^'

(/

^/.

^Ibujf Cbition

Be

!luxc

The

WORLD'S Best Poetry

DESCRIPTIVE NARRATIVE WHAT'S THE USE OF POETRY
:

By

RICHARD LE GALLIENNE
"VJolumeg 7 aub 8

NATIONAL SPIRIT
THE STUDY OF POETRY
By

FRANCIS

H.

STODDARD

iiational

ilibrnrp

Companp

Cbition

Be Huxe

UMITED TO ONE THOUSAND SETS

MAY 25

1956

Copyright, 1904

By John

D.

Morris

& Company

NOTICE OF COPYRIGHTS.

American pieces

in this

volume within the

tlie

legal protection

of copyright are used

by

courteous permission of the

in the following list or

owners, either the publishers named

tlie

authors or their representatives in the subsequent one,

reserve
all

who

their rights.

So far as practicable, permission

has been secured also for poems out of copyright.

Publishers of
1904.

THE WORLD'S BEST POETRY.

Co.,

Messrs. D.

Appt.eto>t "Tlie Hurricane."

&

New York. IF.

C.

Bryant;

Messrs. Dodd,

Mead &

Co.,

New York. TF. H. Vcnahle: "A

Welcome

to Boz."

Messrs. HorfiiiTox, Miffli^t Co.; Boston. T. B. Ahlrich: " ftuilichnus Re.x," "Tennyson ;" Bret Hartc: "Dickens in Camp;" O. IF Hoi hick : "Daniel Webster;" LazitrMx: "Chopin;" II. W. IjUKiidlov : "Carillon," " " at Florence," " The Skeleton Hawthorne," The Old Bridge " Al)raham ill Armor ;" .7. R. Loivcll : Fincoln," "To H. W. " On a " On Jjoiigfcllow," Hini.self," Coi)y of Omar KliawAm," " " Wm. L. Garrison T. II'. Parson^: "On

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Riichc: " Fight of the

;

'

son."

Mr.

John
"
;

L.vne,

saruiii

From

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New

York. 11'. Wiil^on

li's

"
:

Lacliryni;p

Mu-

(irave."

The

J. B. LipriNroTT r*<)Mi>.\NV, Pliiluleipiij.i, ^7. U. Tiokcr: "Prince Adeb;" T. B. linid: " Drifl.ing."

Messrs. Little, Bicovvn

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vii

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VOL.
VII.

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MniiUnn:

"I^aus Veneris."
N.VRR.ATIVE.

NOTICE OF COPYRIGHTS. The Rudder Publishing Companv, New York. T. F. Day.

viii

"The

Coasters."

Messrs. Small,

Maynard&Co., Boston. Evalcen Stein

'-In

Mexico."

The Success Company, also The Baker & Taylor Company, New York, in a volume entitled " How to get the Best out of Books." i?. Le Galllamc: " What's the Use of Poetry ?"
II.

American poems

in this

volume by the authors whose names

in parenthesis,

are given below are the copyrighted property of the authors, or

of their representatives

named

and may not be

reprinted without their permission, which for the present

work

has been courteously granted.

Publishers of
1904.

THE WORLD'S BEST POETRY.

;

M.

J. II. Boner (Mrs. L. A. Boner); Brooks (Mrs. Harriet Lyman Brooks) P. L. Dunbar, R. W. Gilder; C. 11. Phelps: Harriet W. Preston ; Sarah H. P. Whitman (Miss C. F. Dailey, Mrs. H. P. Chace); W. Whit-

B. Benton. (Joel Benton)

C. T.

man

(H. Traubel, Literary Executor).

"WHAT

'S

THR USE OF POETRY?"

UICIlAIil) Lie

BY
"

GALLIliNNK.

idly tuneful, the loquacious throng Flutter and twitter, prodigal of time, And little musters make a toy of songTill

And

gnive

men weary

of

tlie

AViLLiAM Watson, in " Wordsworth's Grave."

sound of rhyme."

no doubt that many one niight alnio.st say most people are firmly convinced that they do not care for poetry. They have no use for i1, they tell you. Either it bores them, as a fantastic, hijilillown method of saying something that, to tluiir way of thinking, could be better said
TiiKUi;
is

in

jtlain

])i'ose,

or

ilicy

look uitou

it

as the senti-

mental nonsense of the moonstruck and lovesick voung,--a kind of intellectual "candv" all very ^^(ll for women and children, but of no value to gi-ow n men with the serious work of the world on
their shoulders.
It

is

not at

all diflicult

to account lor, and. in-

To begin deed, to sympalhize with, this allitudc with, of course, there is a laige <lass outside our
j)resent

consideration

^\hicll
it

does not

care

for

poetry, simply because tera t ure w ha tsoever.

1
i

does not care lor any

Serious reading of any kind does not enter into

ix

''WHAT

'aS'

the

U^SE

OF POETRY?''

its scheme of life. Beyond the newspapers and magazines and an occasional novel of the hour, idly taken up and indifferently put aside, it has no literary needs. With this listless multitude we have not to concern ourselves, but rather with

that sufficiently heterogeneous body known as the reading jtublic, the people for whom Mr. Carnegie builds libraries, and the publishers display their

Of course, among these there must necessarih' be a considerable percentage temperamentally unappreciative of poetry,^ just as there are
wares.

numbers of people born with no ear for music, and numbers, again, born with no color-sense. The lover of i)oetry is no less born than the poet
himself.

so

is

his reader;

Yet, as the poet is made as well as born> and there are many who really

love poetry without they do not care for

knowing
it,

either because they have

it,

but

who think

contracted a wrong notion of what i)oetry is, or because they have some time or other made a bad
start with the
I

wrong

kind.

am

convinced that one widespread provoca-

tive of the prevailing impression of the foolishness of poetry is the mediocre magazine verse of

In an age when we go so much to the magazines for our reading, we may rely on finding there the best work being done in every branch of
the day.
literature except the highest. The best novelists, the best historians, and the best essayists write for the magazines; but the best poets must be

looked for in their high-priced volumes, and a magazine reader must rely for his verse on lady

amateurs and tuneful college boys.

Thus he too

"WHAT
oft('ii

\S

THE U^E OF POETRY?''

xi

aiipruaches poetry not through the great masters, but through the little misses; and he forms his naturally contemptuous notion of

fiom feeble echoes and insipid imitations. wonder, therefore, that he should refuse to Avaste his good eyesight on anything in the shape of verse, and should conceive of poetry as a mild mental dissii)ation for young ladies, a sickly
})oetry

No

sweetmeat made of molasses and moonshine. if the magazine editors of the world Avould only bind themselves to publish no verse except the

contemporary suptheir spare corners of sjiace Willi reprints of the old tine things, I am convinced that (hey would do a great deal toward
I)ly

best, and, failing to obtain a

of the best,

would

fill

rectifying this widespread misconception of an art which, far from being trivial and superficial,
is,

of all

liie

arts, the
I

most serious and most

vi-

tally

human.
all

am

for

leaders.

not saying that all poetry is There is a section of poetry

which has been called "poet's poetry," which, of necessity, can ai)peal only to those in whom the sense of beauty and verbal excpiisiteuess has be-

come

specialized. Spenser and Keats, for example, arc poets of llic rainbow. For the average reader llicir iiocins aic the luxuries rather than

the necessities of literature, though, in making a distinction so rough and ready, it must not be

forgotten that beauty, happily,

is

becoming moi-e
it

and more
go!
leii,

a genei-al necessity;

nor must

be for-

either, that I'ainbows, i-elined

and remote
It

as they are, belong also to the realities.

reality of yoctnj that
I

is

the

wish,

if

jiossible, to

bring

xii

"WHAT

'aS

the
"

U,SE OF'

POETRY?"
''

home
saj's

to readers of this article.

Some

flowers,"

George Meredith, have roots deep as oaks." Poetry is oue of those ilowers, and, instead of its
being a superficial decoration of
life, it is,

rightly

understood, the organic expression of life's deepest meaning, the essence in words of human dreams and human action. It is the truth of life
told beautifully,

and yet truthfully.

There

is

only one basis for the longevity of hu-

man forms. That basis is reality. No other form of human expression has continued with such persistent survival from the beginning until now as
poetry, from
all their

"

The
It

Iliad "

to

"

The

Absentfor

Minded Beggar."

and the

v\ild

flowers,

adventurous fragility, are as old, and no less stable, than the hills, and for the same reason, because they are no less real. Th.e world is a])t to credit prose with a greater reality than poetry but the truth is that the prose of life is real only
;

in proportion as it is vitalized by that spirit of poetry that breathes in all created things. Life exacts practical reasons for the survival of all its

forms of expression, and, unless poetry served some practical purpose of existence, it would long since have perished. It is because poetry has a practical work to do in the world that it continues, and will continue, to exist; beciiuse it is one of the motive forces of the universe, life's motive meaning, one might almost say, the nerve

A great man has defined it force of existence. as " the finer spirit of all knowledge," and the
plii'ase,

and deeper apprehension

though limited, may help us to a broader of poetry, and heli) us

"WHAT

'^'

THE UHE OF POETRY f'

xiii

to say, too, that poetry is the finer spirit of all impulse, tlie finer meaning of all achievement.

There
played

is

no human interest

desirin<^ to be dis-

in all its essential vividness that does

not

realize the value of a poetical expression. Those v\ho v.oukl depreciate the power of poetry in the sternest practical afl:"airs have only to be re-

how much modern imperialism owes to Kudyard Kiplinj^'; and it is by no means trivial
niiudid
to

have been

remark that the most successful advertisements in vei-se. So soon as " poetry/' so
immediately
its

called, really is poetry, its appeal is

admitted and
false poets
l)()('lry.

who

force undeniably felt. It is the ideas of for the false account

to confront a
'*

mail

"

One has only

i)ractical

A\ith the real thiuj^' to

widiodt realizing;- it, about jioi'try all his

convince him that, he has cared a great deal

life.

Probably he has imagined that this great stumbling-block has been the verse. " Why not say it in plain English?" he
has impatiently exclaimed, thinking all the time of la(l verse, of lifeless, contorted rhyming, and
of lliose melrical inanities of
I

yd.

ulicri
ill

yon

biiiig

him

a nci-sc

he magazines; and (hat is r(Nilly

be the very
life-

ali\(',

\Jii(h the metr(!

I

is felt to

beal of
ha\('
"
il

in lay of Scott's?

he llioiight, you don't find him asking (o Mined into jirose. How about " Mandaprose, for example, or iliat old bugle-call

"

SoiiikI.

sound the clarion,

fill

tlu' fife

To all llu^ sensual world proclaim, One crowded lioiir of jrlorious life
Is

worth an

apre williout a

name"

xiv

"WHAT
"

'8 "

TEE USE OF POETRY r'

Tears, idle tears," or Coleridge's

or Tennyson's

prayetli best who loveth best All tilings, both great and small For tlie dear God, wlio loveth vis,

He

He made and
"

loveth all

"

or " The quality of mercy is not strained." or Under the greenwood tree," or Mr. Swin-

burne's

"

Ask nothing more

of nie, sweet

All I can give you I give. Heart of my heart, were it more,

More would be laid at your feet Love that should help j'ou to live, Song that should spur you to soar."
:

In
to

all

these cases the verse

is

immediately

be the very life of the expression, for the reason that it echoes in words the life-rhythms to

felt

which, unconsciously, all such human emotions Can you say a trumkeep time. Say it in prose pet in prose, or a tear, or a butterfly? If you can> your prose is really poetry, and will be found to
!

be eloquent with sunken rhythms, not immediately obvious to the ear and eye.

The
words.

first

the metre

is

thing to realize about poetry is that the meaning, even more than the

In Tennyson's sad " Tears, idle tears," for example, it is not so much the words that are

accountable for the wistful sorrow of the general

effect as the sad,

rain-like melody mysteriously charging the words with sorrow, like some beau-

tiful interpretative voice; and it is this subtly mimetic quality, cudlessly adaptable, which is the

"WHAT

'S

THE USE OF POETRY?''

its

xv

raison d'etre of metre, and the secret of over mankind,

I*('rhaps
it

power

may

finition of poetry,

help though
We

us to attempt here a deit is a bold, even fool-

hardy thing to do, for there has never yet been a definition of poetry that satisfied any one but the man who made it. mav recall one fashion-

That a poet should have made such a harrowing definition is amazing, though one, of course, understands it, in the light of the
fact

able in its day, criticism of life."

Matthew

Arnold's

"

Poetry

is

muse was almost

criticism of
life,

that the insi)iration of Matthew Arnold's entirely that of a philosordiical

life.

Far from being a But

let

criticism of
it.

poetry

It is life

in
is

is

much more
words.
:

like a re-creation of

me

timidly launch

my own
icords,

definition

inipassioned arrangement of Poetry Khether in verse or prose, which em-

that

todies the exaltation, the beauty, the rhythm, and the pathetic truth of life.
Tliore is a motive idealism behind all

human

ac
to

tion of which

most of us are unconscious, or

which we ordinarily give but little thought, a romance of impulse, which is the real significance of human ellort. The walls of Thebes wvvo built to music, according 1o the old storv, but so were

the walls of every other ci<y that has ever been The sky-sera pei's of N(nv Voi-k are soaring laiilt.
t) iiiusic ;ilso, a mastei'ful music of ilic tiilure, which not all cm hear, and of which, perhaps, the music-makers liiemselves aic most ignorant of all. Once more, in Iluierson's immortal phrase, the

xvi

"WHAT

\S

THE

L\SE

OF POETRY?"

builders are building- better than they know, these ruthless speculators and stern business men,

who

are the last to suspect themselves of the poetry vshich thev involuutaril}' serve. Human life, in the main, is thus unconsciously
poetical,

and moves to immortal measures

spiritual

of a

mysterious

music.

It

is

this

impas-

sioned exaltation, this strange rhythm, this spirit" " which ual beauty, of life, the finer spirit

the poet seizes on and expresses, and therewith also tliat pathos wliich seems to inhere in all

created things.

We

that value of
for which
selves.

life

which we

read him because he gives feel belongs to it, but

we

are unable to find the words our-

often one has heard people say, on " a poem ^Vhy, that is just what I have reading always felt, but could never express!'' and the
:

How

exclamation v.as obviously a recognition of tJiG truth of the poem. The poet had made a true observation,
truth.

and recorded

it

with

all

the vividness of
all

It is the

business of the poet to be

the

time thus recording, and manifestations, not onlv for those

re-creating, life in all its

who already possess something of the poetic vision, yet lack the poetic utterance, but also for those vvho need to be
awakened
to the ideal

meanings and issues

of

life.

Poetry is thus seen to be a kind of lay religion, revealing and interpreting the varied beauty and
nobility of life. But a better
"

use

"

the

way than

sv/eet

uses of

theorizing to show the

poetry

is

to call

up

the names of some of the great poets, and ponder what they have meant, and still mean, in the life

"WHAT

\S

THE USE OF POETRY f'

xvii

of humanity, Dante, Milton, and Wordsworth, for example, and to them we might add Tennyson,

Browning,

and

Matthew

Arnold.

How much

these six poets alone have meant to the graver life of humanity: the life of religion, of thought, of conduct! Particularly v'ith regard to the four

poets of the last century

we

are compelled to note

how, far

more than any professed teachers and thinkers, they were the teachers and thinkers of their age, and did indeed mould the thought of For how many have Wordsworth's their century. In Memoriam," BrownPrelude," Tennyson's " Kabbi Ben Ezra," and Matthew Arnold's ing's
'^
''

been literally sacred books, books to name only a of daily exercise and meditation, few of their more typical poems. They are well

"

Empedocles

"

worn

to-day, but think

these lines of
" Tlie world

what forces in the world Wordsworth have been:

; :

Tennyson says:
" Are

is too mucli with us late and soon. Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers Little we see in nature that is ours We lia\e given our hearts away, a sordid boon "
;
!

God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the tj'pe she seems, So careless of the single life
;

" That

T,

considering everywhere
tliiit

Ilor secret nie;jiiiiig in iier deeds,

Anil finding

of lifty seeds

She often
"
I falter

lirings
I

hut one to bear,

firmly trod.-

where

And,

Upon

falling with weight of cares the great worlij's altar-stairs

my

That slope through darkness up to God,

xviii

"

WHAT

\S

THE USE OF POETRY?"

and grope and call
Lord of

" I stretch lame liands of faith, And gather dust and chaff,

To what

I feel is

all,

And
I

faintly trust the larger hope."

quote this from Matthew Arnold

" Is
it

so small a thing

To Iiave enjoyed the sun, To have lived light in the spring. To have loved, to have tliouglit, to have done To have advanced true friends, and beat down
baffling foes
;

And

That we must feign a bliss Of doubtful future date, And, while we dream on this, Lose all our present state, " relegate to worlds yet distant our repose ?

These lines, and many more like them that one conld quote, have done definite spiritual service for mankind, have Inspired countless men and

women with new

tude,

faith, new hope, and new and will-remain permanent springs of

forti-

suste-

nance for the human spirit. Again, the mere mention of such names as Goethe, Byron, and Shelley carries with it their tremendous significance in the " practical " life of the modern Avorld. When we think of such
figures as occur over and over again in the history of poetry, we realize that Tennyson's " one poor " that '' shook the world " was no poet's scroll

mere boyish
sad musical

inflation of the poet's mission.

poet,-

That Arthur O'Shaughnessy, said no

more than the truth when he sang,

the motion of moonlight on water:

in verse

like

"

WHAT
"

\S

THE USE OF POETRY?"

xix

We are

the music-makers, are the dreamers of dreams, Wanderhig by lone sea breakers, And sitting by desolate streams

And we

World-losers and world-forsakers. On whom the pale moon gleams: Yet we are the movers and shakers

Of the world

for ever,

it

seems."

has been

what a sbeerly political force poetry America alone one lias oul}- to recall the ])oenis of Whittier and Lo\yell, Poe and Long" Battle fellow, and Julia Ward Howe's immortal
realize
in

To

llynm

of the Republic." But, apart from such strenuous and stern services, how many other services no less valuable

has poetry rendered to mankind,

services of joy

and universal sympathy!

liiiiiscir,

The poet, often so sad sings all men's joys and sorrows as if they were his own, and there is nothing that can ]i:ippen to us, nothing we can experience, no stroke
of fate, and no mood of heart or mind that we can not find exi)ressed and interpreted for us somewhere in some poet's book. Take but one Rolxrt Burns, for instance, and think of l)oet,

the immense addition to (he

I)leasure

sum

total of

human

and human consolation that his handful Who asks, "NN'hat's of Scotch songs has made. " when he joins in Auld Lang the use of poetry? Syne," and feels his heart stirred to its tearful
''

depths with the sentiment of human brotherhood, and the almost tragic dearness of friends. And who that has ever be<'n in love has not once iu his life felt the brotherly baud of a fellow experience iu

XX

"WHAT
"

\S

THE

Ui^,B

OF POETRY f'^

Had we never Had we never

Never met,

loved sue kindly,

loved sae blindly, or never i^arted,

We had

ne'er been broken-hearted,"

and been consoled somehow with that

rions consohition

nivste-

which belongs to the perfect of sorrow? expression If the simple songs of a Scotch peasant have
been of so

much

"

use " to the world, what of that

lordly pleasure-house of Shakespeare? Think of the boundless universe of mere delight that has

written over

speare," the

its

door,

"

The Works of Shake-

laughter, the wisdom, the beauty,

the all-comprehending humanity. If it be of no use to make men happy, to quicken

them tlie joy of life, to heighten their pleasures, to dry their tears, to bind u]) their wounds; if it be of no use to teach them wisdom, to open their eyes, to purify and direct their spirits, to gird
in

them to fight, to brace them to endure, to teach them to be gentle, then, indeed, we may ask, 'MVhat 's the use of poetry?" but, while poetry can do all these things, I think it must be allowed by the most practical that it has a very important part to ])lay in the work of the world. To end, as I began, with that practical m;in

who imagines

that he does not care for poetry,

gave one or two explanations of his distaste, but there is one other important one that must not be forgotten. He begins too often with " Paradise I mean that he too often atLost,"

tempts some tough classic, before he is i-eady for and, because he cannoi read Milton with it,

"WHAT
pleasuie,

'S

THE USE OF POETRY?''

that

xxi
for

iinagiues
all.

he

does

not

care

poetry

r.t

Thus he

finds himself bewildered

by the insipid magazine muses on the one hand an^ the unscalable immortals on the other. Too many make the famous Mr. Bofliu's mistake of
beginning the study of English literature with Gibbous "Decline and Fall"; and what wonder
the study of English poetry '' should imagine, Sordelio with Browning's like Douglas Jerrold in the story, either that his
if

mau beginning

''

mind was

failing him. or that there

was someActually a

thing radically wrong with the poet!

love poetry very deeply, and care noth" ing at all for Paradise Lost."' He may also find nothing for him in Homer or iEschylus or Dante

man may

The great architectural works of such masters may seem too godlike and grim for his But give him a handful of gentler human need. violets from Ophelia's grave, or a bunch of Merrick's daflodils, or take him out under the sky where Shelley's lark is singing, or try him with a Ivric of Heine's, or some ballad of
or (Joethc.

