 | The battle of Niagara |  |
Such were the sounds that ye would hear
When that strange boy would call the tear:
A deep and low complaining tone—
Like lover's vows, when all alone,
Upon some budding green he kneels,
And listens to the sound that steals
From some fresh woodbine-lattice near,
When all that to his soul is dear,
Is at her grateful vesper hymn—
When bright eyes in their prayers grow dim:
Sounds faintly uttered—half suppressed—
Like fountains whispering to the blest:—
Or the subduing smothered tones
That sob upon the air like groans,
Of those who broken-hearted bend
Before some youthful—gallant friend:
Of those who kneel, and hold their breath,
By loved ones touched with sudden death:
Or sounds like chanting from a tomb,
When spirits sit amid the gloom
And melancholy garlands weave;
And twine the drooping lily wreath—
And withered wild-flowers from the heath,
To crown the maiden brow, that lies
Unkissed by Nature's mysteries:
To sprinkle o'er a virgin's bed
The blossoms that untimely shed—
Have budded—flourished to deceive.
When that strange boy would call the tear:
A deep and low complaining tone—
Like lover's vows, when all alone,
Upon some budding green he kneels,
And listens to the sound that steals
From some fresh woodbine-lattice near,
When all that to his soul is dear,
Is at her grateful vesper hymn—
When bright eyes in their prayers grow dim:
Sounds faintly uttered—half suppressed—
Like fountains whispering to the blest:—
199
That sob upon the air like groans,
Of those who broken-hearted bend
Before some youthful—gallant friend:
Of those who kneel, and hold their breath,
By loved ones touched with sudden death:
Or sounds like chanting from a tomb,
When spirits sit amid the gloom
And melancholy garlands weave;
And twine the drooping lily wreath—
And withered wild-flowers from the heath,
To crown the maiden brow, that lies
Unkissed by Nature's mysteries:
To sprinkle o'er a virgin's bed
The blossoms that untimely shed—
Have budded—flourished to deceive.
| The battle of Niagara | |