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THE CONQUEROR'S SLEEP.
SLEEP 'midst thy banners furld ! Yes! thou art there, upon thy buckler lying, With the soft wind unfelt around thee sighing, Thou chief of hosts, whose trumpet shakes the world! Sleep while the babe sleeps on its mother's breast-Oh! strong is night-for thou too art at rest!
Stillness hath smooth'd thy brow, And now might love keep timid vigils by thee, Now might the foe with stealthy foot draw nigh thee, Alike unconscious and defenceless thou ! Tread lightly, watchers !—now the field is won, Break not the rest of nature's weary son!
Perchance some lovely dream
But thou wilt wake at morn, With thy strong passions to the conflict leaping, And thy dark troubled thoughts, all earth o'ersweep
ing, -So wilt thou rise, oh! thou of woman born! And put thy terrors on, till none may dare Look upon thee—the tired one, slumbering there!
Why, so the peasant sleeps Beneath his vine !-and man must kneel before thee, And for his birthright vainly still implore thee ! Shalt thou be stay'd because thy brother weeps ? -Wake! and forget that ʼmidst a dreaming world, Thou hast lain thus, with all thy banners furld!
Forget that thou, ev'n thou, Hast feebly shiver'd when the wind pass'd o'er thee, And sunk to rest upon the earth which bore thee, And felt the night-dew chill thy fever'd brow! Wake with the trumpet, with the spear press on ! --Yet shall the dust take home its mortal son.
OUR LADY'S WELL.*
Fount of the woods! thou art hid no more,
Fount of the vale ! thou art sought no more
* A beautiful spring in the woods near St. Asaph, formerly covered in with a chapel, now in ruins. It was dedicated to the Virgin, and, according to Pennant, much the resort of pilgrims.
But the herd may drink from thy gushing wave,
his forehead lave, And the woodman seeks thee not in vain-Bright Fount! thou art nature's own again!
Fount of the Virgin's ruin'd shrine !
'Midst the mirthful song of the summer-bird,
Fount of the chapel with ages grey!
“In the Elysium of the ancients, we find none but heroes and persons who had either been fortunate or distinguished on earth ; the children, and apparently the slaves and lower classes, that is to say, Poverty, Misfortune, and Innocence, were banished to the infernal regions."
Chateaubriand, Génie du Christianisme.
Fair wert thou, in the dreams Of elder time, thou land of glorious flowers, And summer-winds, and low-ton'd silvery streams, Dim with the shadows of thy laurel-bowers!
Where, as they pass’d, bright hours Left no faint sense of parting, such as clings To earthly love, and joy in loveliest things!
Fair wert thou, with the light
Of glory, fading fast