"The famish'd raven snuffs the promis'd feast, "And hoarslier croaks for blood-'twill flow." "Forbid it, heaven! "O shield my suffering country!-Shield it," pray'd The agonizing priest. THE FIELD OF BATTLE. FAINTLY bray'd the battle's roar Wounds and death were left behind. The war-fiend curs'd the sunken day, While, scarcely lighting to the prey, The field, so late the hero's pride, Was now with various carnage spread; And floated with a crimson tide, That drench'd the dying and the dead. O'er the sad scene of dreariest view, Maria, sorrow's early child; By duty led, for every vein Was warm'd by Hymen's purest flame; With Edgar o'er the wint'ry main She, lovely, faithful wanderer, came. For well she thought, a friend so dear Though look'd for long-in chill affright, She heard, and clasp'd him to her breast, Too soon in few-but deadly words, She prest to hear-she caught the tale- She sprung to search the fatal field. O'er the sad scene in dire amaze She went with courage not her ownOn many a corpse she cast her gazeAnd turn'd her ear to many a groan. Drear anguish urged her to press Full many a hand, as wild she mourn'd ;-Of comfort glad, the drear caress The damp, chill, dying hand return'd. Her ghastly hope was well nigh fled- And gor'd with many a grisly wound. She knew she sunk-the night-bird scream'd, -The moon withdrew her troubled light, And left the fair,-though fall'n she seem'dTo worse than death-and deepest night. SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE, BORN 1723.-DIED 1780. THE LAWYER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MUSE. As, by some tyrant's stern command, eyes below; There, melting at the well-known view, Companion of my tender age, Where fervent bees, with humming voice, And aged elms with awful bend How blest my days, my thoughts how free, Then all was joyous, all was young, These scenes must charm me now no more. In frighted streets their orgies hold; Shakspeare no more, thy sylvan son, Pope's heaven strung lyre, nor Waller's ease, Nor Milton's mighty self must please: |