BESIDE his path the beauteous Hudson rolled In silence, musingly 'Would it were thus With me. My spirit shares not now, as wont, Methinks there is some weight within, sinking My better thoughts. Would now that I might lead * ANDRE. 67 It was a lowly room; And the stern heavy tread, that by the door And he was there; the same, with his high brow, Amid the bending trees; and the bright band Each thought, came rising up in peerless grace, At one dark thought. 'Twas not that he must die; But that he should not die a soldier's death: The morning came, And he stood up to die ;-the beautiful With his high brow unmoved. And the full soul Beamed in his eye unconquered, and his lip Was motionless, as is the forest leaf In the calm prelude to the storm. He died; And the stern warriors, to his country foes, Wept for his fate. And who, that e'er had hopes, Weeps not for him, meeting such misery In glory's path? GATHERING OF THE COVENANTERS. BY GEORGE F. MAGOUN. No proud cathedral bell the prayer-call bearing, All sights and sounds, and their true hearts unerring The sunset-wane of day's resplendent glory, flowers, And breathed inspiring fragrance on the air, A murmur sent through all their blossomy bowers, "To prayer! To prayer!" Not mid the pomp of serried arch and column Wild, and yet Sabbath-like! Huge rocky masses Were piled that yawning cavern-temple round, Where the fierce earthquake in its rifting passes A home had found! The Patriarch came, his long white locks revealing The mother came. Her woman's heart will falter As priestly hands her baptized infant lift, And still the white-robed maidens at the altar Blush at the gift! Stay!--A swift banner-plaid went flashing High o'er the rocky verge with sudden gleam, And sullenly a heavy stone fell plashing Upon the stream! |