"...

Ami

old, unliappy, fiir-oft things, battles long ugo,*'

and yoii will see whether or not he loves jjoetry. The mistake is in thinking that all jtoetry is for On llie contrary, [\w realm of poetry all readers.
as wide as the world, for the very rea.son that each man may find there just what he nee<ls. and
is

leave the rest.

The thing
for us,
to

is

to discover the

poetry

that

was meant
is

to do that

and perhaps the best way turn over the jtages of some well-

xxii

"WHAT
selection, held.

'S

THE USE OF POETRY?"

see
"

made
and

where our eyes get caught Golden Treasury " is, of Palgrave's course, the classical anthology, a little volume
filled

and

with

the

poetry.* hour, and find nothing to his taste, it is to be feared that he was born deaf to the sweet rippling of the Pierian spring. But, as I have said, 1 be-

If a

man

purest gold of English lyrical should read in that for an

few have been so hardly treated h\ napoet died young in every one of us," said some one. I think he did not so much die as fall asleep, nor is he so fast asleep but that the
ture.
lieve that "

right song sung right would What is the Use of poetry?

awaken him.
It is just the
it

use of living,
"

and

whole
enter

let

any one who doubts

the garden for himself.

Ay, come ye liitlier to this pleasant land, For here in truth are vines of Engaddi, Here golden urns of manna to thy hand,

And rocks whence honey flows deliciouslj^ Udders from which comes frothing copiously The milk of life, ears filled with sweetest grains, And fig trees knowing uo sterility Here Paradisal streams make rich the plains, Oh come and bathe therein, ye world-worn
;

weary swains."

(^ i\ k ^r4>
*

L,

f^Ue^

***-

The "Golden Treasury," when it was published more than forty ago was certainly the finest anthology that had been made in England and it still holds its place as a very choice collection of British poets small and select. The Euitoks.
years
;

TABLE OF CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY
"What
's

the Usk of Poetry?"

PAGE

By Richard Le

Gallienne

ix

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS
Personal
riors
:

Rulers

Statesmen

War3

Great Writers
Miscellaneous

37 110

Nature and Art

Places

124
160

NARRATIVE POEMS:
Greece: Rome Norselanu Germany Tiiio Orient: Spain: France England Scotland America
: :

.......

....

201 284 305

3r)2

483
441

INDEX". Authors and Titles

vn

xxiii

DESCEIPTIVE POEMS

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

TO MARY STUART.
All
That
beauty, granted as a boon to earth, is, has been, or ever can have birth,

Compared to hers, is void, and Nature's care Ne'er formed a creature so divinely fair.
In spring amidst the
lilies

she was born,

And purer tints her And though Adonis'

Beside her bloom

peerless face adorn; blood the rose may paint, the rose's hues are faint
:

With all his richest store Love decked her eyes; The Graces each, those daughters of the skies.
Strove Avhich should
dear,

make her

to the

world most

And, to attend

her, left their native sphere.

The day that was to l)par her far away, Why was I mortal to behold that day? O, had I senseless grown, nor heard, nor seen! Or that my eyes a ceaseless fount had been, That J might weep, as weep amidst their bowers The nymphs, when winter winds have cropped
their flowers.

Or when rude torrents the clear streams deform, Or wl'en the trees are riven by the storm Or rather, would that I some bird had been
!

Still to Still

be near her in each changing scene, on the highest mast to watch all day.

And

like a star to

mark her

vessel's

way:

The dangei'ous billows Near that dear face it

past, on shore, on sea, still wei-e mine to be!

PEBSOXAL: RULERS, ETC.

O
Fi-auce!

where are thy aucieut

champions

gone, Rohmd, Rinaldo? is tliere living none Her steps to follow and her safety guard, And deem her lovely looks their best reward, Which might subdue the pride of mighty Jove To leave his heaven, and languish for her love?

No

fault

is

hers, but in her royal state,

For simple Love dreads to approach the great He flies from regal pomp, that treacherous snare, Where truth unmarked may wither in despair.
;

Wherever destiny her path may lead, Fresh-springing flowers will bloom beneath her
tread.

All nature will rejoice, the waves be bright. The temjtest check its fury at her sight,

The sea be calm her beauty to behold. The sun shall crown her with his rays of
:

gold,

Unless he fears, should lie np])roach her throne Her majesty should (piite ecliise his own. From the French of PIERRE DE ROXSARD.
Translation of

LOUISE STU.\RT COSTELLO.

TO TIIK I.OKD-GENICKAL CRO^IWIOLL.

f'ROMWiu.L, our chief of iikmi, who lin-ough a loU(], Xo< of WAV only, but dclractions rude,
(luided
l)y

lailli

and malcliless forliludc.

Inilli
lliy

To

i)eace

and

glorious

way

hast

And on

plouglicd, tlw neck of crownr'd fortune

proud

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots inbued,

And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud. And Worcester's laureate wreath. Yet much
mains

re-

To conquer still Peace hath her No less renowned than War new
;
:

victories

foes arise.

Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: Help us to save free conscience from the paw

Of hireling wolves, whose gospel

is

their

maw.

MILTON.

O,

BREATHE NOT HIS NAME!

ROBERT EMMET.

O, BREATHE not his name let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid;
!

As

Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed, the night-dew that falls on the grave o'er his
head.

But the night-dew that

it

falls,

though

in silence

weeps.

Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he

And

sleeps the tear that

;

we

shed, though in secret

it

rolls.

Shall long keep his

memory

green in our souls. THOMAS MOORE,

u z o c I h < CO h u O Q
(

Q w

CO <|

C w Z a: w Z w o D CO

a
<

PERSONAL: RULERS, ETC.

CHARLES
FROM
'"'^THE

XII.

VANITY OF

HUMAN

WISHES."

On what fonudations stands the warrior's pride, IIow just his hoies, let Swedish Charles decide: A frame of adamant, a soul of tire, Ko dangers fright him, and no labors tire; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain,
Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain.

No joys to him i)acific sceptres yield, War sounds the trump, he rushes to the
llehold surrounding kings their

field

power combine,
in

And one

capitulate, and one resign; Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms

vain

"Think nothing gained," he

remain.

cries,

"till

naught
fly,

On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards And all be mine beneath the polar sky."
The
iiiaicli

And
And

begins in military state, nations on his eye susjiended wait;

Stern famine guards the solitary coast, wiiiler barricades the realms of frost,
lie comes, noi-

want nor cold

gloi-y,

Hide, Idushing

his course delay; hide IMiltowa's day!

The
(

van(piishe<l heio h-aves his bioken bands,

liis

And shows
\\'liile
I'.nt

miseries in distant lands;

nee(ly supplicaiil
to wait,

"oiidciiiiied n

ladies inlei-pose did not chance a(

and

slav<'s debate.
Iiei-

leiigtii

erroi-

mend?

Did no subverted empire mai'k

his

end?

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

rival mouarclis give the fatal wound, hostile millions press him to the ground? His fall was destined to a barren strand,

Did

Or

He

petty fortress, and a dubious hand left the name, at which the world
a moral or adorn a tale.
DU.

grevv^ i^ale,

To point

SAMUKL JOHNSON.

NAPOLEON.
"

Tu

domiiies notre age

ange ou demon, qa'importe

"
!

Angel

or demon! thou whether of light The minister, or darkness still dost sway

This age of ours; thine eagle's soaring flight Bears us, all breathless, after it away.

The eye that from thy presence fain would

straj^

Shuns thee
Rests on

in vain
all

thy mighty shadow thrown

And on

pictures of the living day, the threshold of our time alone.

Dazzling, yet sombre, stands thy form, Napoleon!

Thus, when the admiring stranger's steps explore

The subject-lands that 'neath Vesuvius be, Whether he wind along the enchanting shore To Portici from fair Parthenope,
Or, lingering long in dreamy revery, O'er loveliest Ischia's od'rous isle he stray.

Wooed by whose
sea

breath the soft and am'rous

Seems

like

some languishing sultana's

lay,

voice for very sweets that scarce can win its

way

PERSONAL: RULERS, ETC.

Him, whether Psestunrs solemn fane

detain, Shroudin<i- his soul with meditation's power; Or at I'ozzuoli, to the spi-ii>htly strain

Of tarantella danced 'neath Tuscan tower,

Or wake

Listening, he while away the evening hour; the echoes, mournful, lone, and deep, Of that sad city. In its dreaming bower
likeness which they
sleep
;

By
The

the volcano seized, where mansions keep wore at that last fatal

Or be

his bark at T'osilippo laid.

his side

While as Hie swarthy boatman at

Cliants Tasso's lays to Virgil's pleased shade, Ever he sees throughout that circuit wide.

From sliaded nook or sunny lawn es])ied. From rocky lieadland viewed, oi- llow'ry shore. From sea and spreading mead alike descried.
The Giant Mount, tow'ring

And

all objects o'er. l)lack'ning with its breath th' horizon ever-

more

From

tlie

Frcnoli of VlC'IXdt

11 ('(iO.

Translation from FKASIOU's MAf.'A/JXlO.

XAPOLKOX.
FUO.M *'<IIII,I)K
IIAKOI,!)."'

CAXTO

III.

Tiifim; sunk the greatest, nor (lie worsl of men, AN'hose spirit aniitliet ically mixed One iiioineiit of the migiitiest. and again

On

little

objects with like lirnuiess

in all

li\(>(|.

JCxtreme

things! hadst thou been betwixt,

10

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Thy throne had still been thine, or never been; For daring made thy rise as fall thou seek'st Even now to reassnrae the imperial mien,
:

And shake

again the world, the Thunderer of the

!

scene

Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame, Who wooed thee once, thy vassal, and became The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert A god unto thyself nor less the same
:

To

Who

the astounded kingdoms all inert, deemed thee for a time whate'er thou didst
assert.

O more

high or low. Battling with nations, flying from the field; Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield An empire thou couldst crush, command, reor less than
:

man in

build,

But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, However deei)ly in men's spirits skilled. Look through thine own, nor curb the lust
war.

of

Nor

learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest

star.

Yet well thy soul hath brooked the turning tide With that untaught innate philosophy. Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, Is gall and wormwood to an enemy.

r/JRSOXAL: RULERS, ETC.

II

Whon

the whole host of hatred stood hard by,

To watch and mock thee shrinkiug, thou hast

smiled

With

a sedate

and

all-endnrino;

eye.

WluMi Fortune
child,

lied

her si)oiled and favorite

ills

He

stood unbowed beneath the

upon

liiiii

piled.

Sager than

Ambition That just habitual scorn which could contemn Men and their thoughts; 't was wise to feel, not
so

in thy fortunes; for in them steeled thee on too far to show

To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, And spurn the instruments thou wert
Till tlicy

to use

were turned unto thine overthrow; but a worthless world to win or lose; So hath il [iroved to thee, and all such lot who
'T
is

choose.
If, like a tower upon a headlong rock. Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, Such scorn <f man had helped to brave the

shock

Hut men's thoughts were the steps which paved

thy throne,

Their admiration

tliy best

weapon shone;
lliinc.

The

pai-l

of

riiilii)'s
liiy

son w;is

not then

(I'nh'ss aside

pnrph' had been thi-own)

at

Like stern l)iog<'nes to mock For sceptred cynics earth were

T'nt <|niet to (piick

men;
tt>o

far

wide a den.

bosoms

is a hell.
tliei-e
is

And

llnrc

Iiiitli

Ix-en

thy bane;

a liic

12

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
And motion of the In its own narrow
sonl which will not dwell
being, but aspire

Bej-ond the fitting medium of desire; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore,

Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Of aught but rest; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.
This makes the

madmen who have made men

!

mad

By

Founders

their contagion Conquerors of sects and systems, to

and Kings,

whom add

Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things AVhich stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool
;

how unenviable! what stings Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine
Envied, yet
or rule.
is agitation, and their life storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die; Even as a flame, unfed, which i-uns to waste With ils own flickering, or a sword laid by.

Their breath

Which

eats into itself,

and rusts

iugloriously.

He who
The

loftiest

ascends to mountain-tops shall find peaks most wrapt in clouds and

snow;

PER.SOXAL: RULERH, ETC.

13

He who

surpasses or subdues niankiud

Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits
led.

LORD BYRON.

ON THE MONUMENT ERECTED TO

MAZZINI AT GENOA.
Italia, mother of the souls of men,

Mother
Of
all tluit

divine,

served thee best with sword or pen, All sons of thine.

likeness of the best

Thou knowest that here the

The head most The

ISefore thee stands:

high, the heart found faifhfulest,

juirest hands.
;iii(l

Above

llie

Now
Nor

sits

foam of time (Ii;i( Hits, we know. on high where Aiighieri sits

funic

The

soul,

\\'ith

Angelo.
li";ivcnly

his

ovvii

tongue

Ii;i(Ii

li(M\f'nIy

speech
lCn()Ugli
(<)

say

What

tliis

ninn

\\-as,

wli(sc piMisc

no

(lioiiglil

may

reach.

No words

can weigh.

14

DESCRIPTIVE POEiMS.
first

Since man's

mother brought to mortal birth

Her
Such grace

first-born son,

befell not ever

man on

earth

As crowns

this One.

Of God nor man was ever this thing said: That he could give
Life back to her

who gave

him, that his dead

Mother might

live.

But

this

man found
With

his

mother dead and

slain,

fast-sealed eyes,

And bade

the dead rise

up and

live again,

And And
all

she did rise:

the world
:

was bright with her through him But dark with strife.

Like heaven's

own sun

that storming clouds bedim,

Was

all his life.

Life and the clouds are vanished; hate and fear Have had their span

Of time to hurt and are not The sunlike man.

He

is

here

City superb, that hadst Columbus first For sovereign son. Be prouder that thy breast hath later nurst

This mightier One.

Glory be his forever, while this land

Lives and
is free,

As with

controlling breatli and sovereign He bade her be.

hand

PIIRSIOXAL: RVLER^, ETC.

Earth shows
to heaven the

15

names by thousands

told

That crown her fame: But highest of all that heaven and earth behold
Mazzini's name.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

GEORGE WASHINGTON.
By broad Potomac's
silent shore

Better than Trajan lowly lies, Gilding her green declivities

With glory now and evermore;

Art to his fame no aid hath lent; His country is his monument. ANONYMOUS.

WASHINGTON.
[From
1875,

on

" Under the Elm," read at Caiiil)ri.lse, July 3, tlie Hundredtli Anniversary of Washington's
of the

taking

Command

American Army.]

Benkatu our consecrated elm

A century ago

he stood.

Earned vaguely for that old light in the wood. ^^'hicll redly foamed round liiiii but conld not over-

whelm
The
life

foredoomed

t<

wield
the
I

our rough-hewn

helm.
FroTii colleges, whei-e

now

gown

To arms had

vielded,

from the own.

IG

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

Our rude self -summoned levies flocked to see The new-come chiefs and wonder which was he.

No

need to question long; close-lipped and

tall,

Long trained in murder-brooding forests lone To bridle others' clamors and his own, Firmly erect, he towered above them all. The incarnate discfpline that was to free With iron curb that armed democracy.

Haughty they said he was, at first, severe. But owned, as all men owned, the steady hand
the bridle, patient to command, Prized, as all prize, the justice pure from fear, And learned to honor first, then love him, then

Upon

revere.

Such power there

And purpose
taint.

is in clear-eyed self-restraint. clean as light from every selfish

Musing beneath the legendary tree. The years between furl off: I seem to see The sun-flecks, shaken the stirred foliage through, Dapple with gold his sober bufl' and blue. And weave i>i"0]hetic aureoles round the head That shines our beacon now, nor darkens with
the dead.

O man

of silent

mood,

How

strangers then. renowned the Great, the Good, Familiar as the day in all the homes of men

stranger

among

art thou since

The winged years, that winnow praise and blame, Blow many names out they but fan to flame The self-reneAving splendors of thy fame.
:

PERSOXAL: RULERS, ETC.

O, for a drop of that terse Roman's ink Who gave Agricola dateless length of davs, To celebrate him fitly, neither swerve

17

To phrase unkemi)t, nor pass discretion's brink, With him so statuelike in sad reserv'e, So diffident to claim, so forward to deserve! Nor need T shun due influence of his fame Who, mortal among mortals, seemed as now The equestrian shape with unimpassioned brow,
That paces
silent

on through vistas of acclaim.

What
Than Calm

figure

more immovablv august

that grave strength so patient and so i)ure. in good fortune, when it wavered, sure, That soul serene, impenetrably just.

Modelled on classic linos, so simi)le they endure? That soul so softly radiant and so white The track it left seems less of fire than light.

Cold but to such as love distemperature? And if pure light, as some deem, be the force That drives rejoicing planets on their course.

Why
Tlis

for

his

power benign

seeU

;in

impurer

source?

was the true enthusiasm that

])urns long,

Domestically bright.

Fed from itself and shy of human sight. The hidden force that makes a lifetime strong.

And

not the short-lived fuel of a song. What is p.-ission for Passionless, say yon? But to sublime our natui-es and control,
heroic (oils
OT-

To front Or notie,
That
fire

\\\\]\

lute return.

siKJi as

shames the coiupieror?

(lie

was

fed with substiince of

soul.

And

not with holiday stubble, that could Imru

VII 2

18

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

Through seven slow years of unadvancing war, Equal when fields were lost or fields were won, With breath of popular applause or blame, Nor fanned nor damped, unqueuchably the same, Too inward to be reached by flaws of idle fame.

and statesman, rarest unison; High-poised example of great duties done Simply as breathing, a world's honors- worn
Soldier

As

life's

indijierent gifts to all

it

Dumb

for himself, unless

men born; were to God,

But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent.

Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content; Modest, yet firm as Nature's self; unblamed
Save by the men his nobler temper shamed; Not honored then or now because he wooed The popular voice, but that he still withstood;
Broad-minded, higher-souled, there
is

but one
men's,

Who was

all

this,

and

ours,

and

all

Washington.

Minds strong by fits, irregularly great. That flash and darken like revolving lights, Catch more the vulgar eye unschooled to wait On the long curve of patient days and nights.

Rounding the whole life to the circle fair Of orbed completeness and this balanced So simple in its grandeur, coldly bare Of draperies theatric, standing there
;

soul,

In perfect symmetry of self-control. Seems not so great at first, but greater grows
Still

as

we

look,

and by experience learn

PER.^OXAL: RULERS, ETC.

10

How grand tliis quiet is, liow nobly stern The discipline that wrought through life-long
throes

This energetic passion of repose. A nature too d(H-orous and severe

Too self-respectful in its griefs and joys For ardent girls and boys, Who find no genius in a mind so clear That its grave depths seem obvious and near, Nor a soul great that made so little noise. They iexA no force in that calm, cadenced phrase, The habitual full-dress of his well-bred mind, That seems to pace the minuet's courtly maze

And

tell

of

ampler

leisures,

roomier length of

days. His broad-built brain, to self so little kind

That no tumultuary blood could blind. Formed to control men, not amaze, Looms not like those that borrow height of haze; It was a world of statelier movement then

Than this we fret in, he a denizen Of that ideal Itome that made a man
Placid completeness,
life

for men.

without a

fall

From faith wa
i

or highest aims,

truth's

brcachless

Ilis will

any fame can bear the touch, Here! " at the last trumpet's call. say The uiicxpressive man whose life expressed so
Surely
if
''

luucli.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

20

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

DANIEL WEBSTER.
.When,
stricken,

by the freezing

blast,

A nation's living pillars fall, How rich the storied page, how A word, a whisper, can recall
No medal
lifts its fretted face.

vast,

Nor speaking marble cheats your

Yet, while these pictured lines

ej'e;

I trace,

living

image passes by

roof beneath the mountain pines; The cloisters of a hill-girt }tlain; The front of life's embattled lines;

A mound

beside the heaving main.

These are the scenes a boy appears Set life's round dial in the sun,
:

Count the swift arc His frame is dust;

of seventy years. his task is done.

Yet pause upon the noontide hour, Ere the declining sun has laid His bleaching rays on manhood's power. And look upon the mighty shade.

No gloom that stately No change uncrown

shape can hide. his brow; behold!

Dark, calm, large-fronted, lightning-eyed, Earth has no double from its mould!

PER.'^OXAL:

RULERS, ETC.

21

Ere from the fields by valor won The battle-smoke had rolled away,

And

bared the blood-red setting sun, His e^es were opened on the day.

His land was bnt a shelving strip, Black with the strife that made He lived to see its banners dip
Their fringes
in the

it

free;

western sea.

The boundless prairies learned his name, His words the mountain echoes knew; The northern breezes swe])t his fame

From
Jn
toil

icy lake to

warm

bayou.

he lived; in ieace he died;

life's full

When
I'ut
ott'

cycle

his robes of
laid
is

was comjilete, power and pride,

And

them at

his Master's feet.

His rest

^^'hom

Whose

by the sloiui-swept waves, wild Ictiipests roughly ti'ied. heart was like (he streaming caves
life's

Of ocean, throbbiug

at his side.

