With dreadful poyse' is from the mainland | He suffered, but his pangs are o'er; rift, Enjoyed, but his delights are fled; And, rolling down, great Neptune doth Had friends: his friends are now no more; dismay; And foes his foes are dead. So down he fell, and like an heaped moun- He loved, but whom he loved the grave tain lay. THE COMMON LOT. NCE, in the flight of ages past, Hath lost in its unconscious womb; He saw whatever thou hast seen, Sun, moon and stars, the earth and main- The clouds and sunbeams o'er his eyé That once their shades and glory threw Have left in yonder silent sky No vestige where they flew; The annals of the human race, Their ruins since the world began, There lived a man; and who was he? Of him afford no other trace THE OLD CORPORAL. MARCHING TO EXECUTION. FROM THE FRENCH OF PIERRE-JEAN DE BÉRANGER. OW, comrades, onward let us N Of go; Each man his musket firmly bear. My pipe is lit; your love I know: When I our bloody fights narrate; Nay, shed no tear. Attention! march! quick march! Come, close this life of toil Robert, my fellow-townsman, thou and care. To thy quiet flocks must get thee home. Dolt, in the service to grow Hold! see these garden-buds: ere now In our sweet cantons they're in bloom. gray! But then you young recruits From early dawn on woody hill had need your old corporal many a day. Cheer, comrades, cheer! Nay, shed no tear. Attention! march! quick march! A cornet struck me-raw young Recruits, you'll scarce endure the loss I've often strayed the livelong day : Attention! march! quick march! What woman weeps and murmurs so? Pray for my soul, good Jeanette, do! Nay, shed no tear. Look you! my pipe's smoked out and dry! The hand is gone that cropped its flowers; "Or shall we cross yon mountains blue, Whose streams my kindred nation quaffed, And by my side, in battle true, A thousand warriors drew the shaft? Ah! there, in desolation cold, Like me, are death-like old. "But hark! the trump! To-morrow thou Amidst the clouds that round us roll; From Outalissi's soul, |