CHARLES WOLFE

We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed

And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,

And we far away on the billow !

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on

In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task was done

When the clock struck the hour for retiring ;

And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory;

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.

604. To Mary

TF I had thought thou couldst have died,

• - I might not weep for thee ;

But I forgot, when by thy side,

That thou couldst mortal be: It never through my mind had past

The time would e'er be o'er, And I on thee should look my last,

And thou shouldst smile no more !

And still upon that face I look,

And think 'twill smile again ; And still the thought I will not brook,

That I must look in vain.

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