 | The battle of Niagara |  |
He wore high plumes—a glittering vest—
And to his half uncovered breast,
An antique harp was strongly prest:
And, ever and anon, its strings
Gave musick to his wanderings:
While he would pause to see unrolled,
O'er heaven's blue arch, the crimson fold—
And purple plumes, and wings of fire—
And visions—'till his trembling lyre
Would shake a distant, thrilling note,
Like some sweet pipe in heaven afloat;
And then as calmly die away
As sunset hues in fading day—
As rose-tints on the quiet stream
Awakened by a passing beam:
As flashing wings that flit in play
Around the couch of infant day:
As songs that Evening hears, when all
Are listening to the quiet fall
Of airy melodies, that come,
From heaven, in one sweet murmuring hum.
And he would pause, and o'er it bend,
As if it were his only friend:
And he would send it trembling round—
With touch—so magical and free—
So full of sweet simplicity—
And tenderness—and ecstacy—
It seemed, indeed, no earthly sound.
And to his half uncovered breast,
An antique harp was strongly prest:
And, ever and anon, its strings
Gave musick to his wanderings:
While he would pause to see unrolled,
O'er heaven's blue arch, the crimson fold—
And purple plumes, and wings of fire—
And visions—'till his trembling lyre
Would shake a distant, thrilling note,
Like some sweet pipe in heaven afloat;
And then as calmly die away
As sunset hues in fading day—
As rose-tints on the quiet stream
Awakened by a passing beam:
As flashing wings that flit in play
Around the couch of infant day:
As songs that Evening hears, when all
Are listening to the quiet fall
Of airy melodies, that come,
From heaven, in one sweet murmuring hum.
And he would pause, and o'er it bend,
As if it were his only friend:
And he would send it trembling round—
183
So full of sweet simplicity—
And tenderness—and ecstacy—
It seemed, indeed, no earthly sound.
| The battle of Niagara | |