Page:Landon in The New Monthly 1837.pdf/6

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Yet the wild winds have brought from the Baltic afar That vessel of slaughter, that lord of the war.

And a foe track'd their footsteps more stern than the tide— The plague was among them—they sicken'd and died.

Tho' stern was his bearing and haughty his tone, He had one gentler feeling, and that was her own.

They can see the fair island whereon they are thrown, Where the palms and the spice-groves rise lovely and lone.

Paler, colder the forehead that rests on her knee! For her, in the wide world, what is there to see!

He tries—vain the trying— To lift up his sword, As if still defying The Death, now his lord.