The battle of Niagara second edition - enlarged : with other poems |
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The Lyre of the Winds.
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 | The battle of Niagara |  |
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The Lyre of the Winds.
HARK! 'tis the harp's wild minstrel tone,Convulsive—quivering—strange and lone:
Now bursting on the ear—now gone—
Now piping 'mid the breeze, as tho' it told
That some bright spirit had to heaven flown,
And angel-trumpets had its welcome blown!
And now, so full of pomp—so deep—so bold,
So strong—so steady were its numbers roll'd,
As if Prediction smote its trembling chords,
And with the weight of prophecy oppressed them;
Then such rich tones concealed her fearful words,
As if dear Pity had herself expressed them:
So indistinct these murmurs were,
They seemed, sometimes, still less than air;
Sometimes—as if the shrinking strings
Were swept by Phrensy's burning wings—
Now with an unknown spirit speaking,
Now ringing fierce and sharp! now low,
With startling nearness, pealing now,
Now—distant—faint—and sad—and slow—
Like Feeling's murmurs, when her heart is breaking:
Or sounds we dream of, when our souls are waking.
Now like the flute, whose trancing note,
In visions, o'er our memories float,
As all along the trembling air
It seems to send its spirit there;
And now—the pipe's deep, drowsy, breath,
Complaining like the march of death—
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Echoing along the clear blue sky!
And now—a lightly shouting strain,
As if, across the slumbering main,
Green Erin's Bards—a shadowy train—
Were tuning all their harps again:
And now—the ardent—quivering lyre
Flashing and chiming higher—higher—
And now the sea-nymph's winding shell,
Stealing like sighs through ocean cell—
From where the minstrel mermaids dwell:
Now a silvery sob, as of elf-babe straying;
Now distant, yet clear, like fairy-steed neighing,
When it springs on the air with a spirited shake,
And is answered again from the hare-bell and brake;
And bright little warriors jump up—all awake!
When the cry of their bugles are heard for the strife,
And it gallops abroad full of laughter, and life;
When a diamond-edged scymetar swings from each side,
And their streamers sing clearly and sharp as they ride;
When Echo leans forward and mimicks the sound,
And Melody leaps to their helmet's fine ringing;
And the minstrels of fairy-land, prancing around,
On cymbal-hoofed chargers—are shouting and singing,
And the sweet, bustling sounds are all dancing and light,
As if spirits of harmony mingled in fight,
And clank'd their ton'd armour, and pour'd their sweet breath,
In a struggle for Melody's wind-woven wreath.
The reader is desired to spell warriour, terrour, and such words with an u, throughout the whole book. I am not particularly partial to Dr. Johnson, but I have sufficient respect to the best standard in our language, to follow it, even in trifles—and I did follow it, but the improvements of the printer have rendered this note necessary.
| The battle of Niagara | |