bright
May, queen of blossoms

Memorial frail of youthful years

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Methinks it is good to be here

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'Mid shouts that hail'd her from the shore
Morn on the waters!—and, purple and bright
'My birthday'-what a different sound
My father is dead, and my mother is dead
My friend, I gave a glad assent

My mother's grave, my mother's grave

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My mother's voice! how oft doth creep

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Night is the time for rest

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No circling hills may sweeping form

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Not a drum was heard,-not a funeral note

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O glorious is that morning sky
Oh, ask me not how long thy gentle love
Oh! come to my slumber

Oh! gentle shade,-reproach me not

Oh! how could fancy crown with thee

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