As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! arm it is-it is-the cannon's opening

roar!

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness. And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs

Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess

If evermore should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

And there was mounting in hot haste the steed; The mustering squadron, and the clattering car Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar : And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips-"The foe! they come! they come !"

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay,

The midnight brought the signal sound of strife,

The morn the marshalling in arms—the day Battle's magnificently stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent,

The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and

pent,

Rider and horse-friend, foe-in one red burial

blent!

Byron.

THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE.

THE joy-bells are ringing in gay Malahide,
The fresh wind is singing along the sea-side;
The maids are assembling with garlands of flow-

ers,

And the harp-strings are trembling in all the glad bowers.

Swell, swell the gay measure! roll trumpet and drum!

'Mid greetings of pleasure in splendor they come!

The chancel is ready, the portal stands wide, For the lord and the lady, the bridegroom and bride.

Before the high altar young Maud stands arrayed!

With accents that falter her promise is madeFrom father and mother forever to part,

For him and no other to treasure her heart.

The words are repeated, the bridal is done, The rite is completed-the two, they are one; The vow, it is spoken all pure from the heart, That must not be broken till life shall depart.

Hark! 'mid the gay clangor that compassed their

car,

Loud accents in anger come mingling afar!

The foe's on the border! his weapons resound Where the lines in disorder unguarded are found! As wakes the good shepherd, the watchful and bold,

When the ounce or the leopard is seen in the fold,

So rises already the chief in his mail,

While the new-married lady looks fainting and pale.

"Son, husband, and brother, arise to the strife, For sister and mother, for children and wife! O'er hill and o'er hollow, o'er mountain and plain,

Up, true men, and follow! let dastards remain !”

Farrah! to the battle! They form into lineThe shields, how they rattle! the spears, how they shine!

Soon, soon shall the foeman his treachery rueOn, burgher and yeoman! to die or to do !

The eve is declining in lone Malahide :

The maidens are twining gay wreaths for the

She marks them unheeding-her heart is afar, Where the clansmen are bleeding for her in the

war.

Hark! loud from the mountain-'tis victory's cry!

O'er woodland and fountain it rings to the sky! The foe has retreated! he flees to the shore; The spoiler's defeated-the combat is o'er!

With foreheads unruffled the conquerors come— But why have they muffled the lance and the drum?

What form do they carry aloft on his shield? And where does he tarry, the lord of the field?

Ye saw him at morning, how gallant and gay!
In bridal adorning, the star of the day:
Now, weep for the lover-his triumph is sped,
His hope, it is over!-the chieftain is dead!

But, oh! for the maiden who mourns for that chief,

With heart overladen, and broken with grief! She sinks on the meadow :-in one morning-tide, A wife and a widow, a maid and a bride!

Ye maidens attending, forbear to condole!
Your comfort is rending the depths of her soul.
True true, 'twas a story for ages of pride;
He died in his glory-but, oh, he has died!

Gerald Griffin (Altered).

THE MOURNERS.

KING DEATH sped forth in his dreaded power
To make the most of his tyrant hour;

And the first he took was a white-robed girl, With the orange bloom twined in each glossy curl.

Her fond betrothed hung over the bier,
Bathing her shroud with the gushing tear :
He madly raved, he shrieked his pain,
With frantic speech and burning brain.
"There's no joy," cried he, "now my dearest is

gone,

Take, take me, Death; for I cannot live on!"

The valued friend, too, was snatched away, Bound to another from childhood's day; And the friend that was left exclaimed in despair, "Oh! he sleeps in the grave-let me follow him there!"

A mother was taken, whose constant love
Had nestled her child like a fair young dove;
And the heart of that child to the mother had

grown

Like the ivy to oak, or moss to the stone;
Nor loud nor wild was the burst of woe,
But the tide of anguish ran strong below;

And the reft one turned from all that was light,
From the flowers of day and the stars of night;
Breathing where none might hear or see-
"Where thou art, my mother, thy child would
be."