Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1829.pdf/17

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" passing now adown our vale;    Come, leave the old beech-tree, And let that humming wheel be staid;     Come here and gaze with me.

Hark, hark, the gallant trumpet's note, The war-drum rolls around; The crimson banners seem to float More proudly at the sound.

Those noble steeds, how each proud neck Bends to its rider's hand, Although the steel-wrought rein is held As 't were a silken band!

How bold they ride!—as Victory sat Beside each snow-white crest; Battle is in each eager eye, And I can dream the rest.

Each lance is gleaming in the sun, War meteors, how they shine! How glorious is the soldier's lot! I would such lot were mine!"

She raised a sudden tearful glance Upon his glowing brow: Why should her cheek be so snow-pale, For his is crimson now?

And her sweet face is wont to be    The shadow of his own, Where every passing change of his Is in a mirror shewn.

"Such, O my Ulric, would'st thou be    One of yon warrior band? Why there is death in every heart,     And blood on every hand.