Thomas Campbell
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The Soldier's Dream
¶OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd,And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd;The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
¶When reposing that night on my pallet of strawBy the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain,At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw;And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
¶Methought from the battle-field's dreadful arrayFar, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track:'Twas Autumn,—and sunshine arose on the wayTo the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
¶I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oftIn life's morning march, when my bosom was young;I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.[771]Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I sworeFrom my home and my weeping friends never to part;My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er,And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart.
¶'Stay—stay with us!—rest!—thou art weary and worn!'—And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;—But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
453 To THE EVENING STAR
¶STAR that bringest home the bee,And sett'st the weary labourer free!If any star shed peace, 'tis ThouThat send'st it from above.Appearing when Heaven's breath and browAre sweet as hers we love.
¶Come to the luxuriant skies,Whilst the landscape's odours rise,Whilst far-off lowing herds are heardAnd songs when toil is done,From cottages whose smoke unstirr'dCurls yellow in the sun.
¶Star of love's soft interviews,Parted lovers on thee muse;Their remembrancer in HeavenOf thrilling vows thou art,Too delicious to be rivenBy absence from the heart.
454 Ode to Winter
¶Germany, December, i-8oo
¶WHEN first the fiery-mantled SunHis heavenly race began to run,Round the earth and ocean blueHis children four the Seasons flew:—First, in green apparel dancing,[772]The young Spring smiled with angel-grace;Rosy Summer next advancing,Rush'd into her sire's embrace—Her bright-hair'd sire, who bade her keepFor ever nearest to his smiles,On Calpe's olive-shaded steepOr India's citron-cover'd isles.More remote, and buxom-brown,The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throne;A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown,A ripe sheaf bound her zone.
¶But howling Winter fled afarTo hills that prop the polar star;And loves on deer-borne car to rideWith barren darkness at his side,Round the shore where loud LofodenWhirls to death the roaring whale,Round the hall where Runic OdinHowls his war-song to the gale—Save when adown the ravaged globeHe travels on his native storm,Deflowering Nature's grassy robeAnd trampling on her faded form;Till light's returning Lord assumeThe shaft that drives him to his northern field,Of power to pierce his raven plumeAnd crystal-cover'd shield.
¶O, sire of storms! whose savage earThe Lapland drum delights to hear,When Frenzy with her bloodshot eyeImplores thy dreadful deity—Archangel! Power of desolation 1Fast descending as thou art,Say, hath mortal invocationSpells to touch thy stony heart:Then, sullen Winter! hear my prayer,And gently rule the ruin'd year;Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bareNor freeze the wretch's falling tear:[773]To shuddering Want's unmantled bedThy horror-breathing agues cease to lend,And gently on the orphan headOf Innocence descend.
¶But chiefly spare, O king of clouds!The sailor on his airy shrouds,When wrecks and beacons strew the steep,And spectres walk along the deep.Milder yet thy snowy breezesPour on yonder tented shores,Where the Rhine's broad billow freezesOr the dark-brown Danube roars.O, winds of Winter! list ye thereTo many a deep and dying groan?Or start, ye demons of the midnight air,At shrieks and thunders louder than yourAlas! e'en your unhallow'd breathMay spare the victim fallen low;But Man will ask no truce to death,No bounds to human woe.
Lord Ullin's Daughter
¶A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands boundCries 'Boatman, do not tarry!And I'll give thee a silver poundTo row us o'er the ferry!'
¶'Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle.This dark and stormy water?''O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.
¶'And fast before her father's menThree days we've fled together,For should he find us in the glen,My blood would stain the heather.
¶'His horsemen hard behind us ride—Should they our steps discover,[774]Then who will cheer my bonny bride,When they have slain her lover?'
¶Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,'I'll go, my chief, I'm ready:It is not for your silver bright,But for your winsome lady:—
¶'And by my word! the bonny birdIn danger shall not tarry;So though the waves are raging whiteI'll row you o'er the ferry.'
¶By this the storm grew loud apace,The water-wraith was shrieking;And in the scowl of heaven each faceGrew dark as they were speaking.
¶But still as wilder blew the wind,And as the night grew drearer,Adown the glen rode armed men,Their trampling sounded nearer.
¶'O haste thee, haste!' the lady cries,'Though tempests round us gather;I'll meet the raging of the skies,But not an angry father.'
¶The boat has left a stormy land,A stormy sea before her,—When, O! too strong for human handThe tempest gather'd o'er her.
¶And still they row'd amidst the roarOf waters fast prevailing:Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,—His wrath was changed to wailing.
¶For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shadeHis child he did discover:—[775]One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,And one was round her lover.
¶'Come back! come back!' he cried in grief,'Across this stormy water:And I'll forgive your Highland chief,My daughter!—O, my daughter!'
¶'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore,Return or aid preventing:The waters wild went o'er his child,And he was left lamenting.
The River of Life
¶THE more we live, more brief appearOur life's succeeding stages:A day to childhood seems a year,And years like passing ages.
¶The gladsome current of our youth,Ere passion yet disorders,Steals lingering like a river smoothAlong its grassy borders.
¶But as the care-worn cheeks grow wan,And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,Ye Stars, that measure life to man,Why seem your courses quicker?
¶When joys have lost their bloom and breathAnd life itself is vapid,Why, as we reach the Falls of Death,Feel we its tide more rapid ?
¶It may be strange—yet who would changeTime's course to slower speeding,When one by one our friends have goneAnd left our bosoms bleeding?[776]Heaven gives our years of fading strengthIndemnifying fleetness;And those of youth, a seeming length,Proportion'd to their sweetness.
To THE EVENING STAR
¶GEM of the crimson-colour'd Even,Companion of retiring day,Why at the closing gates of heaven,Beloved Star, dost thou delay?