Death's cold while hand is like the snow Laid softly on the furrowed hill;

And

hides the broken seams jjclow. leaves the summil brighter

slill.

In \aiii (he (^^^(His tongue njiliraids; His name a nation's licart shall keep.
Till nioiniiig's latest snnliglit
I'ailcs

On

(he bine tahlct of the deep! oravi;K wi:Nii:ra, iihi.mks.

22

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON.

it was reported to me by the had ferreted out the paper and its editor that liis office was an obscure hole, his only visible auxiliary a negro boy, and his svi])porters a few very in-

"

Some time
;

afterward,

city officers that they

significant persons of all colors."

Letter of H.

G. Otis.

In a small chamber, friendless and unseen, Toiled o'er his types one poor, unlearned young

man;
The place was dark, unfurnitured, and mean
Yet there the freedom of a race began.
:

Help came but slowly surely no man yet Put lever to the heavy world with less
;
:

What

need of help?
set.

He knew how

types were

He had

a dauntless spirit, and a press.

Such earnest natures are the fiery pith, The comjjact nucleus, round which systems grow Miass after mass becomes inspired therewith.
:

And

whirls impregnate with the central glow.

! I

O Freedom how are ye still born In the rude stable, in the manger nursed What humble hands unbar those gates of morn
O Truth
!

Through which the splendors of the New Day

burst
!

What!

shall
cell.

one monk, scarce known beyond his

bolts,

Front Rome's far-reaching frown ?

and scorn her

PERHOXAL: RULERS, ETC.

23

Brave Luther answered Yes; that tliunder's swell Rocked Europe, and discharmed the triple
crown.
V\'hatever can be

known

of earth

we know,
in

Sneered

Europe's

wise

men,

their snail-

shells curled;

No! said one man in Genoa, and that No Out of the dark created this New World.
\Vho
is it

will not dare himself to trust?

Who
AMio
lie

is it

is it

hath not strenoth to stand alone? thwarts and bilks the inward Must?
his works,
like sand,

and

from earth are

blown.

Men

of a

thousand shifts and wiles, look here!

in

See one straightforward conscience i)ut To win a world; see the obedient sphere

pawn

By
Shall

bravery's simple gravitation

drawn

we not heed the

lesson taught of old,

still.

the I'resent's lips repeated In our own single manhood to be bold,

And by

Fortressed in conscience and impregnable will?

We

Nor.
\\'hMl

stride the river daily at its s])ring, in our childish thoughtlessness, foresee

myriad vassal streams

like

shall

liibiilc bi-ing.

How

an equal

it

shall grcci llic sea.

sm:ill licgiiinings, y<>

arc great
lie;ii-|

;in(l

strong,

Based on

faitliful

;ind weai'iless lu-ain!

Ye

Ye earn the crown, and wear

bnild the future fair, ye ((in(|uer w i-ong. it no! in vain.

JA.MKS UlSSIiLL I.OWKLL.

24

DE!:iCRlPTIYE POEMS.

HENRY WARD BEECHER.

His tongue was touched with sacred fire, He could not rest, he must speak out, When Liberty lay stabbed, and doubt
Stalked through the night in vestments dire,

When

manacled hands, and agony Praying despair, And answer came not anywhere. But gloom through all the stricken lands,
slaves u])lifted
in

His voice for freedom instant rang,

"For shame!" he cried; s})are thou All men are free before their God "
"
!

the rod;

The dragon answered with

'T is

its

fang.

brave to face embrasured death

moutli, for North or South, Truth, to face the mob's mad breath.
it is,

Hot belching from the cannon's

Yet brave

And

So spake he then,

he and the few

Who

prized their manhood more than praise; Their faith failed not of better days

After the nights of bloody dew.

England's great heart misunderstood: She looked u})On her child askance; But heard his words and lowered her lance, Remembering her motherhood.
.

PERSOXAL: RULERS, ETC.

Majestic Liberty, serene Thou frontest on the chaste white sea! Quench thou awhile thv torcli, for he Lies dead on whom thou once did lean.

23

Thy cause was

II is

ever his,

the slave

In any fetters was his friend; warfare never knev/ an end;

lay

Wherever men

bound he clave. CHARLES iiRxnY rnELPS.

ABKAHAM
You
lay a wreath ou

LINCOLN.
14,

FOULLY ASSASSINATED APUIL

You, who with

18G.5,*

murdered Lincoln's

bier,
trrice,

mocking- pencil wont to

Broad for the self-complacent British sneer,. His length of shambling limb, his furrowed
hair,
ITis

face,

His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling

garb uncoulli, his bearing
ill

at ease,

Ilis l;i(k of all

Of i)ower

01-

jirize as debonair^ will to shine, of art to please;

we

YoK, whose smart pen backed up the pencil's

laugh, Judgiiig each
plain. Reckless, so

slep

as

though the way were

its

i(

could point
(i-

paragraph
pain:
I'kiicIi.

Of
to the

chief's p('rile.\ily.

|tc()])Ic's

*This tribute appeared

time of
1

in the

London

which, up
ii<ii-

ho

assassiiia' ion oC
liiiu

Mr. Lincohi, had

culod a'ld malii^Mcd

with

all its

well-kuuw n powoisof

pen aud

petir-il.

26

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

Beside this corpse, that bears for winding-sheet The Stars and Stripes he lived to rear anew, Between the monrners at his head and feet,
Say, scurrile Jester,
is

there

room

for

you?

Yes: he had lived to shame me from my sneer, To lame my pencil, and confute my pen;

To make me own

this hind of princes peer.

This rail-splitter a true-born king of men.

shallow judgment I had learned to rue. Noting how to occasion's height he rose; How his quaint wit made home-truth seem more

My

true

How,

iron-like, his

temper grew by blows.

he could be; ill, the same;

How humble, yet hoAv hopeful, How in good fortune and in

Nor

bitter in success, nor boastful he, Thirsty for gold nor feverish for fame.

He went

about his work,- such work as few Ever had laid on head and heart and hand, As one who knows, where there 's a task to do, Man's honest will must Heaven's good grace

command

Who

trusts the strength will with the burden

grow.

That God makes instruments to work his "will, If but that will we can arrive to know. Nor tamper with the weights of good and ill.

PERSOXAL: RULERS, ETC.

27

So he went forth to battle, on the side That he felt clear was Liberty's and Right's, As in his peasant boyhood he had plied His warfare with rude Nature's thwarting
mights
;

The uncleared forest, the unbroken soil, The iron-bark, that turns the lumberer's axe, The rapid, that o'erbears the boatman's toil, The prairie, hiding the mazed wanderer's tracks,
The ambushed Indian, and the prowling bear, Such were the deeds that helped his youth to
train
:

Kough

culture, but such trees large fruit

may

bear. If but their stock be of right girth

and grain.

So he grew up, a destined work to do, And lived to do it: four long-suflfering years'
Ill-fale, ill-feeling, ill-report, lived

And
And
Till,

through, then he heard the hisses change to cheers,

to tribute, the abuse to praise.

The taunts

look
;

both

with

the

same

unwavering

mood as he came on
stood,

light,

And seemed

to touch the goal

from darkling days, from where he

between tlie go;il iind him, from beliind his h:i(k, (riggei' prcsl. And those pei'ph'xed ;in(1 pntieiil eyes wel'C dim, Those g;innl, h>nglaboiing linil)S were laid to
felon
Iijiiid,

Keaclicil

;i

rest

28

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
of

The words

mercy were upon

his lips,

Forgiveness in his heart and on his pen, When this vile murderer brought swift eclipse To thoughts of peace on earth, good-will to men.

The Old World and the New, from sea to Utter one voice of sjmpath.y and shame
Sore heart, so stopped when
it

sea,
:

Sad

life,

cut short just as

!

its

at last beat high triumjjh came!

deed accurst

Strokes have been struck before

the assassin's hand, whereof men doubt If more of horror or disgrace they bore;

By

J>ut thy foul crime, like Cain's, stands darkly out.

murder on a strife. Whatever its grounds, stoutly and nobly striven And with the martyr's crown crownest a life
Vile hand, that brandest

With much

to praise, little to be forgiven.

TOM TAYLOR.

O CAPTAIN!

MY CAPTAIN!
!

Captain ni}^ Captain our fearful trip is done. The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we
!

sought

is ^^on,

The port

is

near, the bells I hear, the ])eople all

vessel

exulting,

While follow eyes the stead}' keel, the and daring; But O heart heai-t heart
! !

grim

the bleeding dro]>s of red, Whei-e on the deck my Captain

lies.

Fallen cold and dead.

PERfiOXAL: RULERS, ETC.

29

Captain!
bells;

my

Captain! rise up and hear the

the tlag
is

Rise up

fur vou the bugle For you bouquets and ribboned wreathsfor you
for you
liuug
trills,

For you they

the shores a-crowding, call, the swaying mass, their eager

faces turning;

Here Captain

dear father This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck
!

You

've fallen cold

and dead.
lips are pale

My My

Captain does not answer, his

still,

and

father does not feel

my

arm, he has no pulse

its

nor

will.
is

The ship

anchored safe and sound,

voyage
in

closed

and done.
comes
with

From

fearful trip the victor ship

object

won

Exult

shores,

and ring

(.)

bells!

But

I, with mournful tread, AValk the deck my Cajitain

lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

WALT

Wliri'MAX.

ON THE LIFE-MASK OF LINCOLN.

Triis bronze doth kee]) the very form and mould Of onv great martyr's face. Yes. this is he:

Thai brow nil wisdom, all b<'nig!ii<y That Iniiiiiiu, Jiuinorous moiith; those cheeks
;

that hold

30

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

all the summer's gold; That spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea For storms to beat on the lone agony Those silent, patient lips too well foretold. Yes, this is he who ruled a world of men As might some prophet of the elder day, Brooding above the tempest and the fray With deep-eyed thought and more than mortal
;

Like some harsh landscape

ken.

power was his beyond the touch of art Of armed strength his pure and mighty heart. RICHARD WATSON GILDER.
:

THE HAND OF LINCOLN

Look on
this cast, and know the hand That bore a nation in its hold From this mute witness understand What Lincoln was, how large of mould
:

The man who sped the woodman's team. And deepest sunk the ploughman's share,

And pushed
Of

the laden raft astream,

fate before

him unaware.

This was the hand that knew to swing The axe since thus would Freedom train Her son and made the forest ring,

And

drove the wedge, and toiled amain.

loftier oflice took,

Firm hand, that

conscious leader's will obeyed.

And, when men sought his word and look. With steadfast might the gathering swayed.

PERSOXAL: RULERS, ETC.

No
Nor minstrers,
courtier's toring with a sword, laid across a lute;

31

chief's, uplifted to the

Lord

When

all

the kings of earth were mute!

The hand of Anak, sinewed strong. The fingers that on greatness clutch Yet, lo! the marks their lines along Of one who strove and suffered much.
;

For here
I

in knotted cord

and vein

trace the varying chart of years; I know the troubled heart, the strain, The weight of Atlas and the tears.

Again I see the patient brow That X)alm erewhile was wont to press; And now 't is furrowed deep, and now ^lade smooth with hope and tenderness.

For something of a formless grace This moulded outline plays about;

pitying llame, beyond our trace.

Breathes like a

spirit, in

and

out,

The

\()\v

thai cast an aureole

to endure. Called mirth to ease his ceaseless dole,

Kound one who, longer

kcjil his

Yet
Lo, as

nobler purpose sure.

man, from up yon iwrge hjuid. appcai-s: wills to |)lan thai Xalnrc type But once in all a [)eople's years.
I

gaze, the statured

I>uil(

32

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
better than this voiceless cast
tell

What
To

of such a one as he,

its

Since through

living semblance passed

The thought that bade a race be free! EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.

ABRAHAM

LINCOLN.
ODE.

FROM THE HARVARD COM ME.MORATION

July
21, 1865.

And

Life niav be given in nianv wavs, loyalty to Truth be sealed

in the closet as the field,
is

As bravely

So bountiful

Fate;

l>ut then to stand beside her,

When
To front

a line in

craven churls deride her, arms and not to vield,

This shows, methinks, God's plan And measure of a stalwart man.

Limbed

like the old heroic breeds,

Who

stand self-poised on manhood's solid

earth,

Not forced to frame excuses for his birth. Fed from within with all the strength he needs.
our Martyr-Chief, Nation he had led, With ashes on her head. Wept with the ])assion of an angry grief: Forgive me,. if from present things I turn
he,

Such was

Whom

late the

PERSOXAL: RLLERi^, ETC.

To speak what in my heart will beat and burn, And hang my wreath on his world-honored urn.
Nature, they say, doth dote,

33

And cannot make

man
jjjau,
:

Save on some worn-out

Repeating us by rote

For him

And
With

Old- World moulds aside he threw, choosing sweet clay from the breast Of the unexhausted West,
lier

stulf

untainted shaped a hero new,

Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true. How beautiful to see

Once more a shepherd

\\li(> l()\ed his chai'ge,

of m;pd<iiid indeed, but never loved to lead;

to be.

One whose meek Hock the peojtle joyed Not lured by any cheat of birth,
r>Ml

by his dear-grained

human

wortI,

And

lr;i\('

old \visdm of sinicrity!

I

They knew hat outward grace is dust; They could not choose but trust
In that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill,

And
Thai bent

suifple temj)ered will

like pei-fect steel

to s|ring

again and

tlirnst.

His was no lonely nionnlain peak of niin<l, aii- o'er our cloudy bars, A sea-mark now. now lost in \ajiors blind;
Tlirnst ing to lliin

liroad prairie
I""'rnilliil

ralliei*,

genial, level-lined,

aiKJ friendlN' for all Iiniiian kind.

Yet also
Or,
llien.
J>i-e

nigii (o liea\eii
ol'

ami

lo\c.| of lofliest stars.

Xolliing

ilnrope

liei-e.

vn a

of l\;nrope ffitnting nioi-nward an_\ names of Serf and Peer

still,

34

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Could Nature's equal scheme deface; Here was a type of the true elder race,

And

one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to

face.

I praise

him not;

it

were too

late;

And some innative weakness there must In him who condescends to victory
Such as the Present
gives,

be

and cannot wait,

Safe in himself as in a fate.

So always firmly he:

He knew to bide his time, And can his fame abide,

Still

patient in his sipiple faith sublime,

Till the

wise years decide. Great captains, with their guns and drums, Disturb our judgment for the hour,

But at
These
all

last silence

comes;

Our The

are gone, and, standing like a tower. children shall behold his fame.
kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing

man.

Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, New birth of our new soil, the first American.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

ALBERT, PRINCE CONSORT OF ENGLAND.

FROM
" IDYLS OF

THE KING."

DEDICATION.

His Memory since he held them dear. Perchance as finding there unconsciously Some image of himself I dedicate, I dedicate, I consecrate with tears These Idyls.

These

to

PERfiOyAL: RULFAi^, ETC.

Scarce other than
"

35

And indeed He seems to me my own ideal knight,

Who reverenced his conscience as his king; "Whose glory was, redressing luiiuan wrong; Who spake no slander, no, nor listened to it;
"Who loved one only and who clave to her " Her over all whose realms to their last isle. Commingled with the gloom of imminent war, The shadow of His loss moved like eclipse. Darkening the world. We have lost him: he

is

gone
A"\"e

know him now: Are silent; and we

all

see

narrow jealousies him as he moved,

How

modest, kindly, all-accomplislied, wise,

With what sublime repression of himself, And in what limits, and how tenderly; Not swaying to this faction or to that: Not making his high place the lawless perch Of winged ambitions, nor a vantage-ground For ]>]easure; but through all this tract of years
Wearing the white flower
of a blameless
life,

Before a thousand peering littlenesses. In that fierce light which beats upon a throne. And blackens every blot: for where is he.

Who

lovelier life, a

dares foresha<low for an only son moie unstained, than his?

Oi"

how should ICngland dreaming of his sons Hope more for these than some inheritance

Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine, Thou noble Father of liei* Kings <o be, Laborious for Ium' poo]>i<' and her j)oor
A'oice in the rich

Far-sighted

dawn summoner

of an

ampler of W.w and

d;'.y

>\'asle

36

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
fruitful strifes

To

and

rivalries of peace

Sweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art, Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed, Beyond all titles, and a household name. Hereafter, through all times, Albert the Good!

Break not, O woman's-heart, but still endure; Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure,

Remembering all the beauty of that star Which shone so close beside Thee, That ve made One light together, but has passed and left The Crown of lonely splendor.

May
His
love,

all love,

unseen but
of all

felt,

o'ershadow Thee.

The love The love The love

Till

of all of all

Thy sous encompass Thee, Thy daughters cherish Thee, Thy people comfort Thee,

God's love set Thee at his side again! ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

TO

viriniL.

[Written at the request of the Mantuans for the Nineteenth Centenary of Virgil's death, B. c. 19.]
I.

Roman
1
1

VirjiiK

tlioii tliat

singest
in fire,

ion's lofty

temples robed
a rising,
faith,

11 ion

falling,

Rome
filial

wars, and

and Dido's pjre;

II.

T.andsfajie-lover, lord

<f

langnage

more than he that sang the Works and Hays,

All the eliosen coin of fancy

Hashing ont from many a golden phrase;

III.

Tho]i that singcst wlicaf ami woodland. tillli and \iiicyai(l. hi\(' and horse and herd;
All the

charm

of all

llic

Mnscs
lonely
Oi

often (lowering

in a

word;

38

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
IV.

Poet of the bappj Tityriis piping imdeineatli his beechen bowers; Poet of the poet-satyr whom the laughing shepherd bound with flowers;

Chanter of the Pollio, glorying

Summers

in the blissful years again to be, of the snakeless meadow,

uulaborious earth and oarless sea;

VI.

Thou that

seest Universal
;

Nature moved by Universal Mind

Thou majestic

in thy

sadness

at the doubtful

doom
VII.

of

human

kind;

Light

among the vanish'd ages; star that gildest yet this phantom shore; Golden branch amid the shadows,
kings and realms that pass to rise no more;
VIII.

Now

thy Forum roars no longer, fallen every purple C;csar's dome Tho' thine ocean-roll of rhythm

sound

for ever of Imjierial

Rome

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

IX.

39

Now
I,

the

Rome

of slaves hath perished,

place,

and the Koine of freemen holds her from out the Northern Island sundered once from all the human
X.

race,

I salute thee,
I

Mantovano,

my day began, Wielder of the stateliest measure ever moulded by the lips of man. ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.
that loved thee since

IN
These

A COrY OF OMAR KHAYYAM

pearls of thought in Persian gulfs were

bred.

Each softly lucent as a rounded moon The diver Omar plucked them from their bed, Fitzgerald strung them on an English thread.
;

Fit i-osary for a queen, in shape nnd hue,

^\'ll(Il

('(nt('mpl;iti(ni
llioiigiils,

Iclls

lici'

jK'usive

beads

or mortal

furcxcr old iuid new.

Fit for a (inccn?

Tlie
I

NN'hy,

surely then for you

moiai?
will

Where

Doubt's

eddies

loss

and

Failli's sN'iidcr sliiijlop

ill

her fooling
l)eiie;illi

reel,
llie wliii'l,

Plunge:

if y<ii

liiid

iiol

|)eaee

Orojdng, you may

like ()iiiar

^rasp

a jM-arl.

JAMKS ULSSELL LOWELL.

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

TO MADAME DE SEVIGNE
PLAYING blind-man's-buff.

You charm when jou

Still

talk, walk, or move, day than another: When blinded you're taken for Love; When the bandage is off for his mother! MATHIEU DB MONTREUIL.

more on

this

GEORGE SAND.
True
genius, but true

woman

dost deny

Thy woman's nature with a manly scorn, And break away the gauds and armlets worn By weaker women in captivity?
Ah, vain denial that revolted cry Is sobbed in by a woman's voice forlorn; Thy woman's hair, my sister, all unshorn. Floats back dishevelled strength in agony, Disproving thy man's name; and while before The world thou burnest in a poet-fire, We see thy woman-heart beat evermore Through the large llame. Beat purer, heart, and
!

higher,

God unsex thee on the heavenly shore, Where unincarnate spirits purely aspire.
Till

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

41

TO VICTOR HUGO.
Victor in poesy! Victor in romance! Cloud-weaver of i)liantasnial hopes and fears! French of tlie French and lord of human tears! Child-lover, bard, whose fame-lit laurels glance, Darkenini'- the wreaths of all lliat would advance Beyond our strait their claim to be thy peers!

Weird Titan, by thy wintry weii>ht of years As yet unbroken! Stoi-my voice of France,
"Who does not love our
I

I']nji,land,

so thev sav;

know

England, Fi'ance, all men to be. Will juake one ])eoi)le, ere man's race be run;
not!

And

I, desiring that diviner day. Yield thee full thanks for thy full courtesy To vounger England in the bo\', iii\- son.

ALKKi:i),

lAmu TEXNYSOX.

ON A
Sick,

P.UST

OF DANTE. u
' :

from

this counterfeit of
shall

him
long.

