O may that Power, who hears my sad lamenting, To faith's firm bonds, and love's forgiving sigh! Sleep on, dear babe! no thoughts like these oppress thee, Those tranquil looks suspend thy mother's anguish, NAPOLEON AT THE KREMLIN. BY MRS. CHARLES GORE. DEEPLY shadowed by the night, On the platformed tower he stands; With the dream of conquered lands, And its soaring eagle bears Its boast of blood and tears Unto heaven! Hushed in silent midnight sleep The city lies below; And the watch-call hoarse and deep, As he paceth to and fro, Breaks sternly its mighty repose! Lo! kindling one by one, A thousand lights are shewn,— Each meteor-like and lone Brightly glows! "Say! hath the licensed hour, With years of danger bought,- To my hardy veterans taught That the stain of outrage lies On our name? "Or doth my warriors' mirth 'Tis a beacon-fire, whose glow "Lo! its fury rageth higher, Columned upward to the sky, Like that pyramid of fire Which shone, of old, on high, To pilot the loved of the Lord! Soldiers of Fame! come forth,— Let the Empress of the North Note your valour's daring worth At my word! "Tear down each smoking wall Of her city doomed to death, Ere her towers unaided fall, Lie bravely earthed beneath, Where the bulwarks of her strength darkly nod!" "Invader! stay thy hand,— By the patriots of the land, "Dreamedst thou with patient grief They would look on, to see The conqueror of their chief Issue forth his proud decree, To humble the city of their sires? Rather, let ruin come! Let each altar-hallowed dome, Let each loved, and peaceful home "Hark! the gathering flames roar round Like the ocean's troubled bed! With a fiery shower, the ground And the stifling air are red ; Blazing fragments fall fast on the tower, Where the stores of ordnance lie Prompt for death." "Invader! fly : "Tis a nation's rallying cry Rules the hour! "The sulphurous smoke pours down To mock the conqueror's flight Flames gather like a crown Round the Kremlin's sacred height: Invader! thy minions shall find That before the blazing war WITH A PRESENT OF A KNIFE. A knife, dear girl, cuts love, they say; Can separate what ne'er was joined. THE OLD MAN'S REVERIE. SOOTHED by the self-same ditty, see Where unobserved he finds a joy At once it comes, by memory's power, Reserved for twilight's darkling hour, And as with thoughts of former years None wonder at an old man's tears, Think not he doats because he Conclusion, ah! how wrong! weeps; Reason with grief joint empire keeps, And oft in age a helpless pride With jealous weakness pines, (To second infancy allied) And every woe refines. He ponders on his infant years, T |