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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

Page 623

Thomas Kibble Hervey. (1804–1859) (continued)
    A love that took an early root,
  And had an early doom.
          The Devil’s Progress.
    Like ships, that sailed for sunny isles,
  But never came to shore.
          The Devil’s Progress.
    A Hebrew knelt in the dying light,
  His eye was dim and cold,
The hairs on his brow were silver-white,
  And his blood was thin and old.
          The Devil’s Progress.
    Wake, soldier, wake, thy war-horse waits
  To bear thee to the battle back;
Thou slumberest at a foeman’s gates,—
  Thy dog would break thy bivouac;
Thy plume is trailing in the dust
And thy red falchion gathering rust.
          The dead Trumpeter.
    Gayly we glide in the gaze of the world
With streamers afloat and with canvas unfurled,
All gladness and glory to wandering eyes,
Yet chartered by sorrow and freighted with sighs.
          The convict Ship.
Leonard Heath.
    On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billows
  Assail the stern rock, and the loud tempests rave,
The hero lies still, while the dew-drooping willows,
  Like fond weeping mourners, lean over his grave.
The lightnings may flash and the loud thunders rattle;
  He heeds not, he hears not, he’s free from all pain;
He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle;
  No sound can awake him to glory again!
          The Grave of Bonaparte. 1 
Note 1.
This poem attributed to Leonard Heath was set to music by Lyman Heath (1804–1870). The author is still unknown. [back]