\\'lio!ii

.\rii()

remember

How

sicrn of liiicniiMMit,

how

grim,

Tlu^ father

Tuscan song! There Imt Ihe burning sense of wrong, l*ei-]el iial eai'e, and seoni. ;ibide Small frieiidsliip I'nr Hie loi-dly throng,
of

was

Distrust of

all

the world beside.

Faithful

if

lliis \\;iii

im:ige be.

No dream

iiis life

was

bul a

light;

42

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Could any Beatrice see

lover in that anchorite?

To that

cold Ghibeline's gloomy sight

Who

could have guessed the visions came Of beauty, veiled with heavenly light, In circles of eternal tlame?

The lips as Cuma^'s cavern close, The cheeks with fast and sorrow thin, The rigid front, almost morose, But for the patient hope within. Declare a life whose course hath been
Unsullied

though still severe, Which, through the wavering days of

still,

sin,

Kept

itself icj-chaste

and

clear.

haggard look once, forlorn, he strayed, With no companion save his book, To Corvo's hushed monastic shade;
his

Not wholly such

When wandering

Where, as the Benedictine laid His palm upon the pilgrim guest, The single boon for which he prayed

The convent's charity was

rest.

Peace dwells not here this rugged face Betrays no spirit of repose;

The sullen Avarrior sole we trace, The marble man of many woes. Such was his mien when first arose The thought of that strange tale divine

When

he peopled with his foes, The scourge of many a guilty line.

liell

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

War to the last he waged with ull The tyrant canker-worins of earth; Barou and duke, in hold and hall, Cursed the dark hour that gave him
He

43

birth;

used Home's harlot for his mirth; Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime;
IJut valiant souls of knightly

worth

Transmitted to the

rolls of time.

time whose verdicts mock our own, The only righteous judge art thou; That poor, old exile, sad and lone,
!

Is T^atium's other Virgil now. Before his name the nations bow;

His words are parcel of mankind, Deep in whose hearts, as on his brow, The marks have sunk of Dante's mind. THOMAS WILLIAM I'ARSONS.

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

1805-1875.

BiciNG cleaves the

moonlit

air,

dew and ]>lumes of fire, New-born, immortal, strong and fair;

With eyes
of

Glance ere he goes! His

feet are shi-ouded like the dead,
in liis

I>ul

face a wild desire

Breaks

like the

dawn

(li;i(

Hushes red,

And
The

nice a rose.
;il>ov(' liis p;i(li.

stars shine out

And musif

w;ikes through all the skies;

44

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
What What
As
mortal such a triumph hath, B3' death set free?
earthly hands and heart are pure

whose unshrinking eyes Gaze onward through the deep obscure,

this man's,

Nor

quail to see?

Ah! this was he who drank the fount Of wisdom set in speechless things,

Who,
!

watched the day-star mount, While others slept. Ah this was he whose loving soul Found heart-beats under trembling wings, And heard divinest music roll
patient,

Where wild springs

For poor dumb
lips

leapt.

had song for him

And children's dreamings ran in tune, And strange old heroes, weird and dim.
Walked by
The
ver}^

his side.

shadoAvs loved him well

And danced and flickered in the moon. And left him wondrous tales to tell Men far and wide.

And now no more

he smiling walks

Through greenwood alleys full of sun, And, as he wanders, turns and talks. Though none be there; The children watch in vain the place. ^"S'here they were wont, when day was done, To see their poet's sweet worn face.

And

faded hair.

PER\SOXAL: CHEAT WRITERS.

Yet dream not such a
spirit dies,

45

earth! j shrine decay! Transfigured under clearer skies,

Though

all its

He
The

sings

anew;

racked with pain, scored with vigil, fades awav, The soul set free and young again

frail soul-covering,

And

Glides

upward through.

not, but watch the moonlit air! Perchance a glory like a star May leave what hangs about him there, And (lash on us Behold! the void is full of light,
I .
.

Weep

The beams pierce heaven from bar

to

bar

And

all

the hollows of the night

Grow luminous!
EDMUND
GOSSE.

SIR IMIILIP SIDNEY.

FRO.M "

AX

km;<;v

ox

fimi;xi*s

passion for his

ASTKOI'IIILL."

Wri'iiix

llif'sc

lie chiefc delighl

woods of Arcadia and jileasure tooke,

And on tiic inoiiiitaiiic Parthenie, Upon llic ciiryslall li(|uid brooke,

Thai

The Muses mcl him cv'i y day. taiiulit him sing, to \\i-i((\ and
\\'Ih'Ii

say.

he (jescended dowiic (he iiiounl.

His

|)('is<(nage sci'iiK'd

mosl

(Ii\iiu',

thousand graces one might count

4G

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Upon his lovely, cheerfull eine; To lieare him speake and sweetly You were in Paradise the Avhile.
smile,

full

sweet attractive kinde of grace, assurance given by lookes.

1

Continual
I

comfort

in a face,

The lineaments of Gospell bookes;

trowe that countenance cannot
lie,
.

Whose thoughts are

legible in the eie.

Was never eie did see that face. Was never eare did heare that tong, Was never minde did minde his grace,
That ever thought the travell long; But eies, and eares, and ev'ry thought.

Were with

his sweet perfection caught.

MATTHEW

ROYDEN.

TO THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON.

The
Muse's fairest light
in

no dark time,

The wonder of a learned age; the line Which none can pass! the most proportioned
wit,

what was fit; The deei)est, jdainest, highest, clearest pen; The voice most echoed by consenting men The soul which answered best to all well said By others, and Avhich most requital made; Tuned to the highest key of ancient Kome,
nature, the best judge of
;

To

Returning

all

her music with his own;

PERSOXAL: GREAT WRITERS.

And
In whom, with nature, study claimed a part, yet who to himself owed all his art:

47

Here lies Ben Jonson! every age will look AVith sorrow here, with wonder on his book.

JOHN CLEVELAND.

ODE TO BEN JONSON. Ah Ben

!

Say how

or

when
lyric feasts,

Shall we, thy guests.

Meet at those

Made

at the Sun,

The Dog, the Triple Tun; Where we such clusters had

As made And

us nobly wild, not mad; yet each verse of thine

frolic wine.

Outdid the meat, outdid the

My
Or come
Thy

Ben!
to us

again,

Or send
But teach us yet
Wisclv to husband
Ix'st
it,

wit's groat overplus;

we that
That

talent spend

And having
Of such a

once brought to

nii

cud
no more.

|)re(ious stock, the store

wit, the

world should

lia\('

ROllEUT llEUItlClC.

4S

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

ON THE rORTRAIT* OF SHAKESPEARE.

This figure, that thou here seest put, It was for geutle Shakespeare cut; Whereiu the Graver had a strife With Nature to outdo the life: O, could he but have drawn his wit

As

well iu brass, as he hath hit

His face; the Print would then surpass

All that

was ever writ

in brass.

But Not

since he cannot. Reader, look at his picture, but his book.

BEN JONSON.

TO THE M E:\I0RY OF MY BELOVED MAS= TER, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US.

Am
As

To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, I thus ample to thy book and fame
;

AVhile

confess thy writings to be such neither man nor Muse can praise too much.
I

wonder
still,

Tiie applause, delight, the

Soul of the age of our stage!

!

I will not lodge thee by or or bid Beaumont lie Chaucer, Spenser, little further off, to make thee room:

My

vShakesi)eare, rise!

Thou

art a

monument without

And

art alive
*

a tomb. while thy book doth

live,

The engraving by Martin

Droesliout.

PERf^OXAL: GREAT WRITERS.

49

And we
That
I
I

have wits to read, and praise to give. so, my biain excuses, mean with great but disproportioued Muses:
not mix thee

For
I

if I thought my judgment were of years, should commit thee surely with thy peers.

And

tell

Or sporting Kyd

hoAv far thou didst our Lvly outshine, or Marlowe's mighty line.

And though thou had small Latin and less From thence to lionor thee I will not seek

Greek,

For names; but call forth thundering Eschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles to us, Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, And shake a stage or when thy socks were on,
:

Leave thee alone for the comparison Of all, that insolent Greece or haughty Rome Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. Trium])Ii, my liritain, thou hast one to show, To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time! And all the Muses still were in their [)rime,
^^'h('u, like Ajtollo,
Oiii-

he

came

forth to

warm

Mercury, to charm! Nature herself was proud of his designs. And joyed to wear the dressing of his Hues! Which were so richly spun, and woven so tit.
cars, or like a

As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wil.

The iiiei-ry Greek, lai't Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not Rut anti(|uated and deserted lie. As they were not of nature's family.
Yet ninst
1

please:

not gi\-e

n:il

nn-

all

tliyai-t.

My

gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part.

VII 4

50

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

For though the poet's matter nature be, His art doth give the fashion; and, that he Who casts to write a living line, must sweat (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat

Upon the Muses' anvil turn And himself with it, that he
;

the same, thinks to frame;

Or for the laurel gain a scorn; For a good poet 's made as well as born. And such wert thou Look how the father's face
!

Lives in his issue, even so the race

Of Shakespeare's mind and

shines

manners brightly
:

In his well turned and true filed lines In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.

Sweet Swan of Avon what a sight it were see thee in our water yet appear. And make those flights upon the banks of Thames That so did take Eliza and our James!
!

To

But

stay, I see thee in the hemisjjhere

Advanced, and made a constellation there! Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage,

Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage Which since thy flight from hence hath mourned
like night,

And

despairs day, but for thy volume's light! BEN JONSON.

rEIi.SOXAL:

GREAT

^YRITER8.

51

SHAKESPEARE.
FROM
"

PROLOGUE.".
in

[Spoken by Mr. Garrick at the opeuing of the Theatre Druiy Lane, in 1747.]

When
First

Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous

the
stage,

foes

reared
rose;

immortal

Shakesi)eare

Each eliange of many-colored life he drew, Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new: Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign. And panting Time toiled after him in vain: His powerful strokes presiding Truth impressed,

And

unresisted Passion stormed the breast.

DR.

SAMUEL JOHNSON.

AN EPITAPH OX THE ADMIRABLE DRAMATIC POET, W. v^HAKESPEARE.

What

needs
bones.

my

Shakespeare for his honored

The labor of an age in piled stones? Or that his haUowed relics should he liid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of momoiy. great heir of fame, What iiced'st thou such weak witness
naiiic?

of

thy

Thou Hast

in

our w^tudcr and nsloiiishment

built thyself a livelong

monument.

52

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
art

For whilst to the shame of slow-endeavoring Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath fi'om the leaves of thy unvalued book

Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble with too much conceiving;

And

so sepulchred in such

pomp

dost

lie.

That kings for such a tomb would wish

to die.

MILTON.

SHAKESPEARE.
The soul of man is larger than the sky, Deeper than ocean, or the abysmal dark Of the unfathomed centre. Like that ark,
Which
in its sacred hold uplifted high,.
hills, the human family. stock reserved of every living kind. So, in the compass of the single mind. The seeds and pregnant forms in essence lie.

O'er the drowned

And

That make
art

all

worlds.

Great poet,

't

was thy

To know
Whate'er

thyself,

and

in thyself to be

ambition, destiny, Or the firm fatal purpose of the heart

love, hate,

Can make

of

man.

Yet thou wert

still

the same,

Serene of thought, unhurt by thy

own

flame.

HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

PERSOXAL: GREAT WRITERS.

53

GUILTELMUS REX.
The folk who lived in Shakespeare's day x\nd saw that gentle ligure pass
Bv London Bridge, his frequent wnj Thev little knew what man he was.

The pointed beard, the coui-teous mien, The equal port to high and low, All this they saw or might have seen But not the light behind the brow!

The doublet's modest gray or brown, The slender sword-hilt's plain device, What sign had these for prince or clown? Few turned, or none, to scan him twice.
Yet
't

was the king

all

The rest with Are mouldered, half-rememb(M-ed things 'T is he alone that lives and reigns!

of England's kings! their pomps and trains

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

HIERARCUY OF ANGELS.
Mellifluous
(pi
ill

Shakespeare,
iiiirtli

whose

enchanting

Coiiiiiiiiinlcd

oi-

jcissiou.

was but Will;

And famous

.Jousou. lliougli his learned jicii r.c (lipped iu ('aslaly, is still bul Hcu. Fletcliei- and Webster, of Ihat leariK'd jack
N(u('
(if th(^

Dckkcr but Toui.

meanest, was but -Fack uoi- May, iioi- Middlclon,

;

And

he's but

now

.lack I''ord that

once was rJohii. THOMAS UICVWOOO.

54

DESCRIPTIVE POEM 8.

UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF JOHN MILTON.

PREFIXED TO
'"

PARADISE LOST."

Three

Poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.

The first in loftiness of thought surpassed The next in majesty; in both the last. The force of nature could no further go;

To make a

third, she joined the

former two.

JOHN dryden.

TO MILTON.
"

LONDON,

1802."

Milton thou shouldst be

!
:

living at this hour:

:

England hath need of thee she is a fen Of stagnant waters altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men
;

Oh raise us up, return to us again And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart:
!

Thou hadst a
sea:

voice

whose sound was

like the

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way. In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

55

WALTON'S BOOK OF LIVES.

FROM " ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS/^ PART
TiiERR are no colors in the fairest sky
III.

The feather, whence the pen shaped that traced the lives of these good men Dropped from an angel's wing. With moistened
So
fair as these.

Was

eve

We read

of faith and purest charity In statesman, priest, and humble citizen: O, could we copy their mild virtues, then What joy to live, what blessedness to die!

Methinks their very names shine still and bright; like glow-worms on a summer night; Or lonely tapers wlien from far they tling A guiding ray or seen, like stars on high,
Apart,

Satellites burning in a lucid ring

Around meek Walton's heavenly memory. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

TUE SONNET.
SroR\ not the sonnet
Mindless of
its
ci-itic, you have frowned, with this key honors; just the melody his unlocked heart; Shakespeare Of this small lute gave ease to Pclrarcirs wound; A llious:iii(l times this jiipe <lid Tasso sound;
;

ANilli

il

<

';iiiio('iis

sooliied

:iii

exile's grief;

The sonnet

glittered a

gay myitle

leaf

Amid

the cypress with which

Daute crowned

50

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

His visionaiy brow; a glow-worm lamp, It cheered mild Spenser, called from fairy-land To struggle through dark ways; and when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains,

alas! too few.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

CAMP-BELL.
CHARADE.
Co:\iE

from my first, ay, come The battle-dawn is nigh

;

And

the screaming

trump and the thundering

to die
I

drum Are calling thee

Fight as thy father fought Fall as thy father fell Thy task is taught; thy shroud So forward and farewell
;

is

wrought;

second, toll Fling high the flambeau's light, And sing the hymn for a parted soul
!

Toll ye

my

Beneath the

silent night!

The wreath upon his head. The cross upon his breast. Let the prayer be said and the tear be shed, take him to his rest I So,

PERSOXAL: G.REAT WRITERS.

Call ve

57

mv

whole,

ay,

call
;

The lord of lute aud lav And let him oroet the sable pall
"With a noble song to-day.

Go, call him by his name! No fitter hand may crave

To

light the flame of a soldier's

fame

On

the turf of a soldier's grave. WINTHROP .AIACKWORTtl PKAED.

TO THOMAS IMOORE. My
boat
is

And mv bark

on the shore. is on the sea

But before I go, Tom Moore, Here 's a double health to thee
Here
's

And

a sigh to those who love me, a smile to those who hate;

And, whatever sky 's above me. Here 's a heart for ovory fate!

Though
Yet

tiie

it still

ocean roar aiound me, shall bear iik- on;

Thongii a dcscrl sIkiiiIi! sni-i-ound me. It hath sjirings dial may be won.

Were
As
'T

't
T

gas])ed

the last dro]> in the well. upon the brink.

spirit fell,
I

Ere my fainting
is

to thee that

would

driidc.

58

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS,
With
The
that water, as this wine, libation I wouhl i)Our
be,

Should

Peace with thine and mine,

Tom
JMoore
I

And a

health to thee,

LORD BYRON.

SHELLEY.
The odor
of a rose
:

light of a star

The essence of a flame blown on bj wind, That lights and warms all near it, bland and kind, But a^e consumes itself, as though at war With what su^jports and feeds it; from afar It draws its life, but evermore inclined To leap into the flame that makes men blind

Who
Who
And

seek the secret of all things that are.

airiest goal
:

Such wert thou, Shelley, bound for

Interpreter of quintessential things:

mounted ever up on eagle-wings Of phantasy: had aimed at heaven and Promethean fire for men to be as gods,
dwell in free, aerial abodes.

stole

ALEXANDER HAY JAPP.

MEMORABILIA.
Ah, did you once
see Shelley plain,

And did he stop and speak to you. And did you speak to him again?

How

strange

it

seems, and new!

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

But you were
living before that, living after; started at

59

And also you are And the memory I

My
I

starting moves your laughter!

crossed a moor, with a name of its own And a certain use in the world, no doubt,

Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone 'Mid the blank miles round about:

For there

And

there

picked up on the heather 1 i)ut inside my breast

moulted feather, an eagle-feather!

Well,
1

forget the rest.

ROBERT BROWNING.

BYRON.
FROM
^'TIIE

COURSE OP TIME/' BOOK

IV.

He

touched his harp, and nations heard en-

tranced.

As some

vast river of unfailing source, cxhaustless. deep, his numbers flowed. Kapid, And opened new fountains in the human heart.

Where Fancy

halted,

weary

in

her

flight,

In othei- men, his fresh as morning rose. And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at
liome.

Where angels
grent.

bashful

looked.

Others,

though

Beneath (heir ingnmcnt soomcd struggling; whiles

60

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

He, from above deseeuding, stooped to touch The loftiest thought; aud proudly stooj)ed, as though It scarce deserved his verse. With Nature's self He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest

At

will Avith all her glorious majest3^

He laid his hand upon " the Ocean's mane," And played familiar with his hoary locks;
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines,

And with the thunder Aud wove his garland

In sportive twist, the lightning's tiery wing, Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God, Marching upon the storm in vengeance, seemed; Then turned, and with the grasshopper, who sung His evening song beneath his feet, conversed. Suns, moons, aud stars, and clouds his sisters were
;

talked as friend to friend; of the lightning's wing,

Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms His brothers, younger brothers, whom he scarce

As

equals deemed.

All passions of all men,

The wild and tame, the gentle and severe; All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane;
All creeds; all seasons, time, eternity; All that was hated, and all that was dear; A'l that was hoped, all that was feared,

man,

by

He

tossed about, as tempest-withered leaves; Then, smiling, looked uion the wreck he nuide,
\\\i\\ terror

And now

now he froze the cowering blood. dissolved the heart in tenderness;

Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself;

PER.^OXAL:
But back
Dark, sullen, proud,

GREAT WRITERS.
gazins>-

Gl

into his soul retired, aloue,

contemptuously
ROBERT POLLOK.

Uu

hearts and passions prostrate at his feet.

MACAULAY AS
The dreamy

POET.

rhymer's measured snore

Falls heavy on our ears no more; And bv Ion"' strides are left behind

The dear delights

of

womankind.

Who wage

their battles like their loves,

In satin waistcoats and kid gloves,

And have achieved the crowning work When they have trussed and skewered a
Another comes with stouter tread.

Turk.

And stalks among He rushes on, and

the statelier dead.

hails by turns

High-crested Scott, broad-breasted Burns; And shows the British youth, who ne'er
A\'ill

lag behind,
all

AMicM

what Romans were, the Tuscans and their Lars

Shouted, and shook the towers of Mars. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

ON

Till-:

DKi'AirrrKE of sir waltkr SCOTT FRO.M AlIROTSFORl), FOR NATLFS.

weeping
rain.

troituj:, not of clouds, or

Nor

of the setting sun's patlielic light

]']ngender(Ml,

hangs

o'er lOildon's triple liciglil

Spirits of I'ower, assembU-d there,

complain

62

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS,

For kindred PoAver departing from tlieir sight; While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe
strain,

Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ve Mourners! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes; Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue

Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows, Follow this wondrous Potentate. P>e true, Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea,
Wafting your Charge to
soft Partlieno])e!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS HOOD.

TxiKE back into thy bosom, earth. This joyous. May-eyed morrow. The gentlest child that ever mirth

Gave
'T
is

hardwhile

to be reared by sorrow rays half green, half gold,

!

And

Through vernal bowers are burning, streams their diamond mirrors hold To Summer's face retuifiing

To say we're thankful that

his sleep

Shall nevermore be lighter. In whose sweet-tongued companionship Stream, bower, and beam grow brighter!
all the more intensely true His soul gave out each feature Of elemental love, each hue

But

And

grace of golden nature,

PER.SOXAL:

GREAT WRITERS.
;

63

The deeper still beneath it all Lurked the keen jags of anguish The more the laurels clasped his brow
Their poison made
it

languish.

Seemed it that, like the nightingale Of his own mournful singing, The tenderer would his song prevail While most the thorn was stinging.
So never to the desert-worn Did fount bring freshness deeper

Than that his placid rest this morn Has brought the shrouded sleeper.
rest may lap his weary head Where charnels choke the city, Or where, mid woodlands, by his bed The wren shall wake its dittv;

That

But near or
Is

far,

while evening's star

dear to heart's regretting.

