As rather clever:

In the last quarter are my eyes,
You see it by their form and size;
Is it not time then to be wise?

Or now or never.
Fairest that ever sprang from Eve!
While Time allows the short reprieve,
Just look at me! would you believe

'Twas once a lover?
I cannot clear the five-bar gate
But, trying first its timber's state,
Climb stiffly up, take breath, and wait
To trundle over.

Thro' gallopade1 I cannot swing
The entangling blooms of Beauty's spring:
I cannot say the tender thing,

10

15

Be't true or false, 20

And am beginning to opine
Those girls are only half-divine
Whose waists yon wicked boys entwine
In giddy waltz.

I fear that arm above that shoulder,
I wish them wiser, graver, older,
Sedater, and no harm if colder

And panting less.

1 A kind of dance.

25

Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

While the battle rages loud and long,

But redder yet that light shall glow,
On Linden's hills of stainèd snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun,
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who 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 feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

20

25

30

Where the stormy winds do blow;

1 When this ode was written England was arrayed singly against France and the greater part of Europe, and her safety depended on the maintenance of her supremacy on the sea.

Robert Blake (1599-1657), a great English admiral, particularly noted for his victories over the Dutch in 1652 and 1657.

Horatio Nelson (afterwards Viscount), the greatest of England's admirals (1758-1805), who was killed in the Battle of Trafalgar. In the original version of the poem Sir Richard Grenville's name was used instead of Nelson's, who was then living.

1 Campbell was near Hohenlinden, a village in upper

It was ten of April morn by the chime;
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.

10

15

Bavaria, at the time of the battle there in 1800, between the victorious French and the allied Bavarians and Austrians.

1 An English expedition under Sir Hyde Parker, with Nelson second in command, was sent to the Baltic against a confederacy formed by Russia, Sweden and Denmark. The Battle of the Baltic was fought on April 2, 1801, and Nelson, rather than Parker, was the hero of the day.

Like leviathans afloat

Lay their bulwarks on the brine,

While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line:

Men of England! who inherit
Rights that cost your sires their blood,
Men whose undegenerate spirit

Has been proved on land and flood:
By the foes ye've fought uncounted,
By the glorious deeds ye've done,
Trophies captured-breaches mounted,
Navies conquered-kingdoms won!
Yet, remember, England gathers

Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame,
If the patriotism of your fathers
Glow not in your hearts the same.
What are monuments of bravery,
Where no public virtues bloom?
What avail in lands of slavery,

Trophied temples, arch and tomb?
Pageants!-Let the world revere us

For our people's rights and laws,
And the breasts of civic heroes
Bared in Freedom's holy cause.

Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory,
Sydney's matchless fame is yours,—
Martyrs in heroic story,

Worth a hundred Agincourts!

We're the sons of sires that baffled Crowned and mitred tyranny: They defied the field and scaffold For their birthrights-so will we!

SONG

TO THE EVENING STAR

Star that bringest home the bee,

And sett'st the weary labourer free!

If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,

That send'st it from above,

5

10

15

20

25

Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow, 5 Are sweet as hers we love.

While the wine cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore!2

Come to the luxuriant skies,

Whilst the landscape's odours rise,

Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,

60

And songs, when toil is done,

10

From cottages whose smoke unstirred Curls yellow in the sun.

Star of love's soft interviews,

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride

Parted lovers on thee muse;

Once so faithful and so true,

Their remembrancer in Heaven

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65

On the deck of fame that died,

Of thrilling vows thou art,

With the gallant good Riou,3

Too delicious to be riven

While the billow mournful rolls,

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!

And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave!

70

A Danish sea-port town about twenty miles from Copenhagen.

Captain Riou, who distinguished himself in an important part of the engagement.

By absence from the heart.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER

(1804)

A Chieftan to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry.'

Thomas Moore

1779-1852

AS SLOW OUR SHIP

(From Irish Melodies, 1807-1834) As slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still look'd back To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loath we part from all we love, From all the links that bind us; So turn our hearts, where'er we rove, To those we've left behind us!

When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years
We talk, with joyous seeming,

And smiles that might as well be tears,
So faint, so sad their beaming;
While mem'ry brings us back again
Each early tie that twin'd us,
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then
To those we've left behind us!

And, when in other climes we meet

Some isle or vale enchanting,

Where all looks flow'ry, mild and sweet,
And nought but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss,
If Heav'n had but assign'd us
To live and die in scenes like this,
With some we've left behind us!
As trav'llers oft look back at eve,
When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon the light they leave
Still faint behind them glowing-
So, when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consign'd us,
We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that's left behind us.

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH

TARA'S HALLS1

(From the same)

The harp that once, through Tara's Halls

The soul of music shed,

Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,

As if that soul were fled:

So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er;

And hearts, that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more!

One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water:

The harp of Tara swells;

10

The chord, alone, that breaks at night,

50

And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-oh, my daughter!"

Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing:

Is when some heart indignant breaks,

15

To show that still she lives!

The waters wild went o'er his child,

55

And he was left lamenting.

The palace of the ancient kings of Ireland, which is said to have stood on the Hill of Tara, in County Meath, Ireland. Cord, string.