Page:Felicia Hemans in The Literary Souvenir 1829.pdf/6

IV.
I looked on the field of contention again,
When the sabre was sheathed and the tempest had past;
The wild weed and thistle grew rank on the plain,
And the fern softly sighed in the low wailing blast.

V.
Unmoved lay the lake in its hour of repose,
And bright shone the stars through the sky’s deepened blue;
And sweetly the song of the night-bird arose,
Where the foxglove lay gemmed with its pearl-drops of dew.

VI.
But where swept the ranks of that dark frowning host,
As the ocean in might—as the storm-cloud in speed!
Where now were the thunders of victory's boast,—
The slayer's dread wrath and the strength of the steed!

VII.
Not a time-wasted cross, not a mouldering stone,
To mark the lone scene of their shame or their pride;—
One grass-covered mound told the traveller alone,
Where thousands lay down in their anguish and died!

VIII.
Oh! glory!—behold thy famed guerdon's extent,
For this toil thy slaves through their earth-wasting lot;
A name like the mist, when night's beacons are spent—
A grave, with its tenants unwept and forgot!
F. H.