Around

tliat spot admiring thought Shall hover, uuforgetting.

BARTHOLOMEW SIMMONS.

BURNS.
A poet's EPrrAPii.
Stop, mortal
!

Here thy brother

ri\('is,

lies,

Tlie jioct of the pO(U-.

His books were

woods, and skies,

llic iiiooi*;

The meadow and

His teachers were
(lie

((ni

heart's wail,

The

l\i-;uit.

and Ihe shnc,

64

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
The
street, the factory, the jail,

The palace, and the grave! Sin met thy brother everywhere! And is thy brother blamed? From passion, danger, doubt, and care He no exemption claimed. The meanest thing, earth's feeblest worm,

He feared to scorn or hate; But, honoring in a peasant's form The equal of the great,
makes The poor man's little more; Yet loathed the haughty wretch that takes
blessed the steward, whose wealth

He

From plundered

labor's store.

A hand to do, a head to plan, A heart to feel and dare,

Tell

man's worst foes, here lies the man ,Who drew them as they are. EBENEZER ELLIOTT.

BURNS.
ON RECEIVING A SPRIG OF HEATHER IN BLOSSOM.

No more
To

these simple flowers belong

Scottish
in the

maid and

lover;
over.

Sown

common

soil of song.

They bloom the wide world

In smiles and tears, in sun and showers,

The minstrel and the heather, The deathless singer and the flowers

He sang

of live together.

PERi^OXAL:

GREAT WRITERS.
!

G5

Wild lieather-bells and Robert Burns! The moorland flower and peasant How, at their mention, memory turns Her pages old and pleasant!
The gray sky wears again
its

gold

And purple of adorning, And manhood's noonday shadows

The dews
of boyhood's morning:

hold

The dews that washed the dust and

soi'

the wings of pleasure, The sky, that flecked the ground of toil
off

From

With golden threads

I call to

of leisure.

mind the summer day, The early harvest mowing. The sky with sun and clouds at

And
I

play, flowers with breezes blowing.

in

hear the blackbird

Die corn.

The locust in the haying; And, like the fabled hunter's horn,
Old tunes

my

heart

is

playing.

IJow oft that

1

<luy,

with fond delay,

sought (he maple's shadow. And sang with lUirns the hours away,
Forgetful of the

meadow

Hees hummed, birds twittered, overhead

I

lieiiid
g(K)(l

1h(! S(piirrels

leajting;
I

The
VII

dog listened while read, And wagged liis (ail in keejting.

66
I

DE^CBIPTJYE POEMS.
watched him while in sportive mood " I read The Twa Dogs' " story, And half believed he understood The poet's allegory.

Sweet day, sweet songs

The golden hours

Grew brighter From brook and

for that singing, bird and meadow flowers

dearer welcome bringing.

New light on home-seen Nature New glory over Woman And daily life and duty seemed No longer poor and common.
;

beamed,

woke to find the simple truth Of fact and feeling better Than all the dreams that held my youth
I

still

repining debtor:

That Nature gives her handmaid. Art, The themes of sweet discoursing; The tender idyls of the heart
,

In

ever}^

tongue rehearsing.

Why

dream of lands of gold and pearl. Of loving knight and lady, When farmer boy and barefoot girl

Were wandering
I

there already?

saw through all familiar things The romance underlying; The joys and griefs that plume the wings Of Fancy skyward flying.

PERSOXAL: GREAT WRITERS.

saw the same blithe day return, The same sweet fall of even, That rose on wooded Craigie-burn,
I

G7

And sank
I

on crystal Devon.

matched with Scotland's heathery hills The sweet-brier and the clover With Ayr and Doou, my native rills.
;

Their wood-hymns chanting over.

O'er rank and pomp, as he had seen, I saw the Man uprising;

Xo

The

longer common or unclean, cidld of God's baptizing.

With

clearer eyes I saw the worth Of life among the lowly; The Bible at his Cotter's hearth Had made my own more holy.

And
To

if

at times an evil strain,

lavvless love appealing.

Broke in upon the sweet refrain Of pure and healthful feeling,

It died

upon the eye and

ear,

No inward answer gaining; No heart had I to see or hear

The discord and the
staining.

Let those who never erred forget His worth, in vain bcwailings; Sweet Soul of Song! >\\ u my debt Uncancelled bv his failings:
I

68

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Lament who will the ribald line Which tells his lapse from dnty, How kissed the maddening lips of wine, Or wanton ones of beauty;
But think, while falls that shade between The erring one and Heaven, That he who loved like Magdalen,
Like her

may

be forgiven.

Not

his the song

whose thunderous chime

Eternal echoes render, The mournful Tuscan's haunted rhyme,

And

Milton's starry splendor.

laid

But who his human heart has To Nature's bosom nearer?

V\l\o sweetened toil like him, or paid

To

love a tribute dearer?

Through all his tuneful art, how strong The human feeling gushes! The very moonlight of his song Is warm with smiles and blushes!
Give lettered

but tarry the Blot out Epic's stately rhyme,

So

"

pomp Bonny Doon

his
"

to teeth of Time,
"
;

But spare

Highland Mary JOHN GKEENLEAF WHITTIER,

!

"

PERSONAL: CHEAT WRITERS.

G9

TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

Great
spirits

now on

earth are sojourning:

He

of the cloud, the cataract, the lake.

Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake, Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing:
He
The
of the rose, the violet, the spring, social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake:
!

And

lo whose steadfastness would never take meaner sound than Raphael's whispering.

And other spirits there are, standing apart Upon the forehead of the age to come
;

These, these will give the world another heart, And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum

Of mighty workings?

Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb. JOHN KEATS.

ON A PORTRAIT OF WORDSWORTH,
BY
A\'ouiis\V(>itTir
l>hl
B. R.

HAYDON.
Lot the cloud

upon Ilelvcllynl

aiidihly along the mounlaiii-wind.

hicak' against the rock,

Then

TIic low land valleys floating u] lo

TIh' sense

And

with licauty. //c. humble-lidded eyes, as one inclined liefore llie sox'ran llmnglil ol' liis own mind. And very meek with inspira ions proud,
I

and show licliind crowd willi forehead bowed

Takes here

liis righll'iil

jilace as poel priest

70

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
the high-altar, singing prayer and prayer
free,

By

To the hlgiier Heavens. A noble vision Our Haydon's hand hath flung out from No portrait this, with Academic air,

the mist

This

is

the poet and his poetry.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

THE LOST LEADER.*

silver he left us, Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, Lost all the others she lets us devote They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,

Just for a handful of

So much was theirs who so

* Tliis bitter attack,
(1845)

little

allowed;

famous for its invective, was made on Wordsworth, after tlie latter had accepted the post of Poet Laureate (1843), tlius, in Brownby Browning
ing's view, deserting the people

and

selling himself to tlie

government. Wordsworth's only official poem, however, was on the installation of Albert, Prince Consort, as Chancellor of Cambridge University in 1847 and in 1850 he died so that the protest of Browning was not justified. " I did in Indeed, in 1875, Browning himself wrote: my hast J' youth presume to use the great and venerated perone sonality of Wordsworth as a sort of painter's motlel from which this or the other particular feature may be selected and turned to account liad I intended more I should not liave talked about liandf uls of silver and bits of ribbon.' Tliese never influenced tlie change' of politics
;

'

in tlie great poet, wliose defection, nevertheless

was

juvenile apprehension, and even mature consideration, an event to be deplored."

to

my

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

71

How

Rags were
proud
!

all

our copper had gone for his service!

they purple, his heart had been

We

that had loved him so, followed him, honored

hira,

Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,

Learned his great language, caught his clear

cents,

ac-

Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, Burns, Shelley, were with us, they watch from

their graves!

He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves
!

We

shall

march prospering,
;

not

thro' his pres-

ence

Songs may inspirit Deeds will be done,

cence,
Still

not from his us, while he boasts lyre; his quieswhom

the rest bade aspire.
recoi-d

bidding crouch
lask
trod,

I'lot out his

name, then,

one

lost soul

more,

One

more declined, one more footpath unangels. insult <o

One more devil's-triumph and sorrow for One wrong more to man, one niore
(Jod
!

Life's night begins:

let him never come back to us! There wonhl be donl)l. hesitation, and pain. Forced ju-aise on our part the glimmer of twi-

light.

Never glad confident morning again Best fight on well, for we taught him -strike ga)
I

lautly,

72

DESGEIPTIYE

POEIihS.

Menace our heart ere we master liis OAvn; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait
us,

Pardoned

in heaven, the first

by the throne! ROBERT BROWNING.

MEMORIAL VERSES.
APRIL,
1850.

Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece, Long since, saw R.vron's struggle cease. Rut one such death remained to come; The last poetic voice is dumb

We

stand to-day by Wordsworth's tomb.

When

Ryron's eyes were shut in death.

breath.

We

bowed our head and held our

He taught us little; but our soul Had felt him like the thunder's roll.
With shivering heart the strife we saw Of passion with eternal law And yet with reverential awe
;

We

watched the fount

of fiery life

Which served

for that Titanic strife.

When

Sunk, then,

Goethe's death was told, we said is Europe's sagest head.

I*hysician of the iron age, Goethe has done his pilgrimage.

He He

took the suffering

human

race,

read each wound, each weakness clear And struck his finger on the place.
said: TJiou ailest here,

And

and here!

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

He
looked on Europe's dying hour

73

Of fitful dream and feverish power; His eye plunged down the weltering The turmoil of expiring life He said The end is everywhere,

strife,

Art

still

has truth, talx refuge there!

And

he

was happy,

if

to

know

Causes of things, and far below His feet to see the lurid How Of terror, and insane distress,

And headlong
And

fate, be happiness.

^\'ordsworth

Ah,

]>ale

ghosts, rejoice!

For never has such soothing voice IJeen to your shadowy world conveyed, Since erst, at morn, some wandering shade Heard the clear song of Orpheus come Through Hades, and the mournful gloom. Wordsworth has gone from us and ye. Ah, mav ve feel his voice as we!

He too upon a v.'intery clime Had fallen on this ii-on tiiiio

Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears. He found us when the age had bound Our souls in its benumbing round He sjioke, and loosed our hearts in tears. b- l;ii(i us as we lay at birtli
;

On

th(;

cool llowery

laj)

of earth,

and we had ease; The hills were i-ound us, and the bree/.e ^^'eIlt o'er the snn lit Melds again; Our roicli(M(ls fell the wind and lain.
Smiles bi-oke
I'loni ns.

(.)ur \()uth

returned; for there was siicd

74

DE^CRIPTtVE POEMS.
On
spirits tliat liad long been dead,

Spirits dried up and closely furled, The freshness of the early world.

Ah

since dark days still bring to light Man's prudence and man's fiery might,
!

Time may

restore us in his course

mind and Byron's force; But where will Europe's latter hour Again find Wordsworth's healing power?
Goethe's sage

Others will teach us how to dare, And against fear our breast to steel; Others will strengthen us to bear But who, ah who, will make us feel? The cloud of mortal destiny, Others will front it fearlessly

But who, like him, will put it by? Keep fresh the grass upon his grave,
Rotha, with thy living wave!

Sing him thy best! for few or none Hears thy voice right, now he is gone.

MATTHEW

ARNOLD.

FROM "WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE."

Poet who sleepest by this wandering wave When thou wast born, what birth-gift hadst
!

thou then?

To thee what wealth was that the Immortals gave. The wealth thou gavest in thy turn to men ?
Not Milton's keen, translunar music thine; Not Shakespeare's cloudless, boundless human
view ;

MATIHEW ARNOLD

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITE R,S.

Not Shelley's

75

Nor jet

flush of rose on peaks divine; the wizard twilight Coleridge knew.

What

hadst thou that could make so large amends For all thou hadst not and thy peers possessed, Motion and fire, swift means to radiant ends? Thou hadst for weary feet the gift of rest.

From Shelley's dazzling glow or thunderous haze, From B^Ton's tempest-anger, tempest-mirth, Men turned to thee and found not blast and

blaze.

Tumult

of tottering heavens, but peace on earth.

Xor
But

jeace that
in

There

grows by Lethe, scentless flower, white languors to decline and cease;

])eace whose names are also rapture, power. Clear sight, and love: for these are parts of

peace.

WILLIAM WATSON.

IN

MEMORY OF WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

Back
to the (lower-town, side

by

side.

The bright months

bring,

New-boi-n, the bridegroom and the bride,

Freedom and

spring.

The sweet land Inughs from sea

Fined
full of

to sea,

sun; All things conic back lo her, being free; All things but one.

76 In

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
many a
tender wlieaten plot

Flowers that were dead Live, and old suns revive; but not That holier head.

By

this white

wandering waste Far north, I hear

face shall never turn to

of sea,

One

me

As once

this year

Shall never smile and turn and rest

On mine

as there,
prest

Nor one most sacred hand be Upon my hair.

I

came as one whose thoughts half

linger.

Half run before; The youngest to the oldest singer bore. That England ^&'
I

found him wliom

shall not find

Till all grief end,

In holiest age our mightiest mind,

Father and friend.

But thou,
If

anything endure, hope there be, spirit that man's life left pure, Man's death set free,

if

Not with disdain of days that were Look earthward now

;

Let dreams revive the reverend hair.

The imperial brow;

PER.SOSAL:
Come back

GREAT WRITERS.
art not

77

in sleep, for in the life

Where thou

We

find

none

like thee.

Time and

strife

And
Move

the world's lot

thee no

more

but love at least

And

reverent heart

May move
And

thee, royal and releast Soul, as thou art.

thou, his Florence, to thy trust Keceive and keep. Keep safe his dedicated dust,

His sacred

sleep.
far,

So

shall thy lovers,

come from Mix with thy name

As

mornini?-star with evening-star His faultless fame.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

A WT.LCOME TO
ON HIS FIRST
VISIT TO

"

BOZ,"

THE WEST.

Come

Welcome to Hero of llic

as artist, come as guest, the expectant West,

clianiiril ik'u,

Lov('<l of cliildren.

loved of

iikmi.

We

liavi' felt

tliy spell

for years;

Oft with laughter, oft with tears, Tiiou hast touchetl the t^nderest part Of our inmost, hidden heart.

We

have fixed our eager gaze

78

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
On thy pages nights and days, Wishing, as we turned them Like poor Oliver, for " more,"
o'er,

And
Till

the creatures of thy brain

memory remain, through them we seem to be Old acquaintances of thee. Much we hold it thee to greet.

In our

On

Gladly sit we at thy feet; thy features we would look,

a living book,

As upon

And

thy voice would grateful hear, Glad to feel that Boz were near,

That his veritable soul Held us bv direct control

Therefore, author loved the best. Welcome, welcome to the W^est.

In immortal Weller's name, By Micawber's deathless fame. By the flogging v/reaked on Squeers^

By Job Trotter's fluent tears. By the beadle Bumble's fate At the hands of vixen mate, By the famous Pickwick Club, By the dream of Gabriel Grul)b. In the name of Snodgrass' muse,
Tupman's amorous
interviews.

Winkle's ludicrous mishaps,

And the fat boy's countless naj^s; By Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer, By Miss Sally Brass, the lawyer, In the name of Newman Noggs,

PERf^OXAL:

GREAT WRITERS.

79

River Tliames, and London fogs,

Ricliai'd Swiveller's excess,

Feasting with the Marchioness,

By Jack Bnusby's oracles, By the chime of Christmas bells, By the cricket on the hearth,
Scrooge's frown and Crotchit's mirth, By spread tables and good cheer.

Wayside inns and pots

of beer,

Hostess plump and jolly host. Coaches for the turnpike ])0st. Chambermaids in love with Boots,
Toodles, Traddles, Tapley, Toots, Jarley, Varden, Mister Dick,

Susan Nipper, Mistress Chick,

Snevellicci, Lilyvick, ]Mantalini's ])redilections. To transfer his " dem " affections,

Podsuap, Pecksniff, Chuzzlewit, Quilp and Simon Tapi)ertit, ^^'eg and Boflin, Smike and Paul, Nell and Jenny NN'ren and all,

Be not Sairy Gamp forgot, No, nor l*eggotty and Trot,-=By poor Barnaby and Crip. Flora, Dora, Di, and Clip, I'eerybingle, T'inch, and Pip,

Wclcoiiic, long-expeclcd guest. Welcome, Dickens, to the West.

Til

llic

name

of gentle Nell,

("liild

of light,

^^'('('ping, (lid

bclovM well, we not licliold

Koses on her bosoni cold?

80

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Better

we

for every tear

Shed beside her snowy bier, By the mournful group that played Round the grave where Sniike was

laid,

By the life of Tiny Tim, And the lesson taught by

Asking

him,

God By the sounding waves

Little

in his plaintive tone to " bless us every one,"

that bore

Paul to Ileaveu's shore, By thv vearning for the human

in everv man and woman, each noble deed and word

Good

By

That thy story-books record,

each noble sentiment Dickens to the world hath lent. By the effort thou hast made Truth and true reform to aid, By thy hope of man's relief Finally from want and grief, Bv thv never-failing trust That the God of love is just, We would meet and welcome thee, Preacher of humanity

And

Welcome

fills

the throbbing breast

Of the sympathetic West.

W. H. VENABLB.

DICKENS IN CAMP.
Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting, The river sang below; The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting
Their minarets of snow.

PERSOXAL: GREAT WRITERS.

81

The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, i)ainted The ruddy tints of health On haiiji^ard face and form that drooped and
fainted

In the
Till

fierce race for

wealth

one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure hoarded volume drew. And cards were dropped from hands of listless

leisure.

To

hear" the tale

anew;

And

then, while
faster.

round them shadows gathered

fell.

And

as the firelight

He

read aloud the book whei-ein the Master

Had
Perhaps

writ of " Little Nell."

't

was bo^Msh fancy, for the reader Was youngest of them all, But. as he read, from clustering pine and cedar

A
The

silence

seemed to

fall:

fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows. Listened in every spray. While the whole camp, with "Nell," on English

meadows Wandered nnd

lost

tlioii-

way.

And

so in mountain solitudes

As by some

spell divine

o'ertaken

Their cares dropped from them like the needles shaken From out the gusty pine.
VII

(j

82

DE^CRIPTIYE POEMS.
that camp, and wasted all its fire; And he who wrought that spell?
is

Lost

Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish

spire,

Ye have one
Lost
is

tale to tell!
let its

that cam])! but

fragrant story
thrills

Elend with the breath that

With

hop-vines' incense all the pensive glory That fills the Kentish hills.

And on that grave where English oak and And laurel wreathes intAvine, Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly,
This spray of Western pine.

holly

BRET HARTE.

DICKENS.

Whom

thy generation born of men English praise acclaimed as English born. With eyes that matched the world-wide e^es of

Chief

in

morn For gleam of tears or laughter, tenderest then

Wlien thoughts of children warmed their
Avhen
light,

or

Reverence of age

v>'ith

love

and labor worn,

with godlike scorn, Shot through them flame that winged thy swift live pen Where stars and suns that we beheld not burn, Higher even than here, though highest was here
pity fired
:

Or godlike

thy place,

Love sees thy

Sterne,

spirit laugh

and speak and shine

With Shakespeare, and

the soft bright soul of

PERi^OXAL: GREAT WRITERS.

83

And

Fielding's kindliest miglil, an<l Goldsmith's grace; Scarce one more loved or worlhier than thine.

ALGKIiNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

TO THACKERAY.
O Gentler Censor of our age! Prime master of onr ampler tongue! "Whose word of wit and generous page Were never wroth except with Wrong.
Fielding without the manner's dross, Scott with a spirit's larger room, >\'hat Prelate deems thy grave his loss?

What

Halifax erects thy tomb?

Put. may be, He who could so draw The hidden Great, the humble Wise Yielding with them to God's good law, Makes the Pantheon wlierc lie lies.

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES,

LORD HOUGHTON.

TENNYSON.
Shakespeare and Milton

what

third blazoned

name
Shall lips of after-ages link to these?

His who, beside the wild encircling

seas.

Was

lOngland's voice, hei- Noicc willi one acclaim. For lluce s<(re years; w Iiosc woid of pi-aisc was
faiiic.

Whose

scorn ga\-e pause lo

iiian's iiupiities.

84

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
strain

What

was

his in that

Crimean war?

low breath, Plaintive and sweet, above the fields of death! So year hj year the music rolled afar, From Euxine wastes to flowery Kandahar,

bugle-call in battle; a

Bearing the laurel or the cypress wreath.

Others shall have their little space of time. Their proper niche and bust, then fade away
Into the darkness, poets of a day;

But thou, O builder of enduring rhyme. Thou shalt not pass! Thy fame in every clime On earth shall live where Saxon speech has
sway.

Waft me

this verse across the winter sea,

light

Through

and dark, through mist and

blind-

ing sleet, O wintry winds, and lay it at his feet; Though the poor gift betray my poverty,

At

his feet lay it:

gift,

it

may chance

that he
is,

Will find no

where reverence

unmeet.

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

LACHRYM.E MUSARUM.
(6TH OCTOBER,
1982.)

