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And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's throat;
Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand,
“I am Roland! I am Roland! there is victory in the land l’”
Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar
Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more.
Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before I was aware,
Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sunillumined square.
SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE.
LABOR with what zeal we will,
Something uncompleted still
By the bedside, on the stair,
With its menace or its prayer,
Waits, and will not go away;
By the cares of yesterday
Till at length the burden seems
Heavy as the weight of dreams,
And we stand from day to day.
Who, as Northern legends say,
MAIDEN' with the meek, brown eyes,
Standing, with reluctant feet,
Gazing, with a timid glance,
Deep and still, that gliding stream
Then why pause with indecision,
Seest thou shadows sailing by,
Hearest thou voices on the shore,
O, thou child of many prayers!
Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Childhood is the bough, where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered;— Age, the bough with Snows encumbered.
Gather, then, each flower that grows,
Bear a lily in thy hand;
Bear through sorrow, wrong and ruth,
O, that dew, like balm, shall steal
And that smile, like sunshine, dart