¶So fair thy pensile beauty burnsWhen soft the tear of twilight flows;So due thy plighted love returnsTo chambers brighter than the rose;
¶To Peace, to Pleasure, and to LoveSo kind a star thou seem'st to be,Sure some enamour'd orb aboveDescends and burns to meet with thee!
¶Thine is the breathing, blushing hourWhen all unheavenly passions fly,Chased by the soul-subduing powerOf Love's delicious witchery.
¶O! sacred to the fall of dayQueen of propitious stars, appear,And early rise, and long delay,When Caroline herself is here!
¶Shine on her chosen green resortWhose trees the sunward summit crown,And wanton flowers, that well may courtAn angel's feet to tread them down:—
¶Shine on her sweedy scented roadThou star of evening's purple dome,That lead'st the nightingale abroad,And guid'st the pilgrim to his home.[777]Shine where my charmer's sweeter breathEmbalms the soft exhaling dew,Where dying winds a sigh bequeathTo kiss the cheek of rosy hue:—
¶Where, winnow'd by the gentle airHer silken tresses darkly flowAnd fall upon her brow so fair,Like shadows on the mountain snow.
¶Thus, ever thus, at day's declineIn converse sweet to wander far—O bring with thee my Caroline.And thou shalt be my Ruling Star!
The Maid of Neidpath
¶EARL March look'd on his dying child,And, smit with grief to view her—The youth, he cried, whom I exiledShall be restored to woo her.
¶She's at the window many an hourHis coming to discover:And he look'd up to Ellen's bowerAnd she look'd on her lover—
¶But ah! so pale, he knew her not,Though her smile on him was dwelling—And am I then forgot—forgot?It broke the heart of Ellen.
¶In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs,Her cheek is cold as ashes;Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyesTo lift their silken lashes.
Ye Mariners of England
¶YE Mariners of EnglandThat guard our native seas![778]Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,The battle and the breeze!Your glorious standard launch againTo match another foe:And sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and longAnd the stormy winds do blow.
¶The spirits of your fathersShall start from every wave—For the deck it was their field of fame,And Ocean was their grave:Where Blake and mighty Nelson fellYour manly hearts shall glow,As ye sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and longAnd the stormy winds do blow.
¶Britannia needs no bulwarks,No towers along the steep;Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,Her home is on the deep.With thunders from her native oakShe quells the floods below—As they roar on the shore,When the stormy winds do blow;When the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.
¶The meteor flag of EnglandShall yet terrific burn;Till danger's troubled night departAnd the star of peace return.Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!Our song and feast shall flowTo the fame of your name,When the storm has ceased to blow;When the fiery fight is heard no more,And the storm has ceased to blow.
Battle of the Baltic
¶OF Nelson and the NorthSing the glorious day's renown,When to battle fierce came forthAll the might of Denmark's crown,And her arms along the deep proudly shone;By each gun the lighted brandIn a bold determined hand,And the Prince of all the landLed them on.
¶Like leviathans afloatLay their bulwarks on the brine;While the sign of battle flewOn the lofty British line:It was ten of April morn by the chime:As they drifted on their pathThere was silence deep as death;And the boldest held his breathFor a time.
¶But the might of England flush'dTo anticipate the scene;And her van the fleeter rush'dO'er the deadly space between.'Hearts of oak!' our captains cried, when eachFrom its adamantine lipsSpread a death-shade round the ships,Like the hurricane eclipseOf the sun.
¶Again! again! again!And the havoc did not slack,Till a feeble cheer the DaneTo our cheering sent us back;—Their shots along the deep slowly boom:—Then ceased—and all is wail,As they strike the shatter'd sail;Or in conflagration paleLight the gloom.[780]Out spoke the victor thenAs he hail'd them o'er the wave,'Ye are brothers! ye are men!And we conquer but to save:—So peace instead of death let us bring:But yield, proud foe, thy fleetWith the crews, at England's feet,And make submission meetTo our King.'
¶Then Denmark bless'd our chiefThat he gave her wounds repose;And the sounds of joy and griefFrom her people wildly rose,As death withdrew his shades from the day:While the sun look'd smiling brightO'er a wide and woeful sight,Where the fires of funeral lightDied away.
¶Now joy, old England, raise!For the tidings of thy might,By the festal cities' blaze,Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;And yet amidst that joy and uproar,Let us think of them that sleepFull many a fathom deepBy thy wild and stormy steep,Elsinore!
¶Brave hearts! to Britain's prideOnce so faithful and so true,On the deck of fame that died,With the gallant good Riou:Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave!While the billow mournful rollsAnd the mermaid's song condolesSinging glory to the soulsOf the brave!
Hc-HENLINDEN
¶ON Linden, when the sun was low,All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;And dark as winter was the flowOf Iser, rolling rapidly.
¶But Linden saw another sight,When the drum beat at dead of nightCommanding fires of death to lightThe darkness of her scenery.
¶By torch and trumpet fast array'dEach horseman drew his battle-blade,And furious every charger neigh'dTo join the dreadful revelry.
¶Then shook the hills with thunder riven;Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven;And louder than the bolts of HeavenFar flash'd the red artillery.
¶But redder yet that light shall glowOn Linden's hills of stained snow;And bloodier yet the torrent flowOf Iser, rolling rapidly.
¶'Tis morn; but scarce yon *evel sunCan pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,Where furious Frank and fiery HunShout in their sulphurous canopy.
¶The combat deepens. On, ye BraveWho rush to glory, or the grave!Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave,And charge with all thy chivalry!
¶Few, few shall part, where many meet!The snow shall be their winding-sheet,And every turf beneath their feetShall be a soldier's sepulchre.