HOHENLINDEN

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steed to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stained snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun,
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few, shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

THOMAS CAMPBELL

THE DREAM OF THE OAK TREE

There stood in a wood, high on the bank near the open sea-shore, such a
grand old oak tree! It was three hundred and sixty-five years old; but
all this length of years had seemed to the tree scarcely more than so
many days appear to us men and women, boys and girls.

A tree's life is not quite the same as a man's: we wake during the day,
and sleep and dream during the night; but a tree wakes throughout three
seasons of the year, and has no sleep till winter comes. The winter is
its sleeping time--its night after the long day which we call spring,
summer, and autumn.

It was just at the holy Christmas-tide that the oak tree dreamed his
most beautiful dream. He seemed to hear the church-bells ringing all
around, and to feel as if it were a mild, warm summer day. Fresh and
green he reared his mighty crown on high, and the sunbeams played among
his leaves. As in a festive procession, all that the tree had beheld in
his life now passed by.

Knights and ladies, with feathers in their caps and hawks perching on
their wrists, rode gaily through the wood; dogs barked, and the huntsman
sounded his bug