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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
Heart! that lovedst the clarion's blast,
Silent is thy place at last;
Silent,—save when early bird
Sings where once the mass was heard;
Silent—save when breeze's moan
Comes through flowers or fretted stone;
And the wild-rose waves around thee,
And the long dark grass hath bound thee,—
—Sleep'st thou, as the swain might sleep,
In his nameless valley deep?
No! brave heart!—though cold and lone,
Kingly power is yet thine own!
Feel I not thy spirit brood
O'er the whispering solitude?
Lo! at one high thought of thee,
Fast they rise, the bold, the free,
Sweeping past thy lowly bed,
With a mute, yet stately tread.
