And the river rushes through His voice was heard no more! 'Twas but a step! the gulf he passed; As through the mist he winged his way, That narrow place of noise and strife There now the matin-bell is rung; And holy men in cowl and hood Are wandering up and down the wood, Of those who would not be consoled When red with blood the river rolled! II. All seemeth as calm as an infant's dream, As far as the eye may ken ; But the cannon blast, That just now passed, Hath awakened ten thousand men. III. An order is blown from ship to ship; And each sailor is stirred By the warlike word, And his jacket he downwards flings. IV. He strippeth his arms to his shoulders strong; He girdeth his loins about; And he answers the cry Of his foemen nigh, With a cheer and a noble shout. V. What follows?—a puff, and a flash of light, And the booming of a gun ; And a scream, that shoots To the heart's red roots, VI. A thousand shot are at once let loose; (Like the Plague's swift breath,) On its deed of death, And smites down a file of men. VII. The guns in their thick-tongued thunder speak, And the frigates all rock and ride, And timbers crash, And the mad waves dash Foaming all far and wide : VIII. And high as the skies run piercing cries, Between good and ill, IX. Day pauses, in gloom, on his western road : But, of all who looked bright, In the morning light, There are only a thousand men. X. Look up, at the brooding clouds on high! And, behold, the sea flood Is all red with blood : Hush!-a battle is lost, and won! Barry Cornwall. XXXV. VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. HE King was on his throne, A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deemed divine- The godless Heathen's wine. In that same hour and hall The fingers of a Man ;— Along the letters ran, And traced them like a wand. The Monarch saw, and shook, Chaldea's seers are good, But here they have no skill; And the unknown letters stood Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not sage, They saw-but knew no more. A Captive in the land, 'Belshazzar's grave is made, The shroud, his robe of state, The Mede is at his gate! The Persian on his throne !' Byron. XXXVI. THE WRECK. LL night the booming minute-gun Had vailed her topsails to the sand, And bowed her noble mast. The queenly ship!-brave hearts had striven, And true ones died with her! We saw her mighty cable riven, Like floating gossamer. We saw her proud flag struck that morn, A star once o'er the seas Her anchor gone, her deck uptorn— We saw her treasures cast away,— And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er, And gorgeous robes-but oh! that shore Had sadder things than these! |