MAGDALEN." I. A SWORD, whose blade has ne'er been wet And dreams of knight, and steed, and lance, These had been, and I deemed would be II. Born in a camp, its watch-fires bright And I had borne with wild delight Ere manhood's hue was on my cheek, III. In Greece, the brave heart's Holy Land, Its soldier-song the bugle sings; And I had buckled on my brand, And waited but the sea wind's wings, To bear me where, or lost or won Her battle, in its frown or smile, Men live with those of Marathon, Or die with those of Scio's isle; And find in Valour's tent or tomb, In life or death, a glorious home. IV. I could have left but yesterday The scene of my boy-years behind, And floated on my careless way Wherever willed the breathing wind. I could have bade adieu to aught I've sought, or met, or welcomed here, V. To-day there is a change within me, And Fame, whose whispers once could win me Of maiden beauty in my dreams, To ocean of the mountain streamsWith dancing hair, and laughing eyes, That seem to mock me as it flies. VI. My sword-it slumbers in its sheath; Seems now the only spot on earth And here I'd build my household hearth, And breathe my song of joy, and twine VII. In vain! in vain! the sail is spread; May'st thou be then, as now thou art, The load-star of a happy home; In smile and voice, in eye and heart The same as thou hast ever been, The loved, the lovely Magdalen. FROM THE ITALIAN. EYES with the same blue witchery as those That move but with kind words, and sweetest smiles; power The net it would not break; a form which vies And gazed upon in dreams, and sighed to find Know ye this picture? There is one alone We deem the Hebe of Jove's banquet hours; |