THE DEAD TRUMPETER.

BY T. K. HERVEY.

WAKE, soldier !-wake!-thy war-horse waits,
To bear thee to the battle back ;-
Thou slumberest at a foeman's gates ;-
Thy dog would break thy bivouac ;-
Thy plume is trailing in the dust,
And thy red faulchion gathering rust!

Sleep, soldier!-sleep!-thy warfare o'er,—
Not thine own bugle's loudest strain
Shall ever break thy slumbers more,
With summons to the battle-plain;
A trumpet-note more loud and deep,
Must rouse thee from that leaden sleep!

Thou need'st nor helm nor cuirass, now,
-Beyond the Grecian hero's boast,--
Thou wilt not quail thy naked brow,
Nor shrink before a myriad host,-
For head and heel alike are sound,
A thousand arrows cannot wound!

Thy mother is not in thy dreams,
With that wild, widowed look she wore
The day-how long to her it seems !-
She kissed thee, at the cottage door,
And sickened at the sounds of joy
That bore away her only boy!

Sleep, soldier!-let thy mother wait,
To hear thy bugle on the blast;
Thy dog, perhaps, may find the gate,
And bid her home to thee, at last ;-
He cannot tell a sadder tale

Than did thy clarion, on the gale,

When last—and far away-she heard its lingering

echoes fail!

CŒUR DE LION'S ADIEU TO PALESTINE.

"It needed not many arguments to convince Richard of the truth of his situation; and, indeed, after the burst of passion, he sat him calmly down, and, with gloomy looks, head depressed, and arms folded on his bosom, listened to the archbishop's reasoning on the impossibility of his carrying on the crusade when deserted by his companions." The Talisman.

1.

JERUSALEM!-for thee-for thee,
May I a king and warrior weep,-
And other kings and warriors see,
Nor deem my lion heart asleep;

-He was a God who wept of old,
Thou wert not, then, a heathen fold!

2.

Think not-to look on Syrian skies,

For Moslem spoil,—or gorgeous ease,—

I bade mine ancient banner rise,

And traversed earth, and braved the seas;

-I have a realm as Eden fair,

A thousand woods and streams are there.

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