Page:The Forest Sanctuary.pdf/207

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'midst thy banners furl'd! Yes! thou art there, upon thy buckler lying, With the soft wind unfelt around thee sighing, Thou chief of hosts, whose trumpet shakes the world? Sleep while the babe sleeps on its mother's breast— —Oh! strong is night—for thou too art at rest!

Stillness hath smooth'd thy brow, And now might love keep timid vigils by thee, Now might the foe with stealthy foot draw nigh thee, Alike unconscious and defenceless thou! Tread lightly, watchers!—now the field is won, Break not the rest of nature's weary son!

Perchance some lovely dream Back from the stormy fight thy soul is bearing, To the green places of thy boyish daring, And all the windings of thy native stream;