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No. XXX,— "BRING OUT YOUR DEAD!' 



Hark ! as along those desert streets 



Pale Echo wakes a hollow sound : 

 What cry the startled listener greets 



And moans around ? 



Last night the city held a feast ; — 



T was gladness to the heart in man, 

 But with the day-burst, in the east. 



The Plague began. 



It passed right on, in arrowy line, 



And smote the captive in his thrall, 

 And smote the monarch at his wine 



In festive hall. 



At morn the mort-wain 'gan its part, 



And, long ere day had half gone round. 

 The fainting wretch who drove the cart 



Was under ground. 



And Terror, with his eye balls red, 



Went on before with hurried^stride 

 And left the dying and the dead 



On either side. 



Behind came Famine : from her breast 



The haggard mother weaned her child. 

 Drank the warm draught her hand expressed, 

 And wildly smiled ! 



And Madness : one in bride's attire 



Comes, laughing, from a warrior's corse 

 And hurries forth her room to hire. 



That o'er-worn horse. 



At night-fall, from the grey church tower 

 To where the ramparts' banner waves — 

 Nay more — to Beauty's choicest bower 



Was full of graves. 



And still the death-wain's creak appals 



And drowns that lean beast's weary tread, 

 In burden to those awful calls 



" Bring out your dead !" 



VOL. V. — 1835. D 



