Literary Gazette, 24th September, 1825, Page 620
ORIGINAL POETRY.
THE VISION.
I will, I must believe, that they, the dead,
The shadowy beings of a shadowy world,
Hold intercourse, a pitying intercourse,
With us who pant yet with our load of clay.
There was one whom I loved in early youth,
A boyish love perhaps,— it matters not,
’Twas true, and has out-lasted many a change
In others.—and that love has made me gaze
On many lovely faces with the look
We give to lovely pictures. 'Twas a time
When war and bloodshed were abroad, and men
Thought shame to sit in quiet by the hearth
Which soon might smoke with other fires than those
Round which the tale is told, the laugh is pass’d,
But for the guard and struggle of brave swords.
And firm steps falter'd, tears stood in bold eyes,
Which could have seen the musket flush, yet watched
The ball upon its fiery path, and stood
With sabres sweeping like a lightning storm
Over their heads, with war-steeds rushing on
Like thunder, and not moved;—but now, last looks
Were on the land which henceforth would but be
Their own in memory and hope;—they left
Old habits, grown affections by long use,
All the kind feelings and the ties of home;
But yet they went. And soon we were in Spain.
It was an autumn midnight, and the Moon
Was solitary in the sky, as all
The stars, her fair companions, shrank abashed
Before her zenith radiance; save the blaze
Of the red watch-fires, all was silvered o'er;
The chesnut's dark and shining leaves were moved
But languidly by the departing wind;
The far hills lay in shadow; but the tents,
The fair white tents, (how little they looked War)
Were like snow; and the current of the stream
By which they stood was like the face of heaven,
A deep, clear lighted, purple element.
