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' THE SHADE OF PICTON. j

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THE SHADE OF PICTON. j The shade of gallant Picton is still with us on earth, And treads the heaths of Cyrn.ru—the laud that gave him birth, Looks at our mountain passes with a warrior's heart of joy, And smiles upon our valleys where he sauntered while a boy. When the winds roar loud and angry upon each giant height, And sweep the craggy pinnacles where eagles have their flight, There rides the shade of Picton the genius of the storm, And shouts the cry of battle and waves his victor arm, When meads in merry spring-tide put on their garb of flowers, And bursting buds and scented leaves perfume the sunny hours, And gaily painted hedge-rows adorn the waving lea, Oh then, the spirit changes to the soul of minstrelsy. Sometimes o'er fields of conflict in wild and distant lands, Where slaughter dy'd the greensward or havock bore her britids, And friends and foes with fury fired, fought gallantly the fray, And forms of stalwart manhood were buried where they lny Youth, lover, husband, father-in proud repose are there, And woman's heart its anguish in solitude must bear.— 07t by these scenes of honour, of victory, and woe, When stillness marks the midnight hour the shade is known to go Itests on the graves of friends lie lost and valued for their worth, For courage and brave soldiership like him who led them forth Remembrance calls the dead to life, affection has its due, But yet he proves that to himself the spirit still is true, For now a shout starts hill and dale, the earth and so- lemn sea, They fly they fly It is the cry—the shout of victory. When gay dreams charm the soul at night, or fancy in the day, When living men hold commune free with spirits far away, Then those who in companionship with Picton were in arms, Whose days of iron toil and blood, and nights of quick alarms, With him were pass'd so that the hearts of matron and of maid, In England free, in peace might be, of foeman not afraid, Have often found their frames renewed, their souls again on Are, With knitted brows and clenched hand, and eyes that flash with ire, Which well express the valiantness that won them their renown, Whence sudden comes that daring dream-is that hot mood their own, No! 'tis the spirit of the past that then resumes its sway, The spirit of their General which they again obey. And what have they who followed him through battles red career, Through fire and blood, o'er field and flood, confiding in his cheer; Done to avow the honor'd dead, the champion of the fight, They've nothing done, but can they own that this neglect is right. His noble hearted countrymen a monument would raise, Some fitting record of his worth, a tribute to his praise A beacon bright for men unborn, an impulse to the brave, A grateful proof that patriot fame survives the gloomy grave. And soon a shapeless mass is reared deforming heav'ns sky, A pillar without character with effigy on high, A huge unsightly horror revolting to the eye. This stands awhile and then condemned, is levell'd with the ground, And now a column in its stead shall with each grace abound; And far and near throughout the land, a man of art is sought, To line a model equal to, the deeds the hero wrought, And lords and squires and armed men, in solemn con- clave meet, To ponder o'er the new design, to praise or blame if meet. When stupid dolts with leaden heads, on art and taste decide, Shrinks elegance afeard away, with beauty at her side; Thus blund'ring boldly sans a guile, the Tyro's talk away, And chose a fright more horrid still than that they swept away. To suck the bantling prodigy, to rear the pile divine, Oh, who could be more fitted than a Captain of the line! And the sleepy headed sages now think their duty done, And say 'twill look well, when finish'd, if once 'tis well begun. The artizan and soldier man are busy at their toil, That gaping countrymen might see the very wond'rous pile, But ways and means and builders' schemes could never well agree, The plans were inconvenient, wire altered rather free, Each horror made more horrible, the stupid still more tame, And this forsooth's the monument to speak great Pic- ton's fame. The spirit of the belted knight came roaming near this town, And saw the crude enormity, this stain on high renown This estimate of his great deeds, the life he gave away, An insult to his kin and name, whatever others say. The spirit shrieked with agony, a cry of deep despair, And caught the gallant Captaiu, and whisk'd him through the air, And whether he comes back again, remaineth to be seen, But if he does I'll promise him to ask where he uas been. EAIUOEEBI YREV.

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