 | Abaddon, the spirit of destruction ; and other poems |  |
76
THE CAPTURE OF ANDRE.
'T was the midnight hour, when the Traitor bade
His country's foe adieu,
And broken gleams of moonlight played
The dew-dropp'd foliage through;
The autumnal wind, in gusty sighs,
The twinkling forest fann'd,
While Love seemed stooping from the skies,
To bless a bleeding land.
His country's foe adieu,
And broken gleams of moonlight played
The dew-dropp'd foliage through;
The autumnal wind, in gusty sighs,
The twinkling forest fann'd,
While Love seemed stooping from the skies,
To bless a bleeding land.
Ill-fated chief! youth on thy brow,
Ambition in thy heart,
Fame smiles in gladness on thee now—
Oh, haste not to depart!
A voice comes from the wildwood dim,
But breathes no midnight prayer,
And vague vast forms like shadows swim—
Lo! war and death are there!
Ambition in thy heart,
Fame smiles in gladness on thee now—
Oh, haste not to depart!
A voice comes from the wildwood dim,
But breathes no midnight prayer,
And vague vast forms like shadows swim—
Lo! war and death are there!
Hark to the sound of the measured tread!
Mark yon quick shooting gleam!
Stern hearts are where that flash is shed—
Yon white tents are no dream;
Thy path lies through a host of men
Whose souls are in their swords,
And a cross of shame is in yon glen—
They heed no gentle words.
Mark yon quick shooting gleam!
Stern hearts are where that flash is shed—
Yon white tents are no dream;
77
Whose souls are in their swords,
And a cross of shame is in yon glen—
They heed no gentle words.
Oh! gallant is thy proud array,
But souls as proud as thine,
Like meteor lights, around thy way
In gloom of battle shine.
Beware the scathe of their patriot ire!
Though the Traitor gives thee scope—
Beware the blaze of the beacon fire!
Or thou hast no farther hope.
But souls as proud as thine,
Like meteor lights, around thy way
In gloom of battle shine.
Beware the scathe of their patriot ire!
Though the Traitor gives thee scope—
Beware the blaze of the beacon fire!
Or thou hast no farther hope.
On, on the Briton warrior goes,
And the Traitor bids God speed!
Through the banded line of his sleeping foes—
Young hero! take good heed!
The woods are silent, but life is there,
And the weapons of war are round,
And a lone far cry rings on the air—
Thou art on forbidden ground!
And the Traitor bids God speed!
Through the banded line of his sleeping foes—
Young hero! take good heed!
The woods are silent, but life is there,
And the weapons of war are round,
And a lone far cry rings on the air—
Thou art on forbidden ground!
“Who rides so late?” Three warriors start
From the shattered ravine dun,
And fear sinks on the Briton's heart,
For his camp is almost won.
“Speak out the watchword!” sternly gleam
The bayonets raised on high,—
He looked to wood and field and stream,
But uttered no reply.
From the shattered ravine dun,
And fear sinks on the Briton's heart,
For his camp is almost won.
“Speak out the watchword!” sternly gleam
The bayonets raised on high,—
He looked to wood and field and stream,
But uttered no reply.
78
He marched to death with a daunted heart.
For his was the doom of shame;
And his spirit shrunk from earth to part
With a brand upon his name:
And his sternest foe bewailed the fate
That stained his pride of mind,
As he stood in his last hour desolate,
To death, not shame, resigned.
For his was the doom of shame;
And his spirit shrunk from earth to part
With a brand upon his name:
And his sternest foe bewailed the fate
That stained his pride of mind,
As he stood in his last hour desolate,
To death, not shame, resigned.
He looked to the glorious sun and sighed,
And to earth he gave a tear,
And then, with a thought, he cast aside
The weight of his grief and fear.
For a moment's lapse each panting breath
Was heard amid the crowd,
Then the platform fell, and the groan of death
Rose fearfully wild and loud.
And to earth he gave a tear,
And then, with a thought, he cast aside
The weight of his grief and fear.
For a moment's lapse each panting breath
Was heard amid the crowd,
Then the platform fell, and the groan of death
Rose fearfully wild and loud.
| Abaddon, the spirit of destruction ; and other poems | |