XXXI. SONG. "Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking: Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, "No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armor's clang or war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here Mustering clan or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come At the daybreak from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans or squadrons stamping." XXXII. She paused, then, blushing, led the lay, The cadence of the flowing song, SONG CONTINUED. "Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; Here no bugles sound reveillé." XXXIII. The hall was cleared, the stranger's bed Was there of mountain heather spread, But vainly did the heath-flower shed His standard falls, his honor s lost. Then, from my couch may heavenly might Chase that worst phantom of the night! Again returned the scenes of youth, Of confident, undoubting truth; Again his soul he interchanged With friends whose hearts were long estranged. They come, in dim procession led, The cold, the faithless, and the dead ; As if they parted yesterday. And doubts distract him at the view, XXXIV. At length, with Ellen in a grove His suit was warm, his hopes were high. The phantom's sex was changed and gone, Slowly enlarged to giant size, With darkened cheek and threatening eyes, The grisly visage, stern and hoar, eye And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng, Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along, Until, the giddy whirl to cure, He rose and sought the moonshine pure. XXXV. The wild rose, eglantine, and broom He felt its calm, that warrior guest, |