Volume V Part 38 (1/2)
From the far bosom of the sea A flood of brightness rests on thee, And stately to the bending skies Thy temples, domes, and turrets rise: Thy heavens--how fair they smile above!
But thou art not the land we love.
Oh, for the bleak, the rocky strand, The mountains of our native land!
Oh, for the torrents, wild, and free, And their rejoicing minstrelsy!
The heath below, the blue above, The altars of the land we love!
IS NOT THE EARTH.
Is not the earth a burial place Where countless millions sleep, The entrance to the abode of death, Where waiting mourners weep, And myriads at his silent gates A constant vigil keep?
The sculptor lifts his chisel, and The final stroke is come, But, dull as the marble lip he hews, His stiffened lip is dumb; Though the Spoiler hath cast a holier work, He hath called to a holier home!
The soldier bends his gleaming steel, He counts his laurels o'er, And speaks of the wreaths he yet may win On many a foreign sh.o.r.e; But his Master declares with a sterner voice, He shall break a lance no more!
The mariner braved the deluge long, He bow'd to the sweeping blast, And smiled when the frowning heavens above Were the deepest overcast; He hath perish'd beneath a smiling sky-- He hath laid him down at last.
Far in the sea's mysterious depths The lowly dead are laid, Hath not the ocean's dreadful voice Their burial service said?
Have not the quiring tempests rung The dirges of the dead?
The vales of our native land are strewn With a thousand pleasant things; The uplands rejoicing in the light Of the morning's flas.h.i.+ng wings; Even there are the martyrs' rugged cairns-- The resting-place of kings!
And man outpours his heart to heaven, And ”chants his holiest hymn,”
But anon his frame is still and cold, And his sparkling eyes are dim-- And who can tell but the home of death Is a happier home to him?
OH, LOVE THE SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER DEAR![14]
Oh, love the soldier's daughter dear-- He fell on Balaklava's plain, Yet ere he found a soldier's bier He blest his beauteous child again; Though o'er the Light Brigade like rain, War's deadly lightning swiftly fell, On--on the squadron charged amain Amidst that storm of shot and sh.e.l.l!
Oh, love the soldier's daughter dear, A jewel in his heart was she, Whose n.o.ble form disdain'd the storm, And, Freedom, fought and died for thee!
Oh, love the soldier's daughter dear-- Even like a knight of old romance, Brave Cardigan, disdaining fear, Heard but the bugle sound--advance!
And paler droops the flower of France, And brighter glows proud England's rose, As charge they on with sabre-glance, And thunders thickening as they close!
Oh, love the soldier's daughter dear, &c.
Oh, love the soldier's daughter dear, And be thy grateful kindness shewn; And still her father's name revere, For, oh, 'tis dearer than her own; And tell his deeds in battle done, And how he fearless faced the foe, And urged the snorting war-horse on With death above, around, below!
Oh, love the soldier's daughter dear, &c.
Oh, love the soldier's daughter dear, Who lowly bends at sorrow's shrine; Her father's glorious deeds appear, And laurels round her brow entwine; In that full eye, that seems divine, Her sire's commanding ardour glows; His blood, that flow'd for thee and thine, Within his daughter's bosom flows!
Oh, love the soldier's daughter dear, A jewel in his heart was she, Whose n.o.ble form disdain'd the storm, And, Freedom, fought and died for thee!
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