CHAPITRE X

No stranger am 1 now to you ; Nor shall my verse, tho' late, refuse

The glory to such mothers due As ye have seen... but see how few, Age hath forbidden some to stay, And some their sorrows wore away.

Thy villagers, lone Muzillac !

Saw the fresh eagle driven back,

When froni his island rocks he rose

To wake worn Earth from short repose

And Penescluse, alas! thy wave

Felt the last blood, that warnVd the brave.

An hour s, a moments space divides

DeaùYs sluggish moat from life's quick tides.

Those who are lying stiff and cold,

Arose ère dawn alert and bold.

The youthful band, at R**'s call,

Swore, in the chapel, one and ail,

Each from the other not to sever,

United in pure faith for ever.

How bright the morning sun arose;

But sad, sad, was that evening's close ; For Honoras trophy, Victory's plume, 111 cover an untimely tomb.

Many had fallen : two there were

Above tbe rest, whom every eye

Was fixt upon ; no other tear

Of youth or maid or matron by

Than burst for them, two brothers dear, Blest by each other's side to die.

Hunger and thirst and weary pain And gaping wounds! ye urge in vain.

Instead of help, instead of cheer, Tbey look upon the mingling hair And half closed eyes of that fond pair,

AU silent as the silent bier.

To the last home hath it conveyd