Thomas Campbell

“ Who rush to glory or the grave;
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave,
⁠And charge with all thy chivalry!---
Few, few shall part where many meet,-
The snow shall be their winding sheet;
And every turf beneath their feet
⁠Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. ”

“ Adown the glen rode armed men,
⁠Their trampling sounded nearer.--
'Oh! haste thee, haste!' the lady cries
⁠' Though tempests round us gather,
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
⁠But not an angry father.'
The boat has left a stormy land,
⁠A story sea before her,—
When, oh! too strong for human hand,
⁠The tempest gather'd o'er her. ”

“ When the shroud was unclosed, and no body was seen.
Then a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn---
'Twas the youth that had lov'd the fair Ellen of Lorn.
'I dream'd of my lady, I dream'd of her grief,
I dream'd that her lord was a barbarous chief;
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem:
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!'
In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground,
And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found;
From the rock of the ocean that beauty is borne ”