Low, like another's, lies the laurelled head: The life that seemed a perfect song is o'er:
Carrv the
last great

Land that he Laud that he

bard to his last bed. loved, thy noblest voice is mute. loved, that loved him! nevermore

PERSOXAL: GREAT WRITERS.

]\Ioadow of
tliiue,

85

smooth hiwu or wild seashore, odorous bloom aud tremulous fruit, Or woodhuids old, like Druid couches spread,
(iartleiis of

The

uiaster's feet shall tread.

little rift

Death's

hath rent the faultless lute:

is

The singer of undying songs

dead.

While fades and

Lo, in this season pensive-hued and grave. falls the doomed, reluctant leaf

From withered
]M ingles

Earth's fantastic coronal,

sighs of forest and of wave of a people's grief leaf shall fade not, neither fall.

With wandering
the

murmur

For him whose

He
For

hath fared forth, bevond these suns and showers.

us, the

And Him

autumn glow, the autumn flame. soon the winter silence^ shall be ours:
the eternal spring of fadeless fame
flowers.

Crowns with no mortal

Kapt

tlioiigh

ho bo fi'om us.

and Theocritus; Catullus, mightiest-brained Lucretius, each Cireets him, their brother, on the Stygian beach;
Virgil salutes him,
I

'loudly a gaunt right

.Milton aiKJ
Hriglit

hand doth Dante reach; Wordsworth bid him wclcomo liomo;

dotli l)oseecii;
f;iiry

Keats to touch his raiment

Coleridge, his locks aspersed with

foam.

Calm
His

Sjionsoi-,

Chaucer

su;'.\o.

o(|ual frioMilship crave:

And
Of

godlike spiiits

linil

him guest,

in

speiMli

Alliens, Florence, Weiiiiai*, Stratford,

Kome.

8G

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
What
needs his hiurel our ephemeral tears,

To save from visitation of decay? Not in his temporal sunlight, now, that bay Blooms, nor to perishable mundane ears
Sings he with lips of transitory clay;

For he hath joined the chorus of In habitations of the perfect day

his peers
:

His earthly notes a heavenly audience hears,

And more melodious

are henceforth the spheres,

Enriched with music stolen from earth away.

He

Him

hath returned to regions whence he came. doth the spirit divine

loveliness reclaim.
is

Of universal
All nature

his shrine.
sea.

Seek him henceforward in the wind and In earth's and air's emotion or repose, In every star's august serenity.

And

in the raj^ture of the flaming rose. if ye would not seek in vain, in the There, rhythm and music of the Whole;

There seek him

Yea, and forever in the

human

soul
his strain.

Made
For

stronger and more beauteous by

lo! creation's self is
is

And what
And

one great choir. nature's order but the rhyme

Whereto the worlds keep time, all things move with all things from their prime? Who shall expound the mystery of the lyre? Til far retreats of elemental mind Obscurely comes and goes The imperative breath of song, that as the wind

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

Is trackless, and oblivions whence it blows. Demand of lilies wherefore they are white,

87

Extort her crimson secret from the rose, But ask not of the Muse that she disclose

The meaning Somewhat of

of the riddle of her might:

all

Save the enigma The master could not tell, with all his lore, Wherefore he sang, or whence the mandate sped Even as the linnet sings, so I, he said;

things sealed and recondite, of herself, she knows.

Ah, rather as the imperial nightingale,

That held in trance the ancient Attic shore. And charms the ages with the notes that o'er All woodland chants immortally ])revail And now, from our vain plaudits greatly fled,
!

He with diviner silence dwells instead. And on no earthly sea with transient roar.
Unto no earthly airs, he trims his sail, But far beyond our vision and our hail Is heard forever and is seen no more.

No more, never now. Lord of the lofty and the tranquil brow Whereon nor snows of time
Have
Shall
fallen,

nor wintry rime.

men

IxOiold tliee, sage

and mage sublime.

endure

Once,

in liisyonlli obscui'e.

The maker of
Wy
r.rlicid
llicc

this verse, wliicli simll

tliciiic

spN'nddr of ils

llml cninMjt die,

cNc lo eye,
llicc llic liaiid

AihI

(oticlicil tlircMigli

Of every hero of thy iiicc (li\iii('. iiiclN'd Even lo Ihe sire of nil IIkI;i

line.

88

DESCBIPTIYE POEMS.

The sightless wanderer on the Ionian strand, With soul as healthful as the poignant brine, Wide as his skies and radiant as his seas, Starry from haunts of his Familiars nine,
Glorious ]\hponides.
I beheld thee, and behold thee yet: Thou hast forgotten, but can I forget? The accents of thy pure and sovereign tongue, Are they not ever goldenly imprest

Yea,

On memory's
I see the
I I

palimpsest? wizard locks like night that hung, tread the floor thy hallowing feet have trod; see the hands a nation's lyre that strung.
life

The eyes that looked through

God.

and gazed on

The seasons change, the winds they

veer
Is dead
;

shift

and

of yesteryear the birds depart, the groves decay Empires dissolve and peoples disappear:
;

The grass

Song passes not away. Captains and conquerors leave a

little dust.

And

kings a dubious legend of their reign; The swords of Ca?sars, they are less than rust

The poet doth remain. Dead is Augustus, Maro is alive; And thou, the Mantuan of our age and clime. Like Virgil shalt thy race and tongue survive, Bequeathing no less honeyed words to time.

Embalmed in and)er of eternal rhyme. And rich with sweets from every Muse's
While
to the

hive;

measure of the cosmic rune

PERSOXAL: GREAT WRITERf^.

For
thou sbalt tby lyre attune, heed no more the hum of idle praise In that great calm our tumults cannot reach, ^Master -who crown'st our immelodious days
i)nrer ears

80

And

With

llower of perfect speech.

WILLIAM WATSON.

ROBERT BROWNING.

There

delight in singing, though none hear Beside the singer; and there is delight
is

In praising, though the

j)raiser sit

alone

And

see the praised far off him, far above.

Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's, Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,

Browning!

Since Chaucer was alive and hale,

No man

hath walked along our roads with step So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue

So varied

in discourse.

But warmer climes

Give brighter ])luinage, stronger wing: the breeze Of Alpine heights thou ]layest with, borne on Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where

The Siren waits

thee, singing

song for song.

SAVAljiE

WALTER

LANDOR.

Tin:

liriMAL OF
I'l'ox St.

ROBERT BROWNING.

They
Thai
lie

laid
Iccl

Michacrs Isle him for awhile

liic

might

Otcnirs

lull

embrace,

Ami wedded bo To that wide sea

90

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Tlie subject

As

and the passion of his race. from some lovely underground Springing, she girds him round With la])ping sound
Thetis,

And

silent space:

Then, on more honor bent, She sues the firmament. And bids the hovering, western clouds combine

To spread
It

their sabled
brine.

amber on her lustrous

might not be

should lie free Forever in the soft light of the sea; For lo one came, Of step more slow than fame, Stooped over him we heard her breathe his
!

He

name

as the light drew back, Bore him across the track Of the subservient waves that dare not foil That veiled, maternal figure of its spoil.

And

Ah

wliere will she put by

Her journejing majesty?

She hath left the lands of the air and sun She will take no rest till her course be run. Follow her far, follow her fast.
;

Until at

last,

Within a narrow transept led, Lo! she unwraps her face to pall her dead.
'T is

England who has travelled England who brings

far,

Fresh splendor to her galaxy of Kings.

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

Di

We kiss her A

feet,

her hands,

Where eloquent she stands; Nor dare to k^nd

wailful choir about the poet
is

dumb

Who

become

Part of the glory that her sons would bleed To save from scar Yea, hers in very deed
;

As Runnjmede, Or Trafalgar.
MICHAEL
FIELD.

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

DIED IN

NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER,

1820.

Green be the

turf above thee, Friend of m.y better days

!

None knew thee but to Nor named thee but

Tears
fell,

love thee,
to praise.

when thou wert

dying,

From eyes unused to weep. And long, where thou art lying.
Will tears the cold turf steep.

When
TJUe

hearts,
lliiiie.

whose

trutli

was proven,

are laid in earth.

There slionid a wreath be woven

To

tell

the woi-ld their worth;

And
To

1,

who woke each morrow

thy hand in mine, Wlio shared thy joy and sorrow, ^^'hose we;il and woe wei-e thine,
chisj*

02

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
It slionld be

mine to braid

it

Around thy faded brow, But I've in vain essayed it,

And
Nor

feel I

cannot now.

WHiile memory" bids

tliouglits

me weep

thee,
free,

nor words are

The grief is fixed too deeply That mourns a man like thee.
FITZ-GREENE HALLECK.

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK.
[Read at
tlie

Unveiling of His Statue in Central Park,

May,

1877.]

Amoxg
Thy

their graven shapes to

civic wi-eaths belong,

whom

city of his love!

For one wliose

gift

make room was song.

Not his the soldier's sword to wield, Nor his the helm of state, Nor glory of the stricken field, Nor triumph of debate.
In

common ways, with common men, He served his race and time
well as

As

Had
If, in

if his clerkly pen never danced to rhyme.

the thronged and noisy nmrt, The Muses found their son. Could any say his tuneful art A duty left undone?

PEKHOXAL: HREAT WRITFAl^.

He toiled and sano and year by yeaiMen found tiieir homes more sweet, And tlirouij;li a ten<lerer atmos)>liere
;

93

Looked down the briek-walled

street.

The Greek's wild onset Wall Street knew, The Red King walked Broadway; And Alnwick Castle's roses blew

From

Palisades to Bay.

Fair City by the Sea! npraise His veil with reverent hands; And mingle with thy own the praise.

And

pride of other lands.

Let Greece his fiery lyric breathe Above her hero-nrns And Scotland, with her holly, wreathe The flowers he culled for Burns.
;

O, stately stand thy palace walls,

Thy

tall

ships ride the seas;

To-day thy poet's name recalls A proud(M' thought than these.

Xot less thy i)ulse of trade shall beat. Nor less thy tall fleets swim. That siiaded s(|uai-e and dusly street Are classic ground through him.
i->"

Alive, he loved, like all

who
;

sing.

The echoes of iiis song Too late the tardy meed we bring. The i)raise delayed so long.

94

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Too late, alas! Of all who knew The living man, to-day
Before his unveiled face how few Make bare their locks of gray
!

Our lips of praise must soon be dumb, Our grateful eyes be dim
;

O, brothers of the days to come, Take tender charge of him!

New hands the Avires of song may New voices challenge fame;

sweep,

But let no moss of years o'ercreep The lines of Hal leek's name. JOHN GREENLEAP WHITTIER.

POE'S COTTAGE AT FORDHAM.

Here lived the soul enchanted By melody of song
;

Here dwelt the spirit haunted By a demoniac throng; Here sang the lips elated; Here grief and death were sated Here loved and here unmated

Was

he, so frail, so strong.

Here wintry winds and cheerless The dying firelight blew. While he whose song was peerless

Dreamed

the drear midnight through,

dull

And from

embers chilling

PElx'SOXAL:

URIJAT WRITERS.

95

Crept shadows darkly filling The silent phu-e, and thrilling His fancy as they grew.
Here, ^^ itli hi-ow bared to heaven, In starry niglit he stood,

With

the lost star of seven

Feeling sad brotherhood.

Here in the sobbing sliowers Of dark antuninal hours

He

heard sus])eeted ])Owers

Shriek ihronnii the stoniiv wood.

From visions of Apollo And of Astarte's bliss. He gazed into the hollow And hoi)eless vale of l)is, And though earth were surrounded By heaven, it still was mounded
With graves. His soul had sounded The dolorous abvss.
:

i'(.

Proud, mad, but not defiant. He touched at heaven and hel Fate found a rare soul jjliant

And wrung

hei-

clmnges well.
fire,

Altei-nntely his lyre, Straiidcd with strings of

L('(I

earth's most

happy

choir,

Or Hashed with

Israfel.

No

singer of

dM

story
hiys,

Luting accustomed

No hai|ter lor new gbi-y. No mendicant foi- praise,

9G

DESCRIPriVE POEMS.
He
struck high chords and splendid, Wherein Avere fiercely blended Tones that unfinished ended With his unfinished days.

Here through

this lowly portal, sacred by his name, Unhei'alded immortal

Made

The mortal went and came.

And fate that then denied him, And envy that decried him, And malice that belied him,
Have cenotaphed
liis

fame.

JOHN HENRY BONER.

ON THE DEATH OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT.

Two
souls diverse out of our human sight Pass, followed one with love and each with won-

der

The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder. Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might Of darkness and magnificence of night; And one whose eye could smite the night in sunder.

Searching if light or no light were thereunder, xind found in love of loving-kindness light. Duty Divine and Thought with eyes of fire
Still

following Righteousness with deep desire

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

Shone sole and stern before her and above, Sure stars and sole to steer by but more sweet Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly feet, The light of little children, and their love. ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.
;

97

CARLYLE AND EMERSON.

HALF>FiRE kindled in the night. By night a blaze, by day a cloud.

all
It

With llame and smoke

climbed so high,
it

England woke,roared so loud:

While over Massachusetts' pines Uprose a white and steadfasi star; And many a night it hung unwatched,^ It shone so still, it seemed so far.

But Light

is

Fire,

and Fire

is

Light;
these,

And mariners

arc glad

fu-

The torch that flares along the coast, The star that beams above the seas.

MONTGOMERY SCHUYLER.

EMERSON.
CONCORD.

"Farther horizons

cNcry year."

tossing juncs, which surge and wave Above the jxx't's jnst made grave. And waken Cor his sh'cping ear

The music
VJI

(li;il

li<'

loveil

\n hear,

98

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
With
Through sninmer's sun and winter's jnu-pose staunch and dauntless
chill,

will,

Sped by a noble discontent You climb toward the blue firmament: Climb as the winds climb, mounting high

The viewless ladders

of the sky;

Spurning our lower atmosphere. Heavy with sighs and dense with night, And urging upward, year by year, To ampler air, diviner light.
Farther horizons every year." Beneath you pass the tribes of men Your gracious boughs o'ershadow them. You hear but do not seem to heed
;

"

Your

Their. jarring speech, their faulty creed. roots are firmly set in soil

Won

from their humming paths of toil; Content their lives to watch and share, To serve them, shelter, and upbear; Yet but to win an upward way And larger gift of heaven than they, Benignant view and attitude.
Close knowledge of celestial sign Still working for all earthly good. While pressing on to the Divine.
;

" Farther horizons every year." So he, by reverent hands just laid

Beneath your layers of waving shade, Climbed as you climb the upward way, Knowing not boundary nor stay. His eyes surcharged with heavenly lights,

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

His senses steeped in heavenly sights, His soul attuned to heavenly keys,

99

How

should he pause for rest or ease,

Or turn his winged feet again To share the common feasts of men? He blessed them with his word and smile
still above their fickle moods, Wooing, constraining him, the while Beckoned the shining altitudes.

But,

"

Fartlier horizons every year."

height, clear irradiance of light,

To what immeasurable

What What

far and all-trauscendent goal, Hast thou now risen, O steadfast soul

We may

To Nor guess what vision, vast and God kee])S in store for souls like

not follow with our eyes where the further pathway lies;
free,

thee.

Hul si ill llie sentry pines, which wave Their boughs above thy honored grave, Shall be thy emblems brave and fit. Firm rooted in the stalwart sod;
Blessing the earth, while spurning it. Content with nothing short of God. SARAH CIIAUXCEY WOOLSKY {Susan Coolidije).

100

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

LOWELL ON HIMSELF.
FROM
"

A FABLE FOR CRITICS."

's

There

is

Lowell, wlio

striving

Parnassus

to

climb

With a whole

bale of isms tied together with

He

rhyme. might get on alone, spite of brambles and

boulders, can't with
shoulders.

But he

that bundle he has on his

The top of the

Till

hill

he will ne'er come nigh reach-

ing he learns the distinction 'twixt singing and

preaching;

His lyre has some chords that would ring pretty

well,

But he'd rather by half make a drum

shell.

of the

And

rattle

away

till

he

's

At the head
lem.

of a

march

to the last

old as Methusalem, new Jerusa-

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

OUT FKOM BEHIND THIS MASK.

" TO CONFRONT HIS OWN PORTRAIT FOR THE " IN " LEAVES OF GRASS." DRESSER

WOUND

Out from behind

this bending, rough-cut mask, These lights and shades, this drama of the whole. This common curtain of the face, contained in me for me, in you for you, in each for each.

PERSOXAL:

HUE AT

WlilTERii.

lOL

(Tiagedies, soi-rows, lauiilitcr, tears O heaven! The passionate teeminji; i)lavs this curtain hidlj

This ghize of God's serenest, purest sky, This filni of Satan's seething pit,

This heart's geography's map, this limitless small continent, this soundless sea;

Out from the convolutions

of this globe,

This subtler astronomic orb than sun or moon, than Jupiter, Venus, Mars, This condensation of the universe (nay. here the
only universe.

Here the idea, These burned

all in this

mystic handful wrapt)

eyes,

flashing to you, to pass to

future time,

To launch and spin through

sideling,

space,

revolving,

To you

whoe'er you

from these to emanate

are

look.

traveller of thoughts

and years, of peace and

war,

Of youth long
(As the
first

s[)ed and middling age declining volume of a tale perused and laid away, and this the second,

Songs, ventures, s])eculations, presently to close). opLingering a nioiiient here and now, lo you
1

posite

ttiiii.

As

on

tlie roa<l,

or at

some crevice door by chance,

or opened window.

Pausing, inclining, baring

I

my

head, you si)ecially

foi"

gi-eet.

To draw and
bly with

cjinch your soul

iiiiiie.

once

iiise|>ara-

Then

travel, travel on.

WALT WIHTMAX.

102

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

MYSELF.
FROINI

"

THE SONG OF MYSELF."

And what

uivself, and sing myself, assume yon shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs

CELEBRATE
I

I loaf
1

to you. and invite

my

soul,

lean and loaf at

my

ease observing a spear of

summer

grass.

My

tongue, every atom of

this soil, this air,

my

blood, formed from

Born here
I,

of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health

begin. Hoping to cease not

till

death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance. but Retiring back awhile sufliced at what they are, never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at
every hazard,

Nalure without check, with original energy.

WALT WIHTMAN.

PERSOXAL: GREAT WRITERS.

103

HAWTHORNE.
Now England Song, That even in shinibei- trembled with the touch Of poets who like the foni- winds from thee
Harp
of

w aken
All harmonies that to thy strings belong,

much

Sav.

\\'\\{

thou blame the younger hands too

frou'

^\'ilich

thy laurelled resting place have

taken

Thee crowned one in their hold? There is a name Shoubl quicken thee No carol Hawthorne
I

sang, Yet his articulate spirit, like thine own. Made answer, quick as flame, To each breath of the shore from which he sprang.

And

prose like his was poesy's high tone

o

But he whose quickened eye

Saw
Her

111

rough

sjjirit,

New

England's

life

her

inmost

heart, and all the stays on which it leant, Hetuiiis not, since he laid the pencil by
\\'li()S('

iiiyslic

loucli
its

none

olhei- shall inherit

What

tliongii

work

unfinished lies?

Half-

bent

The rainbow's arch fades out in upper air; The shilling catarart Iiaif-way down the height
r.rcaks into mist
;

the haunting strain, that On listeners unawai'<',

fell

The ear

I'nds incomplete, but tlii-ough the starry night still waits for what it did not tell.

LUMUND

CLAUE^'(:^!}

STKDMAJ^.

104

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

HAWTHORNE.
beautiful it was, that one bright day In the long week of rain Though all its splendor could not chase away
!

How

The omnipresent pain. The

lovely town was white with apple-blooms, the great elms overhead Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms

And

Shot through with golden thread.

Across the meadows, by the gray old manse,
I

The historic river flowed: was as one who wanders in a

Unconscious of his road.

trance,

The faces

seemed strange; could hear, And yet the words they uttered seemed to change Their meaning to my ear.
of familiar friends
I

Their voices

For the one face I looked for was not The one low voice was mute
;

there,

Only an unseen presence

filled

the air.

And

baffled

my

pursuit.

Now

look back, and meadow, manse, and stream

I only see

Dimly my thought defines; a dream within a dream The hill-top hearsed with pines.

PEIi\^ONAL:
I

GREAT

WRITER.S.

105

ouly hear above his phiee of rest Their tender imdertone,

breast,

The infiuite longings of a troubled The voice so like his own.

There
in seel vision,

and remote from men,

lies cold.

The wizard hand

^^'hich at its toiuiost speed let fall the

pen

And
!

left

the tale half told.

Ah who shall And the lost

lift that wand of magic power, clew regain? The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower

Unfinished must remain!

IIEXRY WADSWORTII LONGFELLOW.

nARRlKT
Sin; told the storv,

P.Ei:('Hi:ii

STOWE.

and

th(
it

At w rongs and cruelties

iJiit

whole world wept had not known

voice alone.
s1ei)t:

foi"

this fearless

woman's
c]e;'.r

She

sjtoki' to

consciences that h)ng had

Iler message.

