. The poetical works of Fitz-Greene Halleck : Now first collected ; illustrated with steel engravings, from drawings by American artists . thee her babes first lisping tells ;For thine her evening prayer is saidAt palace couch and cottage bed ;Her soldier, closing with the foe,Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow;His plighted maiden, when she fearsFor him, the joy of her young years,Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears: And she, the mother of thy boys, MARCO BOZZARIS. 25 Though in her eye and faded cheekIs read the grief she will not speak, The memory of her buried joys,And even she who gave
. The poetical works of Fitz-Greene Halleck : Now first collected ; illustrated with steel engravings, from drawings by American artists . thee her babes first lisping tells ;For thine her evening prayer is saidAt palace couch and cottage bed ;Her soldier, closing with the foe,Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow;His plighted maiden, when she fearsFor him, the joy of her young years,Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears: And she, the mother of thy boys, MARCO BOZZARIS. 25 Though in her eye and faded cheekIs read the grief she will not speak, The memory of her buried joys,And even she who gave thee birth,Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, Talk of thy doom without a sigh:For thou art Freedoms now, and Fames;One of the few, the immortal names, That were not born to die. D BURNS. TO A ROSE, BROUGHT FROM NEAR ALLOWAY KIRK, IN AYRSHIRE,IN THE AUTUMN OF 1822 Wild Rose of Alloway ! my thanks:Thou mindst me of that autumn noon When first we met upon the banksAnd braes o bonny Doon. Like thine, beneath the thorn-trees bough,My sunny hour was glad and brief, Weve crossed the winter sea, and thouArt withered—flower and • BURNS. 27 And will not thy death-doom be mine—The doom of all things wrought of clay— And withered my lifes leaf like thine,Wild rose of Alloway ? Not so his memory, for whose sakeMy bosom bore thee far and long, His—who a humbler flower could makeImmortal as his song. The memory of Burns—a name That calls, when brimmed her festal cup,A nations glory and her shame, In silent sadness up. A nations glory—be the rest Forgot—shes canonized his mind ; And it is joy to speak the bestWe may of human kind. 28 BURNS. Ive stood beside the cottage bed Where the Bard-peasant first drew breath;A straw-thatched roof above his head, A straw-wrought couch beneath. And I have stood beside the pile,His monument—that tells to Heaven The homage of earths proudest isleTo that Bard-peasant given ! Bid thy thoughts hover oer that spot,Boy-Minstrel, in th
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