'Tis good to be steady and cool, 'Tis better to dare, than to doubt, 'Tis best to keep clear of the snobs in the rear, Hurrah for all those, who where'er the boar goes "Here's a cheer for the charms of the chase! A cheer for a glorious burst! And who wouldn't cheer, when the bold win the spear, There are some ever in the right place, There are some who just toddle and trot, Then hurrah, &c. "There's a joy when the boar makes his rush, Here's a sigh for the sportsman afar! A welcome to those who are here! And a health to the whole, who in spirit and soul, Then hurrah for the spur and the spear! Hurrah for a jovial song ! Hurrah for all those, who where'er the boar goes, Are spurring and spearing along! ASBESTOS. This spirited song was composed by a Major Morris of the H. E. I. Company's service, who is as renommé in India as his name-sake at home, for this sort of composition. He has long since been cut off from his mortal career. (After hogs?-Printer's Devil.) THE SOLDIER'S VISION. TO LAURA. By my hack'd sword and trusty shield, I might have heard the passing prayer Or seen their fixed and vacant stare, Yet heard I not or saw the while, When lo! from heaven a being glanced, At first I thought the furious Mars On embassy from Jove, Had yoked his chariot for the wars To gaze upon the sprite, And found this exile from the skies Lest I in turn might smart: And tho' his tender cheek turned pale, I menace and revile. "A curse, a curse upon thee, light, "Be pierced thy guileful heart, "By thine own mother Aphrodite, "And poisoned be the dart; "Not thine the deadly shafts that fly "Where battle-tempests lowerNay, tarry not, thou meddling spy, "This is not Venus' bower." I spoke a blush his cheek o'erspread, But through the mask a smile I read The storm of discontent, To make the wicked victim rue This ill-timed merriment; His locks with burnished helmet blaze, His plumes wave free above, Only his quiver and his bow His visage, late so soft and sweet, To match with boyhood's down: Judge, Laura, how my thoughtful soul By luck or reason to unroll The vision's deep design; And as I thought, across my brain Whose sparkles cheer'd my cup of pain, And sanctified my lot; It taught me that the souls which love, They truly love, who, living, serve And, called to die the death, ne'er swerve They love, who cling, as ivy clings To mouldering tower and wall, Its golden chains as fondly prize, I might have felt some passion glow When Laura's form was nigh: But did this passion not unfold All forms which truth and beauty mould, Above us and around, I had not fed it from its birth, I had not sworn to-night, (As now I swear by heaven and earth) 'Tis true, and pure, and bright. It was a phantom of delight, When first she gleamed upon my sight. WORDSWORTH. She knows not, and shall never know Her laughing eyes and golden tresses, The modest maiden's dignity. Peace! peace be o'er thee, maiden dear! |