And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire; The first that the General saw were the groups He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! THE MINSTREL BOY. BY THOMAS Moore. THE Minstrel-boy to the war is gone, And his wild harp slung behind him— The Minstrel fell!-but the foeman's chain And said, "No chains shall sully thee, Thy songs were made for the brave and free, THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS. BY THOMAS MOORE. THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more. No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells: The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. Thus freedom now so seldom wakes, Is when some heart indignant breaks, GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE. BY THOMAS MOORE. Go where glory waits thee, Oh! then remember me. When at eve thou rovest By the star thou lovest, Oh! then remember me. Think, when home returning, Bright we have seen it burning, Oh! thus remember me. Oft as summer closes, When thine eye reposes On its lingering roses, Once so loved by thee, Think of her who wove them, Her who made thee love them, Oh! then remember me. When, around thee, dying, Oh! then remember me. Draw one tear from thee; Oh! then remember me. LOCHINVAR. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. OH, young Lochinvar is come out of the west! There never was knight like the young Lochinvar ! But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late: So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, 'Mong bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all! Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword— For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war ?— Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?" "I long woo'd you daughter, my suit you denied: Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide! And now I am come, with this lost love of mine To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine! There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, Who would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar !" |