 | The Knight and The Enchantress |  |
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ON MUSIC
BEING PLAYED AT THE PALACE AT ANTWERP AT NIGHT, DURING THE SIEGE.
Cease, cease those festal and triumphal tones,
There is an echo of long-deepening groans
Upon the winds of mournful midnight borne;
But ill it suits with brattling tromp and horn.
There is an echo of long-deepening groans
Upon the winds of mournful midnight borne;
But ill it suits with brattling tromp and horn.
Low sounds of Death accost the startled ear;—
Distract them not—they claim one pitying tear.
Oh! hush the music in the royal hall,
Let it sink slow in many a dying fall.
Distract them not—they claim one pitying tear.
Oh! hush the music in the royal hall,
Let it sink slow in many a dying fall.
The Brave, with foreheads ploughed and bosoms gored,
Turn from their old companions of the sword,
Their Brethren of the Battle—turn and weep,
While through their veins cold mortal shudderings creep!
Turn from their old companions of the sword,
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While through their veins cold mortal shudderings creep!
Hark! hear ye not their smothered moans and cries?
Silence those soul-bewildering harmonies.
Oh! they have poured their blood for sceptred state,
Some honours vain let that for them abate!
Silence those soul-bewildering harmonies.
Oh! they have poured their blood for sceptred state,
Some honours vain let that for them abate!
For that, life's holiest ties they've sundered wide—
Its tenderest charities have cast aside;—
For that, they've stemmed the storm of War's red field;
Shall that for them not one vain pleasure yield?
Its tenderest charities have cast aside;—
For that, they've stemmed the storm of War's red field;
Shall that for them not one vain pleasure yield?
There, on their narrow pallets stretched, they lie,
While every pulse with torturing pangs throbs high;
Till in one agony—the deadliest—last—
A thousand agonies have fiercely past!
While every pulse with torturing pangs throbs high;
Till in one agony—the deadliest—last—
A thousand agonies have fiercely past!
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May still, small whispers pierce the incumbent gloom,
And chase the horrors darkening round their doom;
Horrors their homicidal service owned,—
Now be they cancelled, banished and atoned!
And chase the horrors darkening round their doom;
Horrors their homicidal service owned,—
Now be they cancelled, banished and atoned!
Perchance their fevered fancy may rejoice
In the soft echoes of some well-known voice;
Still let them greet the fondly-dreaming ear,
Sweeter than all the music joy can hear.
In the soft echoes of some well-known voice;
Still let them greet the fondly-dreaming ear,
Sweeter than all the music joy can hear.
Hushed are the loud artillery hurricanes;
Be silenced too the afar-resounding strains,
That cheer the soldier in the savage strife,—
But soothe not his last-lingering hour of life!
Be silenced too the afar-resounding strains,
That cheer the soldier in the savage strife,—
But soothe not his last-lingering hour of life!
Yea! silenced be the stormy-rolling drum,—
The stars—the holy stars of midnight come;
And shrinking from those glad, unholy sounds,
Weep tears of light on yon red battle-grounds.
The stars—the holy stars of midnight come;
And shrinking from those glad, unholy sounds,
Weep tears of light on yon red battle-grounds.
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Meek Hope! o'er these sad hours shed down, like balm,
Thy sweet—thy solemn—thine adoring calm—
While slow they roll, loaded with Night and Death,
Though winged from yon proud dome on Music's breath!
Thy sweet—thy solemn—thine adoring calm—
While slow they roll, loaded with Night and Death,
Though winged from yon proud dome on Music's breath!
(Meek Hope!—not such as draws a troubled birth
From this our troubled and vexatious earth;
But such as hath her starry home above;—
Even such as lives by Faith, and leans on Love!)
From this our troubled and vexatious earth;
But such as hath her starry home above;—
Even such as lives by Faith, and leans on Love!)
Cease—cease those festal—those triumphal tones;
Hark to those echoes of long-deepening groans!
On human sympathies they well may call;
Oh! hush the music in the Royal Hall!
Hark to those echoes of long-deepening groans!
On human sympathies they well may call;
Oh! hush the music in the Royal Hall!
FINIS.
| The Knight and The Enchantress | |