THE SOLDIER'S DREAM

Our bugles sang truce-for the night-cloud had lowered,

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, The weary to sleep and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain ;
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track:
'Twas Autumn,—and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was

young,

I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers

sung.

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part.

My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,

And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.

Stay, stay with us,-rest, thou art weary and worn; And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ;— But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

Thomas Campbell.

THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC

April 2, 1801 A.D.

Of Nelson and the North

Sing the glorious day's renown,

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone;

By each gun the lighted brand

In a bold determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.

Like Leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line:

It was ten of April morn by the chime:

As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death;

And the boldest held his breath

For a time.

THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC

But the might of England flush'd

To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rush'd

O'er the deadly space between.

"Hearts of oak!" our captain cried; when each gun

From its adamantine lips,

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun!

Again! again! again!

And the havoc did not slack,

Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back;

Their shots along the deep slowly boom;

Then ceased-and all is wail,

As they strike the shatter'd sail;

Or, in conflagration pale

Light the gloom!

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hail'd them o'er the wave, "Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save!

So peace, instead of death, let us bring:

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,

With the crews, at England's feet,

And make submission meet,

To our King."

Then Denmark bless'd our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,

As death withdrew his shades from the day:
While the sun look'd smiling bright

O'er a wide and woful sight

Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.

Now joy, old England, raise !
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,

While the wine-cup shines in light-
And yet, amid that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full may a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died,
With the gallant good Riou!

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!

While the billow mournful rolls,

And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave!

Thomas Campbell.