Alas! they recked not, till in gloom
That evening sunk o'er Goldau's tomb,
And death, within each ruined home,
Held horrid revelry.
For, long by autumn torrents fed,
That rocky “lauwine"* from its bed
In thunder burst, and ruin spread,
And death and misery.
Then, while convulsed the welkin rung, Wild shrieks of woe, from many a tongue, With dying groans commingling, sprung
Discordant to the sky.
'Tis night, nor sheds one glimm'ring ray Its light to chase the gloom away, And vultures on their destined prey
Are feasting greedily.
Scarce flits one sound adown the vale,
Save where the widow's fitful wail,
And orphan's plaints along the gale
Are wafted drearily
To-morrow's sun may rise full bright,
While Lucern's wave reflects his light,
And Pilate rears his rugged height,
Beneath a tranquil sky.
Still too shall Righi's broken steep
Be mirrored in the glassy deep,
While low beneath yon rocky heap,
Goldau entomb'd shall lie.
Ah! ne'er shall Phæbus' orient ray,
Chase the thick shades of death away,
But Chaos there shall reign for aye,
In sullen majesty.
Air.." Yes, I will leave my father's hall.”
Yes, I will leave these flowery dells
Bedecked with lilies white,
Where violets with bright blue bells
Conspire to yield delight.
Ah! no such charms to me have they,
Their fragrance only mar
The ambient clouds which ever play
Around my prime cigar.
At morn or night, in youth or age,
It equal pleasure lends,
Our hopes advance, our griefs assuage,
And changes foes to friends.
Through passing clouds its constant gleam,
Like friendship’s magnet star,
Repels all gloom-attracts each beam
To deck the prime cigar.
I care not for the sneers of all
Whose partial taste denies,
As tyrants others would enthral
To fancies they devise.
No empty forms my taste shall shroud,
For wiser 'tis by far
To live as free as is the cloud
Around my prime cigar.
J. M. H.
Chæronæa, on thy fatal plain,
Fair Freedom found a tomb. The night of death and darkness fell, And Slav'ry walked with demon yell,
Athwart a beauteous land ; For never in the battle hour, Did weeping Greece behold up-tower,
Another Sacred Band.
|