Freedom's

rcNeillc.

swept

From
And

Command and
froiii

heedless hovel to complacent throne. proj)hecv were in the tone,

its slieatli the sword of justice leapt. two peoples swelled a fiei'v wave, r>iit boiii came forth ti-ansligured from the llame. HIest he tlie hand that daicd be strong to save, Vnd bh'st Ix' she who in oni- weakness came Prophet and priestess! .\t one stroke she gave A race to freedom and lierself lo fame.
.\ioiiii(i

I'.vuL Lwvuic.Nci':

nrNP.Ai^

loo

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

TO HENRY

WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
1867.

ON HIS BIRTHDAY, 27TH FEBRUARY,

I

NEED not praise the sweetness of his song,

Where limpid

verse to limpid verse succeeds

Smooth as our Charles, when, fearing lest he wrong The new moon's mirrored skiff, he slides along, Full without noise, and whispers in his reeds.

With loving breath

Ls

of all the wMnds his name blown about the world, but to his friends

And Love steals shvly through the To murmur a God 1)less you! and
As

sweeter secret hides behind his fame, loud acclaim

there ends.

I muse backward up the checkered years. Wherein so much was given, so much was lost,

Blessings in both kinds, such as cheapen tears

!

But hush this is not for profaner ears; Let them drink molten pearls nor dream the
cost.

Some suck up poison from a sorrow's core. As naught but nightshade grew uiou
;

earth's

ground Love turned all his to heart's-ease, and the more Fate trioil his bastions, she but forced a door. Leading to sweeter manhood and more sound.

o
w

O Z o
o

PERSONAL: GREAT WRITERS.

107

Even as a wind-waved fountain's swaying shade Seems of mixed race, a gray wraitli shot with
sun,

So tlirough his

Till darkness, half

translucent ra^-ed. disnatured so, betrayed heart of sunshine that would f;iin o'errun.
trial faith
if skill

Surely

in

song the shears may stay,

And
If

of its purpose cheat the

charmed abyss,

our poor life be lengthened by a lay. He shall not go, although his presence may, And the next age in praise shall double

this.

Long days be his, and each as lusty-sweet As gracious natures hud his song to be; May Age steal on with softly cadenced feet Falling in music, as for him were meet Whose choicest verse is harsher-toned than lie. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

LONGFELLOW.
IX

MEMORIAM.

Nec turpem senectam

Degere, nec cithara carentevi.
'*

Not
I

to be tuneh'ss in old

age!"

Ah

sur(ily blest his pilgrimage, Wlio, in liis winter's snow.

Still sings willi

note

;is

swcci

jiiid

clear

As

in tlu- iii()riiin;4- (tf (lie yc;ir

llic
lirsl
\

^VlM'n

ioh'ts

blow!

108
Blest
!

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

but more
si)ring's

blest,

whom
stii'

Whom

impulsive

summer's heat, aud beat,

Have taught no

feverish lure;

Whose Muse, benignant aud serene. Still keeps his autumn chaplet green
Because his verse
Lie calm, Lie calm,
is

pure!

O white and laureate head! O Dead, that art not dead,

Since from the voiceless grave

voice shall speak to old and young While song yet speaks our English tongue

Thv

By

Charles' or Thamis' wave.

AUSTIN DOBSON.

HOUSE.
Shall T sonnet-sing you about myself? Do I live in a house you would like to see?
Is
it

"

Unlock

scant of gear, has it store of pelf? " my heart with a sonnet-key?

Invite the world, as

"

my

betters have done?

Take notice:

this building

remains on view,

Its suites of reception ever}- one. Its private apartment and bedroom too;
"

For
:

No thanking

a ticket, apply to the Publisher." the public, I must decline. mine.'

A
I

peep through my window, if folk prefer; But please you, no foot over threshold of

have mixed with a crowd and heard free talk In a foreign land where an earthquake chanced

PER.SOXAL: GREAT WRlTEIlt^.

And
a liouse stood <>aping, naught to balk Man's eye wherever he gazed or glanced.

lUO

The whole of the fi-ontage shaven sheer, The inside gaped exposed to day, Right and wrong and common and queer,
:

Bare, as the palm of your hand,

it

lay.

The owner?

Odd What a
lie

"

Oh, he had been crushed, no doubt! and chairs for a man of wealth parcel of musty old books about
tables
!

smoked,
if

no

wonder he

lost his health!

"

doubt
see

he bathed before he dressed.

A
You

bi-aisier?
it is

the pagan,
goodman

he burncnl ])(n-fumes!

i)roved. what the neighbors guessed: His wife and himself had separate rooms."

Friends, the
'T
is tlie fall

of the house at least

lill

Kept house to himself

:m earthquake came:

On

of its frontage permits you feast the inside ai-i-angcmciit you praise or blame.
sullice for evidence:

Outside should

And whoso
Deeper, must

desires to jienetrate dive by the spirit sense

utimc

No

optics like yours, at any i-atel

"Hoity-toity!
^'our
lionse

A street to explore, the excejtiioni 11////

////.s-

key
ShaJccftpcdrc
l>id

inilorhrd

Jiis

luart' once nu)re!"

Shakespeare?
he!

If so. the h'ss

Shakespeare

Koiuati' ia;o\\M.\(;.

I.

PERSONAL: MISCELLANEOUS.
ART CRITICISM.
First bring me Raffael, who alone liath seen In all her purity heaven's virgin queen, Alone hath felt true beauty; bring me then

And
His
I

Titian, ennobler of the noblest men next the sweet Correggio, nor chastise
;

little

Cupids for those wicked

eyes.

want not Rubens's pink puffy bloom, Nor Rembrandt's glimmer in a dusty room. With those, and Poussin's nymi)h-frequented
woods, His templed heights and long-drawn solitudes, I am content, vet fain would look abroad On one warm sunset of Ausonian Claude.
/
t.'

WALTER SAVAGE LANUOR.

ANNE HATHAWAY.
TO THE IDOL OF

MY EYE AND DELIGHT

ANNE HATHAWAY.

OF

JNIY

HBARl.

Would

ye be taught, ye feathered throng,

With love's sweet notes to grace your song. To pierce the heart with thrilling lay, Listen to mine Anno llnthaway!
110

PERSiOXAL: .yf^CELLAXEOUS.
She
biitli

Ill

way

to siug so clear,

Plioebiis

might wonder iug stop to hear.

the sad,

To melt

make

blithe the gay,

Aiul nature charm, Anne hath a JShe hath a way,

way;

Anne Hathawav: To breathe delight Anne hath a way.

When Envy's breath and rancorous tooth Do soil and bite fair worth and truth, And merit to distress betray,
To soothe
the heart

Anne hath

way;

She hath a way to chase despair,

To

heal all grief, to cure all care,

Tnin foulest night to fairest day. Thou know'st. f<>n<l heart, Anne hath a way; She Imtli a wav,

Anne Hathaway; To make grief bliss, Anne hath a way.

Talk not of gems, the orient list. The diamond, topaz, nmethyst. The emerald mild, the ruby gay;
'i'nlk

of

iiiv
;i

She

halli

gem. Anne Jlatli;nv;iy way, with Iier bright eye.

!

Their v;irious lustres to defy,

The j(Mvels she. {ind the So sweei to look Anne luilli She hath a way,
foil

(hey.
a

way;

Anne llalhawny; To shame Iiright gems. Aime

r.ut

Iialh a

way.

were

it

to

my

fanty given
1

To

rate her charms.

call

Ihem heaven;

112

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
For, though a mortal

made

of clay,

Angels must love Anne Hathaway; She hath a wav so to control, To rapture, the imprisoned soul,

And

sweetest heaven on earth display, That to be heaven Anne hath a way; She hath a way,
a wav.

Anne Hathaway-; To be heaven's self, Anne hath

ANONYMOUS.

THE POET'S FRIEND.

[lord bolingbkoke.]

from

"

an essay on man," epistle

iv.

Come

then,

my

friend!

my

genius! come along;

master of the poet, and the song!

while the muse

And

To man's low
Teach me,

now stoops, or now ascends, passions, or their glorious ends,

nature wise,
rise;

like thee, in various

To fall with dignity, Avith temper Formed by thy converse happily

to steer

From grave

to gay,
spirit,

from

lively to severe;

Correct with

eloquent with ease,

Intent to reason, or polite to please. O, while along the stream of time thy

name

Expanded

flies,

and gathers

all its

fame;

Say, shall my little bark attendant sail. Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale?

When

statesmen, heroes, kings, in dust repose,

* Tliis poem has sometimes, but witliont been attributed to Sliakespeaie.

much

reason,

PER SOX AL: MISCELLANEOUS.

Whose sous
foes,

113

shall blush their fathers

were thy

Thou wert my

Shall then this verse to future age pretend guide, philosopher, and friend!
I

That, urged by thee,

turned the tuneful art

From sounds
For

to things, from fancy to the heart: wit's false mirror held up Nature's light;
is,

{Showed erring pride, avhatever

is

right.

ALEXANDER POPE.

A BARD'S E FIT A PH.

Owre Owre
Is there a whim-inspired fool, fast for thought, owre hot for rule, blate* to seek, owre proud to snool t
;

Let him draw near.

And owre

this grassy

heap sing dool.

a tear.

And drap

Is there a bard of rustic song. Who, noteless, steals the crowd

among,

That weekly

this area throng;

O, pass not by; But, with a f rater-feeling strong, Here heave a sigh
!

there a man wiiosc judgment clear Can others teach the course to steer.
Is

Yet runs himself

"^^'illl

life's

mad

career,

Here

as the wave; pause, and. through the starting tear,

Survey
VII

111

is

grave.

* Bashful.

Tamely submit.

114

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS..
The
j)oor inhabitaut

below

Was
And

quick to learn

and wise to know,

keenly

felt

And
But thoughtless

the friendly glow, sober flame;

follies laid him low, stained his name!

And

Reader, attend, whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,

Or darkly grubs

Know,

this earthly hole. In low pursuit; prudent, cautious self-control

Is wisdom's root.

ROBERT BURNS.

CHOPIN.
I.

DREAM

of interlinking hands, of feet Tireless to spin the unseen, falr^^ woof

Of the entangling waltz.

Gay laughter echoes from

Bright eyebeams meet, the vaulted roof.

Warm

perfumes rise; the Of branching lights charms

soft uuflickering
sets
off

glow

the changeful

Of glancing gems, rich stuffs, the dazzling snow Of necks unkerchieft, and bare, clinging arms. Hark to the music Hov/ beneath the strain Of reckless revelry, vibrates and sobs One fundamental chord of constant pa,in. The ])ulse-beat of the poet's heart that throbs. So yearns, though all the dancing Avaves rejoice, The troubled sea's disconsolate, deep voice.
!

PER^OXAL: MLSCELLANEOUS.
II.

115

UMio

sliiill

proclaim the sjoldon fable false

Of Orpheus' niiraeles? This subtle strain Above our prose world's sordid loss and gain With the rhythmic waltz, Lilitly n[)lifts us. The l^ric prelude, the nocturnal song Of love and lanjiuor, varied visions rise, That melt and blend to our enchanted eyes. The Polish poet who sleeps silenced long. The seraih-souled musician, breathes again
Eternal elocjuence, immortal pain. Revived the exalted face we know so well,

The illuminated

e^es, the fragile frame,

We
A

Slowly consuming with its inward flame stir not, speak not, lest we break the spell.
III.

voice

was needed, sweet and true and

fine

the sad spirit of the evening breeze, Throbliiii.n with Inunan passion, yet divine

As As

the wild bird's untutored melodies.

voice for

him 'neath twilight heavens dim,

round him

A\'ho iiiourneth for his dead, while

fall

The wan and noiseless

the call

leaves.

voice for

him
hears

^\'ho sees the first green sprout,

who

Of

lie

lirst

robin on the

first

A
Who.
Of

voice for all

whom
nmst

Fa(<'

spring day. hath set ajiart.

by llw w.iy,

sMIl mispi"i/,c<|.

jn'rish

L<nging with
llicii'

love, Tor that

('xpr('ssi(ii.
Iioje,

tli<\v

Imk

Ik-

art

(wn

soul's

l''or .ill

llicsc

Sing the unspoken

the xague, sad reveries.

116

DEtiCRIPTlVE POEMS.
IV.

Then Nature shaped a poet's heart, a lyre From out whose chords the slightest breeze
that blows

Drew trembling

How

shall

music, wakening sweet desire. Behold she she cherish him ?

!

throws
This precious, fragile treasure in the whirl Of seething passions he is scourged and
:

stung

Must

dive in storm-vext seas, if but one pearl Of art or beauty therefrom may be wrung.
:

No

pure-browed pensive nymph his Muse shall be An Amazon of thought with sovereign eyes, Whose kiss was poison, man-brained, worldlywise,

Inspired that

Kich gain for us!

hell
!

harmony. But with him is it well? The poet who must sound earth, heaven, and
elfin,

delicate

EMMA

LAZARUS.

THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ.

On
the
isle of

Penikese,

Ringed about by sapphire seas. Fanned by breezes salt and cool, Stood the Master with his school. Over sails that not in vain

Wooed

the west-wind's steady strain, Line of coast that low and far

Stretched

its

undulating bar,

PERSONAL: MISCELLANEOUS.
Wiuji;s aslant

117

along the

i-ini

Of the waves thev stooped to skim, Rock and isle and glistening bay,
Fell the beautiful white day.

Said the Master to the youth We have come in search of truth, Trying with uncertain key
:

"

Door bv door

of mvsterv;

We

To Him, the endless, unbegun. The Unuameable, the One,

Light of
Life of
all
life,

are reaching, through His laws, the garnieut-hem of ('ause,

our light the Source,

and Force of

force.

As

witli fingers of the blind,

We

What What

are groping here to find the hieroglyphics mean

in the seen,

Of the Unseen

the Thought which underlies

Nature's masking and disguise, ^^'hat it is that hides beneath

Blight and bloom and birth and death.

By

past efforts unavailing,

Doubl and ei i(r, loss and failing. Of our weakness made aware, ()ii the Ihreshold of our task Le| us lighj and guidance ask.
Let us pause
in silent

itraver!''

Then

llie

.Master in his jihice

liowed his head

And

a lillle space. lea\cs by soil airs slirred. Lapse of \\a\(' and rvy of bird,
liie

118

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Left the solemn liiisli unbroken Of that wordless prayer unspoken, While its wish, on earth unsaid,

Rose

As By

to heaven interpreted. in life's best hours we hear

the spirit's finer ear

His low voice within us, thus The All-Father heareth us;

And

his holy ear we pain With our noisy words and Kot for him our violence,

vain.

Storming at the gates of sense; His the primal language, his The eternal silences! Even the careless heart was moved,

And

the doubting gave assent.

With a gesture reverent. To the Master well-beloved. As thin mists are glorified

By
All

the light they cannot hide^

who gazed upon him saw.

its veil of

Through

tender awe.

How
By

uplit the old sweet look of it.

his face

was

still

Hopeful, trustful, full of cheer. And the love that casts out fear.

Who

the secret

may

declare

Of that brief, unuttered prayer? Did the shade before him come Of the inevitable doom, Of the end of earth so near,

And

Eternity's

new year?

PERSONAL: MIHCELLANEOUS.
Rests the
In the lap of sheltering seas isle of Peuikese;
:

119

But the lord of the domain Comes not to his own again Where the eyes that follow

fail,

On

a vaster sea his sail

!

Drifts beyond our beck and hail

Other

lips

within

its
life

bound

expound; Other eyes from rock and shell

Shall the laws of

Read the world's old riddles well But wlien breezes light and bland IMow from Summer's blossomed land,
;

When the air is glad with wings, And the blithe song-sparrow sings,
]Maiiy
Shiill the living

an eye with his still face ones displace,

]\Iany

an ear the word shall seek

fitly

He

alone could

speak.

x\nd one

name forevermore
kiss the shore,

Shall be uttered o'er and o'er

By he waves that
I

P>y the cuilew's whistle, sent

Down
In
all

voices

the cool, sea-s<ented air; known Ui her

Nature own her worshipper, Half in lrinmih. half lament.

Thilhcr love shall
Icarfiil

(nrn.

Friendship pause uncovered there.

And the wisest reverence learn From the Master's silent i)ray('r.
JOHN
(iltKKNLKAF W lllTTIKU.

120

DE.SCRIPTIVE POEMS.

KANE.
DIED FEBRUARY
16, 1857.

Aloft

n])on an old basaltic crag, Which, scalped by keen winds that defend the

Pole,

Gazes with dead face on the seas that

roll

Around the

secret of the mystic zone, mighty nation's star-bespangled flag

Flutters alone.

And

underneath, upon the lifeless front Of that drear cliff, a simple name is traced; Fit type of him who, famishing and gaunt.

But with a rocky purpose

Clung

in his soul,

Breasted the gathering snows,

to the drifting floes. beleaguered, and by winter chased, Seeking the brother lost amid that frozen waste.

By want

Not many months ago we greeted him, Crowned with the icy honors of the North, Across the land his hard-won fame went forth, And Maine's deep woods were shaken limb by.
limb.

His own mild Keystone State, sedate and prim. Burst from decorous quiet, as he came. Hot Southern lips, with eloquence aflame, Sounded in triumph. Texas, wild and grim. Proffered its horny hand. The large-lunged West,

From

out his giant breast,

C/2

O
w
l-H

h u

PERi^OXAL:
Yelled
its

MISCELLANEOUS.
And from main

121
to

frank welcome.

main
Jubilant to the skv,

Thundered the miohtv

crv.

Honor to Kane
In vain.

in vain beneath his feet we flung The reddening roses! All in vain we poured The golden wine, and round the shining board
till

Sent the toast circling,

the rafters rung

With the

thrice-tripled honors of the feast!

Ere the pure

Scarce the buds Avilted and the voice ceased light that si)arkled in his eyes, Bright as auroral fires in Southern skies.

Faded and faded! And the brave young heart That the relentless Arctic winds had robbed Of all its vital heat, in that long quest For the lost caj^tain, now within his breast More and more faintly throbbed. His was the victory; but as his grasp Closed on the laurel crown with eager clasp, Death launched a whistling dart; And ere tlie thunders of aj)plause were done His bright eyes closed forever on the sun! Too late, too late the splendid ]rize he won

Olymjiic rnrc of Science and of Art! Like lo some shattered berg thai, jiale and lone, J)rifts fioiii (he while Xorlh (( a Tropic zone.
III

llic

And

ill

Ihe l)urning

day

^^'as(es
Till
It dies

peak by jje.-ik away. on some rosy even

it
;

with sunlight blessing

so he

Tran(piilly floated to a Soiitliern sea,

And

melted into heaven!

122

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
needs no tears
will not

He

who
for

lived a noble life!

We

him who died so well; weep But we will gather round the hearth, and tell The story of his strife; Such homage suits him well,

Better than funeral

pomp
and

or passing bell

What

tale of peri!

self-sacrifice!
ice,

Prisoned amid the fastnesses of

With hunger howling

floe

wastes of snow! Night length'ning into months; the ravenous

o'er the

Crunching the massive ships, as the white bear Crunches his prey. The insufficient share Of loathsome food The lethargy of famine; the despair
;

Urging to labor, nervelessly pursued; Toil done with skinny arms, and faces hued
Like pallid masks, while dolefully behind

Glimmered the fading embers of a mind! That awful hour, when through the i^rostrate band Delirium stalked, laying his burning hand

Upon

The whispers

the ghastly foreheads of the crew; of rebellion, faint and few

At first, but deej^ening ever till they grew In+o black thoughts of murder, such the throng Of horrors bound the hero. High the song Should be that hymns the noble part he played!

Sinking himself, yet ministering aid To all around him. By a mighty will
Living defiant of the wants that kill. Because his death would seal his comrades' fate; Cheering with ceaseless and inventive skill

PERSONAL: MISCELLANEOUS.

123

Those polar waters, dark and desolate. Equal to every trial, every fate. He stands, until spring, tardy with relief, Unlocks the icy gate. And the pale prisoners thread the world once
more.

To

the steep

cliffs

of Greenland's pastoral shore

Bearing their dying chief!

Time was when he should gain his spurs of gold! From royal hands, who wooed the knightly
The
state; knell of old formalities
is

tolled.

And

the world's knights are

crate.

now

self-conse-

No grander
In
all its

episode doth chivalry hold annals, back to Charlemagne, Than that lone vigil of unceasing pain.

Faithfully kept through hunger and through cold, By the good Christian knight, lOlisha Kane!

FITZ-JAMES O'CRIEN.

11.

NATURE AND ART.

ADAM AND
FROM
ii

EVE.
BOOK
IV.

PARADISE LOST^

Two

of far nobler shape, erect

and

tall,

Godlike erect, with native honor clad In naked majesty, seemed lords of all

And worthy seemed;

The image

for in their looks divine

of their glorious Maker shone. Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure, (Severe, but in true filial freedom placed,)

Whence

true authority in

men

though both
;

Not equal, as their sex not equal, seemed For contemplation he and valor formed For softness she and sweet attractive grace;
;

He

for God only, she for God in him: His fair large front and eve sublime declared Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks Round from his parted forelock manly hung

Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad; She, as a veil, down to the slender waist

Her unadorned golden tresses wore Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved
her tendrils; which implied Subjection, but required with gentle sway,
iVs the vine cui-ls

134

NATURE AXD
And bv And

ART.

