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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
DEATH AND THE WARRIOR.
"Ay, Warrior, arm! and wear thy plume
On a proud and fearless brow!
I am the lord of the lonely tomb,
And a mightier one than thou!
"Bid thy soul's love farewell, young chief,
Bid her a long farewell!
Like the morning's dew shall pass that grief —
Thou comest with me to dwell!
"Thy bark may rush through the foaming deep,
Thy steed o'er the breezy hill;
But they bear thee on to a place of sleep,
Narrow, and cold, and chill!"
