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I love you for lulling me back into dreams

Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams,

And of birchen glades breathing their balm,

While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote,

And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Made music that sweetened the Then shook the hills with thunder

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riven,

Then rushed the steed to battle driven,

And louder than the bolts of heaven Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun,

Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On! ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,

And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their windingsheet!

And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

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Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion,

He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh!

"Sad is my fate!" said the heartbroken stranger;

"The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee,

But I have no refuge from famine and danger,

A home and a country remain not

to me.

Never again, in the green sunny bowers,

Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours,

Or cover my harp with the wildwoven flowers,

And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh!

"Erin, my country! though sad and forsaken,

In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore;

But, alas! in a far foreign land I awaken,

And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more!

[me O cruel fate! wilt thou never replace In a mansion of peace-where no perils can chase me? Never again shall my brothers embrace me?

They died to defend me, or lived to deplore!

"Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood?

Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall? Where is the mother that looked on my childhood?

And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all ?

Oh, my sad heart! long abandoned by pleasure,

Why did it doté on a fast-fading treasure?

Tears, like the rain drop, may fall without measure,

But rapture and beauty they can not recall.

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organ play,

[From The Pleasures of Hope.]
DOMESTIC HAPPINESS.

LET winter come! let polar spirits

sweep

The darkening world, and tempesttroubled deep!

Though boundless snows the withered heath deform, And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm,

Yet shall the smile of social love repay,

With mental light, the melancholy day!

And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er,

The ice-chained waters slumbering on the shore,

How bright the fagots in his little hall Blaze on the hearth, and warm his pictured wall!

How blest he names, in Love's familiar tone,

The kind, fair friend, by nature marked his own;

And, in the waveless mirror of his mind,

Views the fleet years of pleasure left behind,

Since when her empire o'er his heart began!

Since first he called her his before the holy man!

And sweep the furrowed lines of Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome,

anxious thought away.

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And light the wintry paradise of

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