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CASTLES IN THE AIR.
THEY, who content on earth to stay,
I, too, my willing voice would raise,
But that the scenes which others praise,
I grant the hills are crown'd with trees,
But, after all, one nothing sees
True taste ideal prospects feigns,
'Bove earth, and all that earth contains, Unbounded fancy springs.
To dwell on earth, gross element,
No neighbour there can disagree,
No surly landlord's leave I want,
One thing, 'tis true, excites my fear,
Lest earth being tax'd, as soon it may,
Our financier a tax should lay
On castles in the air.
Well with the end the means would suit,
Ideal plans to execute,
THE FIELD OF BATTLE.
FAINTLY bray'd the battle's roar,
Wounds and death were left behind.
The war-fiend curs'd the sunken day,
That check'd his fierce pursuit too soon; While scarcely lighting to the prey,
Low hung and lour'd the bloody moon.
The field, so late the hero's pride,
Was now with various carnage spread; And floated with a crimson tide,
That drench'd the dying and the dead.
O'er the sad scene of dreariest view,
By duty led, for every vein
Was warm'd by Hymen's purest flame; With Edgar o'er the wint'ry main,
She, lovely, faithful, wanderer, came.
For well she thought a friend so dear,
Tho' look'd for long, in chill affright,
(The torrent bursting from her eye) She heard the signal for the fight,
While her soul trembled in a sigh.
She heard, and clasp'd him to her breast,
Too soon, in few, but deadly words,
Some flying straggler breath'd to tell, That, in the foremost strife of swords, The young, the gallant Edgar fell.
She press'd to hear-she caught the taleAt every sound her blood congeal'd ; With terror bold-with terror pale,
She sprung to search the fatal field.
O'er the sad scene in dire amaze
Drear anguish urged her to press
Full many a hand, as wild she mourn'd;
The damp, chill, dying hand return'd.
Her ghastly hope was well nigh fled,
She knew she sunk-the night bird scream'd,
"THO' the oak be the pride and the prince of the grove,