Hast thou caught the gleam of the conqueror's crest? My babe, that I cradled on my breast! Wouldst thou spring from thy mother's arms with joy? -That sight hath cost thee a father, boy!" For in the rocky strait beneath, They had heap'd high the piles of death "They have cross'd the torrent, and on they come! Woe for the mountain hearth and home! There, where the hunter laid by his spear, There, where the lyre hath been sweet to hear, There, where I sang thee, fair babe! to sleep, Nought but the blood-stain our trace shall keep!" And now the horn's loud blast was heard, Till even the upper air was stirr'd, "Hark! they bring music, my joyous child! Still!-be thou still!-there are brave men low- But nearer came the clash of steel, "Hear'st thou the sound of their savage mirth ?- And from the arrowy peak she sprung, THE FAREWELL TO THE DEAD. The following piece is founded on a beautiful part of the Greek funeral service, in which relatives and friends are invited to embrace the deceased (whose face is uncovered) and to bid their final adieu. -See Christian Researches in the Mediterranean. -""Tis hard to lay into the earth COME near!-ere yet the dust WILSON. Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow, Come near!-once more let kindred lips be press'd Look yet on this young face! What shall the beauty, from amongst us gone, Dim grows the semblance on man's heart impress'dCome near, and bear the beautiful to rest! Ye weep, and it is well! For tears befit earth's partings!-Yesterday, Where'er he moved-the welcome and the bless'd!- Look yet on him whose eye Meets yours no more, in sadness or in mirth! The beings born to die? But not where death has power may love be bless'd— Come near! and bear ye the beloved to rest! How may the mother's heart Dwell on her son, and dare to hope again? Is he not gone, our brightest and our best? Look on him! is he laid To slumber from the harvest or the chase?- Death holds not long unchanged his fairest guest!· His voice of mirth hath ceased Amidst the vineyards! there is left no place Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast; Yet mourn ye not as they Whose spirit's light is quench'd-for him the past All is not here of our beloved and bless'd- |