114 DIRGE OF ALARIC. But ye the mountain stream shall turn, My gold and silver ye shall fling Back to the clods, that gave them birth;— The captured crowns of many a king, The ransom of a conquered earth: But when, beneath the mountain tide, Pillar or mound to mark the spot; My course was like a river deep, And from the northern hills I burst, Across the world, in wrath to sweep, And where I went the spot was cursed, Nor blade of grass again was seen DIRGE OF ALARIC. See how their haughty barriers fail Not for myself did I ascend In judgment my triumphal car; With iron hand that scourge I reared And vengeance sat upon the helm, Across the everlasting Alp I poured the torrent of my powers, 115 And bade my northern banners shine My course is run, my errand done; Of glory that adorns my name; And Roman hearts shall long be sick, When men shall think of Alaric. My course is run, my errand done; And in the caves of vengeance, wait; And soon mankind shall blench away Before the name of Attila. TO A LADY, WHO GAVE ME A LAUREL LEAF. BY C. SHERRY. THE deathless leaf that bound The bald first Cæsar's brow; That men of worth have battled for TO A LADY. Point-to what field of fame? The laurel wreath for me? Say, shall I hope to wake The poet's breathing strains; Utilitarian times; And mothers frown, suspiciously, On all who deal in rhymes. Or shall I strive to win The warrior's hard earned glory; And leave a name posterity Shall read in martial story? On his uncrimsoned bays; 117 118 TO A LADY. A painter? It is joy . To gaze in beauty's eyes; Of ugly chins and noses, A statesman? Shall I talk Of burning midnight tapers, Fight duels on demand, Write essays by the lot, To-day, sit through a long harangue, To-morrow, stand a shot? Then take again the gift, You proffered me but now; That broad and glossy leaf was plucked |