Mark ye the flashing oars,

And the spears that light the deep? How the festal sunshine pours

Where the lords of battle sweep!

Each hath brought back his shield;
Maid, greet thy lover home!
Mother, from that proud field,
Io! thy son is come!

Who murmur'd of the dead?

Hush, boding voice! We know

That many a shining head

Lies in its glory low.

Breathe not those names to-day!

They shall have their praise ere long,

And a power all hearts to sway,

In ever-burning song.

But now shed flowers, pour wine,
To hail the conquerors home!
Bring wreaths for every shrine-
Io! they come, they come!

NAPLES.

335

NAPLES.

A SONG OF THE SYREN.

"Then gentle winds arose,

With many a mingled close

Of wild Æolian sound and mountain odour keen;
Where the clear Baian ocean

Welters with air-like motion

Within, above, around its bowers of starry green."

SHELLEY.

STILL is the Syren warbling on thy shore,
Bright city of the waves!-her magic song
Still with a dreamy sense of ecstasy,

Fills thy soft Summer air:-and while my glance
Dwells on thy pictured loveliness, that lay
Floats thus o'er fancy's ear; and thus to thee,
Daughter of sunshine! doth the Syren sing.

"Thine is the glad wave's flashing play,
Thine is the laugh of the golden day,
The golden day, and the glorious night,
And the vine with its clusters all bathed in light!
Forget, forget, that thou art not free!

Queen of the Summer sea.

"Favour'd and crown'd of the earth and sky! Thine are all voices of melody,

Wandering in moonlight through fane and tower,

Floating o'er fountain and myrtle bower;

Hark! how they melt o'er thy glittering sea;

-Forget that thou art not free!

"Let the wine flow in thy marble halls!
Let the lute answer thy fountain falls!
And deck thy feasts with the myrtle bough,
And cover with roses thy glowing brow!
Queen of the day and the summer sea,

Forget that thou art not free!"

So doth the Syren sing, while sparkling waves
Dance to her chant. But sternly, mournfully,
O city of the deep! from Sibyl grots
And Roman tombs, the echoes of thy shore
Take up the cadence of her strain alone,
Murmuring" Thou art not free!"

THE FALL OF D'ASSAS.

A BALLAD OF FRANCE.

The Chevalier D'Assas, called the French Decius, fell nobly whilst reconnoitering a wood, near Closterkamp, by night. He had left his regiment, that of Auvergne, at a short distance, and was suddenly surrounded by an ambuscade of the enemy, who threatened him with instant death if he made the least sign of their vicinity. With their bayonets at his breast, he raised his voice, and, calling aloud "A moi, Auvergne! ces sont les ennemis!" fell, pierced with mortal blows.

ALONE through gloomy forest-shades

A soldier went by night;

No moonbeam pierced the dusky glades,
No star shed guiding light.

THE FALL OF D'ASSAS.

Yet on his vigil's midnight round

The youth all cheerly pass'd;
Uncheck'd by aught of boding sound
That mutter'd in the blast.

Where were his thoughts that lonely hour?
-In his far home, perchance;
His father's hall, his mother's bower,
'Midst the gay vines of France :

Wandering from battles lost and won,
To hear and bless again
The rolling of the wide Garonne,
Or murmur of the Seine.

-Hush! hark!-did stealing steps go by,

Came not faint whispers near?
No! the wild wind hath many a sigh,
Amidst the foliage sere.

Hark, yet again!—and from his hand
What grasp hath wrench'd the blade?
Oh! single 'midst a hostile band,
Young soldier! thou'rt betray'd!

"Silence!" in under-tones they cry-
"No whisper-not a breath!
The sound that warns thy comrades nigh
Shall sentence thee to death.”

-Still, at the bayonet's point he stood,
And strong to meet the blow;
And shouted, 'midst his rushing blood,
"Arm, arm, Auvergne! the foe!"

337

The stir, the tramp, the bugle-call

He heard their tumults grow;

And sent his dying voice through all"Auvergne, Auvergne! the foe!"

THE BURIAL OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR,

AT CAEN IN NORMANDY-1087.

"At the day appointed for the king's interment, Prince Henry, his third son, the Norman prelates, and a multitude of clergy and people, assembled in the Church of St. Stephen, which the Conqueror had founded. The mass had been performed, the corpse was placed on the bier, and the Bishop of Evreux had pronounced the panegyric on the deceased, when a voice from the crowd exclaimed, He whom you have praised was a robber. The very land on which you stand is mine. By violence he took it from my father; and, in the name of God, I forbid you to bury him in it.' The speaker was Asceline Fitz Arthur, who had often, but fruitlessly, sought reparation from the justice of William. After some debate, the prelates called him to them, paid him sixty shillings for the grave, and promised that he should receive the full value of his land. The ceremony was then continued, and the body of the king deposited in a coffin of stone."

LOWLY upon his bier

LINGARD, vol. ii. p. 98.

The royal conqueror lay;
Baron and chief stood near,

Silent in war-array.

Down the long minster's aisle

Crowds mutely gazing stream'd,

Altar and tomb the while

Through mists of incense gleam'd.