125

her yielded, by him best receiyed,

Yielded \yith coy submission, modest pride,

sweet, reluctant,

amorous

delay.

So passed they naked on, nor shunned the sight Of ^lod or angel for they thought no ill So hand in hand they ])assed, the loyeliest pair, That eyer since in loye's endjraces met
;
:
:

the goodliest man of men since born His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve. Under a tuft of shade that on a green

Adam

Stood whis])ering
sat

soft, l)y a fresh

fountain side

toil They Of their s\yeet gardening labor than sufficed To recommend cool Zephyr, and made ease More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite More grateful, (o Iheir supper-fruits they fell,

them down: and, after no moie

Nectarine frails wliicli tlie compliant boughs Yielded theiu, si<lelong as Ihcy sat recline On the soft downy banks damasked with flowers:

The
Still

sayoi'y pul[) they chew,

and

in the rind.

as they thirsted, scooj) the

brimming stream;

Nor

gentle ]urpose, nor endearing smiles \\';iiil<'d, nor yoiitliful dalliance^ as beseems
couple, linked
iis

I'^iir

in

Imppy

nu]>tia,l

league,

Alone
All

(hey.

About
llie

be;ists

of

tliem frisking jilayed lOarlli, since wild, and of all

chase
In wocmI
oi'
\\

ildeiiiess, for(>st or

den;
liis

S|>oi(iiig (he lion r;ini|)e(l, ;mh1 in

paw

handled (lie kid; beais, (igeis, ounces. |tar(k:. Oamholled before them; the unwieldy ele|)lian(,

120

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
all

To make them mirth, used

wreathed

his

might, and

lithe proboscis; close the serpent sly, Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine His braided train, and of his fatal guile

His

Gave proof unheeded; others on the grass Couched, and now filled with pasture gazing sat, Or bedward ruminating; for the Sun, Declined, was hastening now with prone career To the ocean isles, and in the ascending scale Of Heaven the stars that usher evening rose.
MILTON.

SEVP]N AGES OF MAN.

FROM
" AS

you LIKE

IT,"

ACT

IT.

SC. 7.

And

all

the

All the world 's a stage, men and women merely players:
and their entrances;
in his time plays

They have

their exits

And one man

many

parts.

His Acts being seven ages. At first the Infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining School-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.

And

then the Lover,

Sijihing like furnace, with a woful ballad M.ide to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a Soldier,

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard; Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel. Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the Justice,

In fair round belly with good capon

lined,.

NATURE AND
With
ej'es severe,

ART.

127

and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances, And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered Pantaloon, With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And

whistles in his sound.

Last scene of

all,

That ends
Sans

this strange eventful history.

Is second childishness,

and mere oblivion,

teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

SHAKESPEARE.

CLEOPATRA.
FROM
"

AXTOXY AXD CLEOPATRA," ACT

II.

SC. 2.

ExoBARRUs.

The

barge she sat

in, like

a bur-

nished throne, P.urned on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that

The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were

silver,

'Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The watei', wlii<li lliry licat, to follow faster.

As amorous
It

of tlioir strokes.
all

For her own person.

description: she did lie In her pavilion ((l(>th-of-gold of tissue), see <)"erpic1ui-ing tli;d Vctnis. wlioro wo

beggared

The fancy outwork nature; on

Stood pretty dimjiled boys,

e;iili

side her

like

smiling Cujiids,
seeuj

With

ilivers-colored fans,

whose wind did

128

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
the delicate cheeks which they did cool, they undid, did.

To glow

And what

Agrippa.

O, rare for

Antony

Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her the eyes, And made their bends adornings: at the helm
i'

seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle

Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands. That yarely frame the ofifice. From the barge A strange invisible perfume hits the sense

Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast Her people out upon her; and Antony, Enthroned in the market-place, did sit alone,
Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature. Agr. Rare Egyptian Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,

Invited her to supper: she rejjlied. It should be better he became her guest,

Which she

entreated.

Our courteous Antony,

of "

Whom

ne'er the

word

No

"

woman

heard

speak,

Being barbered ten times o'er, goes to the feast; And, for his ordinary, pays his heart For what his eyes eat only. Agr. Royal wench!

Mecmonas.
terly.

Now

Antony must

leave

her

ut-

Eno. Never; he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale

Her The

infinite variety: other women cloy appetites they feed, but she makes hungry

KATURE AXD

ART.

129

Where most she satisfies. For vilest thino;s Become tlieniselves in her; that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish.
SHAKESPEARE.

TO lANTHE, SLEEPING.
FROM
"

QUEEN MAB,"

I.

How

wonderful is Death Death and his brother Sleep!

!

One, pale as yonder waning moon,

With lips of lurid blue; The other, rosv as the morn

When, throned on

ocean's wave,
:

world Yet both so passing wonderful

It blushes o'er the

Ha til
Whose
reign

then the gloomy Power, is in the tainted sepulchres,

Seized on her sinless soul?

Which
\\'iii(

Must then that peerless form h)ve and admiration cannot view Without a beating heart, those azure veins
li

steal like
l()vel_\

That

outline,

streams along a Held of snow, which is fair

As breathing marble, jierish? Must putrefaction's breath

Leave
I!iit

iiotliiug

<!'

lliis

heavenly sight

loadisoiiieiiess
a

and ruin?

Sp;ii-e iiolliing but

r>Ti

gloomy (heme,
miglil
m(rali/.e?

wliieli
(

the lightest he:irl

il

)i-

is

YIi

only

sweet slumber

130

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Stealing o'er sensation, the breath of roseate morning

Which

Chaseth into darkness? Will lanthe wake again,

And

give that faithful

bosom

joy,

Wliose sleepless spirit waits to catch Light, life, and rapture from her smile?

Yes! she will wake again, Although her glowing limbs are motionless,

And

silent those sweet lips,

Once breathing eloquence That might have soothed a tiger's rage, Or thawed the cold heart of a conqueror.

And on

eyes are closed, their lids, wiiose texture fine Scarce hides the dark blue orbs beneath,

Her dewy

The baby Sleep is pillowed: Her golden tresses shade The bosom's stainless pride.
Curling like tendrils of the parasite Around a marble column.

gentle start convulsed lanthe's frame:

eyelids quietly unclosed; Moveless awhile the dark blue orbs remained. She looked around in wonder, and beheld Henry, who kneeled in silence by her couch,

Her veiny

^Yatching her sleep with looks of speechless love. And the bright-beaming stars That through the casement shone. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

NATURE AND

ART.

131

FREEDOM
FROM "epiccene;
or,
SC.

IN DRESS.
I.

the silent woman," act

1.

Still to be ueat,

still to

be drest,

As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed, Lady, it is to be presumed.
Though
All
is

art's hid causes are not found,

all is

not sweet,

not sound.
a face.

Give

me

a look, give

me

That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely (lowing, hair as free, Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Tlian
all

the adulteries of art:

They

strike

mine

eyes, but not

my

heart.

ben jonson.

COUSIN LUCRECE.
Here where
Still,

the curfew

Time

they say, rings, rested long ago,

Folding his wings;

Here, on <I<1 Norwich's Out-along road.

Cousin Lu<i('tia

Had

her abode.

Norridge, nol Nor-wich (See MoIIk'i- CJoose),

132

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Good enough p]uglisli For a song's use. Side and roof shingled,
All of a piece,

Here was the cottage Of Cousin Lucrece.

Living forlornly

On nothing

How
How
Out

a year, she took comfort

Does not appear;

kept her body.

On what

they gave. of the poor-house. Out of the grave.

Highly connected?

Down

Straight as the Nile " fi'om the Gard'ners "

Isle;

Of Gardiner's

(Three bugles, chevron gules, Hand upon sword),

Great-great-granddaughter

Of the third

lord.

Bent almost double. Deaf as a witch, Gout her chief trouble

Just as

Vain

if rich; of her ancestry.

Mouth

all agrin,

Nose half-way meeting her

Sky-pointed chin.

NATURE A\D

ART.

133

Ducking Iier foi*eliead-top, Wrinkled and bare,

With

a colonial

Fui'bc lowed air

Greeting her next of kin,

Nephew and

niece,

Foolish old, prating old Cousin Lucrece.

Once every year she had

All she could eat
:

Turkey and cranberries, Pudding and sweet; Every Thanksgiving,

Up
House

to the great

of her kinsman,
in state.

was

Driven

Oh, wlial a sight to see Kiggcd ill hci- host

Wearing

famous gown Drawn from her chest,

the

Woi-n, ore King (Icorge's reign

Here chanced to cease. Once by a fcjrebcar Of Cousin Lucrece.

Damask
<

"lit

vci-y

brocaded, low
;

Short sleeves
I'^if

;iiid

fiiigei-iiiitts
;

f(r

;i

show

Palsied neck shaking her

Iviisl

xcHow

ciiils

13i

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Rattling
its

roundabout

String of

modi

pearls.

Over her noddle, Draggled and stark, Two ostrich feathersBrought from the ark. Shoes of frayed satin, All heel and toe.

On

her poor crippled feet Hobbled below.

the Justice's
little folk

My! how

Sons and their wives

Laughed; while the

Ran
,

for their lives.

Asking if beldames Out of the past. Old fairv godmothers,

Always could No!

last?

One Thanksgiving,
Bitterly cold,
\

After they took her home

(Ever so old), In her great chair she sank, There to find peace Died in her ancient dress
;

Poor old

lAicrece.

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.

NATURE AXD

ART.

IS:

DELIGHT IN DISORDER.

SWEET disorder

iu the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction
;

An

erring lace, which here and there Inthralls the crimson stomacher;
ciilf

neglectful,

and thereby

Ribbons to How confusedly; A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoestring, in whose tie

Do more

a wild civility; bewitch me than when art Is too precise iu every part.
I see

ROBERT IIERRICK.

THE TOILET.
FROM
''

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK," CANTO

I.

Each

Axi) now, unveiled, the toilet stands displayed, silver vase in mystic order laid.

First, r(>be<l in white, the

nymph

intciii

adores,

With head uncovered,

llic

cosmetic ]owers.

A
To

heavenly

iiiuiuc in llic glass npjtcars. that slic bends, to tlint lier eyes slie i-ears;
iiilVi-ioi-

The

|)ries(ess,

;il

liei'

all;ir's side,

Treml)ling begins the s;iei-ed rites of pride. Fnnumbei-ed treasures ope al on<-e. ;md here

The various

olTeiiugs of

lie

world appear;

136

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
culls with curious toil,

For each she nicely

Aud

decks the goddess with the glittering spoil. This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,

And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. The tortoise here and elephant unite, Transformed to combs, the speckled and the
white.

Here

of pins extend their shining rows, PulTs, powders, patches, bibles, billets-doux.
files

Now
The

awful beauty puts on

fair each

all its

arms

moment

rises in her

charms,

Eepairs her smiles, awakens every grace. And calls forth all the wonders of her face;

And

Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.

The busy sylphs surround their darling care, These set the head, and those divide the hair, Some fold the sleeve, while others plait the gown;

And

Betty's praised for labors not her own. ALEXANDER POPE.

ODE ON A GRECIAN URN.

Thou
still

Thou

foster-child of Silence

unravished bride of quietness! and slow Time,

Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy sha[)e

Of

deities or moi'tals, or of both,

In Temi)e or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens
loath?

NATURE AND

ART.

137

What mad pursuit? What struggles to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Xot to the sensual ear, but, more endeared,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone. Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare.
l>old lover, never, never canst

Though

winning
:

near

the

goal,

yet

thou

kiss,

do

not

grieve

She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy

bliss;

Forever wilt thou

All,

love,
I

and she be

fair!

happy, happy boughs that cannot shed leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu; And haj>i)y melodist, unwearied, Forever pii)ing songs forever new;

Your

More happy

love!

more

hapjiy,

happy

love!

Forever wann ainl still to be enjoyed. Forever panting and forever young;
All breathing human i)assion far above, Thai leaves a hearl high-sorrowful and cloved, A burning forehead, and a i)ar(Iiing tongue.
\\'\\<)

arc

llicsc

coming

to the saci-i(ice?

() niysicrious |(riest, Lead'st thou that heifer low ing at the skies. Ami all lici- silken llanics with gai-lands dresl
\\li;il

T<

green altar.

What

town by river or sea-shore. Or mountain bnilt with peaceful citadel.

little

Isenijtlied of its folk, this |>ious

morn?

138

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

And,

little town, thy streets forevermore Will silent be, and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate can e'er return.

Attic shape!

Fair attitude! with brede

Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed;

As doth

Thou, silent form dost tease us out of thought eternity. Cold Pastoral
!
!

When
Than
"

old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other
ours,

woe

a friend to man, to

whom

thou

say'st,

Beauty

is

truth, truth beauty,"

that

is all

Ye know on

earth, and

all

ye need to know.

JOHN KEATS.

LAUS VENERIS.
A PICTURE BY BURNE- JONES.

Pallid with too much longing, Wliite with passion and prayer, Goddess of loye and beauty, She sits in the picture there,

Sits with her dark eyes seeking

Something more subtle still Than the old delights of loving Her measureless days to fill.

She has loved and been loved so often In her long, immortal years,

NATURE AND
That she
liics of the

ART.

13U

woru-out rai)ture,

Sickens of hopes and fears.

No

jovs or sorrows move her, Done witli her ancient pride; For her head she found too heavy

The crown she has cast

Clothed

aside.

in Iier scarlet sjjleudor,

Sad that she

Bright with her glory of hair, is not mortal, sad and fair, Eternally

Longing for joys she knows

not,

Athirst with a vain desire. There she sits in the picture.

Daughter of foam and fire. LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.

ON HEARING A LITTLE MUSIC-BOX.

ITalloI

what? where,
nj)

what can

it

be

That strikes
I

so delicionsly?

never in

my

life

what? no!

That
IIa<l

little tin Itox

It really

seemed as
aiiioiig

playing so? if a s|)rite

us swift and light. star
jjearl guitar.
llic

struck
collie

And
To
Hark
IJiil

finm

sdiiic iiiiiiiilciliis

Ircal
!

us willi

M scarcely ends
gives
il
I

strain,

it

and runs along Lovely thing Just as if il knew the song,

("i'r

again.

140

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Toucbiug

and small, and all; Harmony, and shake, Now npou the treble lingering. Dancing now as if 't were fingering, And at last upon the close
out, smooth, clear

Coming with

serene repose.

full of sweetness, crispness, ease.

Compound
To call Worlds

of lovely smallnesses.

what Accomplished trille, tell us

and disgrace thee not of fancies come about us. us. Thrill within, and glance without be must there Now we think that
thee,
!

In thee some humanity,

Such a taste composed and

fine

Smiles along that touch of thine. Now we call thee heavenly rain. For thy fresh continued strain; Now a hail that on the ground
Splits into light leaps Now the concert, neat
of sound;

and

nice,

Of a pygmy paradise; fountains; Sprinkles then from singing of mountains; on Fairies heard tops with art. Nightingales endued

Caught

in listening to IMozart;

Stars that

make a

distant tinkling.

While their happy eyes are twinkling; Sounds for scattered rills to flow to; Music for the flowers to blow to. LEIGH HUNT.

NATURE AND

ART.

141

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

Those evening
bells! those evening bells! Ilow many a tale their music tells Of youth, and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime!

Those joyous hours are passed away; a heart that then was gay Within the tomb now darkly dwells. And hears no more those evening bells.

And many

And

so

't

will be

when

am

gone,

That tuneful peal While other bards

will still ring on; shall walk these dells,

And

sing your praise, sweet evening bells. THOMAS MOORE.

THE
Hear

P.ELLS.

the sledges with the bells Silver bells!

What

world of mei'riment their melody foretells!

lliey

How

tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

!

In the icy air of night While tlie stai-s that f)veispi'iiikle

All
tlie

lica\cris
a

seem

to

twinkle

^^'itll

Keeping

crystalline delight, time. time, time.

In a sort of Hnnic rhvme,

142

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
the tintinuabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells,

To

Trom

the jiugliug

and the tinkling of the

bells.

Hear

the mellow wedding bells-

Golden

bells!

What

a world of haj^piness their

tells!

harmony

fore-

Through the balmy

How

air of night out their delight! they ring

From the molten-golden notes. And all in tune. What a liquid ditty floats
To the
turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon
!

O, from out the sounding cells. What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!

How How
On

it it

swells!

dwells

the Future!

how

it tells

Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells. Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells,

bells,
of the bells.

To the rhyming and the chiming Hear the loud alarum

Brazen
bells! bells

What

a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! Tn the startled ear of night How thev scream out their affright!

NATURE AXD

ART.

143

Too much horrified to speak, Thev can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune,
In the clamorous appealing to the mercy of the
fire,

In a

mad

expostulation with the deaf and frantic

fire

Leaping higher, higher, higher,

And

Now now O

AVith a dcsi)erate desire, a resolute endeavor,

to
sit,

or never,

B.y the side of the pale-faced

moon.

the bells, bells, bells, What a tale their terror tells

Of despair! thev clang and clash and roar! What a horror they outpour

How

On

the

bosom

of the ])al])itating air!

it

Yet the ear

fully

knows,

the twanging. And the clanging,

By

How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling. Iho wrangling, TTow the (langcr sinks and swells.

And

By

the sinking or Ihe swelling in he bells,

I

Ihc anger of

Of (hr bells,
Of
llie Im'IIs, bells, bells,

hells.

Bells, bells, bells,

In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

lU

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Hear the
tolling of the bells

monody

Iron bells!

What

a world of solemn thought their

compels

How we
From

In the silence of the night, shiver with affright

their tone!

At the melancholy menace of For every sound that floats

the rust within their throats

And

Is a groan. the people ah, the people They that dwell up in the steeple,

All alone,

And who
In that

tolling, tolling, tolling,

muMed monotone,

Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone, Thev are neither man nor woman,

They are neither brute nor human, They are ghouls:

And And
A And

their king

it is

who

tolls;

he

rolls, rolls, rolls,

Eolls,

pa^an from the bells! his merry bosom swells

With

And

the pa^an of the bells! he dances and he yells

;

Keeping time, time, time. In a sort of Runic rhyme.

To the piean of the Of the bells

bells,
:

Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhvme,

NATURE AND

ART.

143

To the throbbing- of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, To the sobbing- of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time.

As he knells, knells, knells, In a hajjpy Runic rhyme. To the rolling of the bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, To the tolling of the bells. Of the bells, bells, bells, bellsBells, bells, bells,

To

the

moaning and the groaning

of the bells.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

THE BELLS OF SHANDON.

Sabbata pango Funera plango Solemnia clango.
; ;

Inscription on an Old Bell,

With deep affection And recollection

I

often think on

Those Shandon Itells, Whose sounds so wibl would,

In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells.

On

Oiis

|)onder
I

^^'her(''('r

wniidor.

And
VII

10

thus grow r<Mder, Swoot Cork, of tliee,

14G

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
be] is of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant Avatei'S Of the river Lee.

With thy

I 've

Full

heard bells chiming many a clime in,

Tolling sublime in

Cathedral shrine,

While at a

glib rate

Brass tongues would vibrate; But all their music

Si^oke naught like thine.

For memory, dwelling

On

each ])roud swelling

Of thy

belfry, knelling Its bold notes free.

the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters

Made

Of the river Lee.

heard bells tolling Old Adrian's Mole " in, Their thunder rolling
I 've

"

From the Vatican, And cymbals glorious

Swinging uproarious

In the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame;

But thy sounds were sweeter Than tlie dome of Peter

NATURE AND

ART.

147

Flings o'er the Tiber,

Pen ling solemnly.

O, the bells of Sliandon

Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
There 's a bell in Moscow; While on tower and kiosko
In Saint Soi)hia

The Turkman

gets,

And
Calls

loud in air

men

to })rayer,

From
Sucii
I

the tapering Of tall minarets.

summit

empty phantom

freely grant them; r.ut there 's an anthem

More dear

to me,

Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters

'T is the bells of

Of the

river Lee.
(Father Front)

FRANCIS SYLVESTER MAHOMY

CITY

r.ICLLS.

^RO^r '"rrrK i.av of st. aloy's."

Lorn

;in(l

clc.-if

From

the Saint NilHlas lowoi-, on the listening

ear,

Willi

soU'iiiii

swell,

148

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
The deep-toned
bell

Flings to the gale a funeral knell; And hark at its sound,

When

a cunning old hound, he opens, at once causes all

As

the young

whelps

Of the crv

to put in their less dignified yelps, So the little bells all,

From

No matter how small, the steeples both inside and outside the
Avail,

With

bell -metal

throat

Respond

to the note,

And

join the lament that a prelate so pious is Forced thus to leave his disconsolate diocese, Or, as Blois' Lord May'r
"
Is heard to declare, Should leave this here world for to go to that

there."

RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM.

THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

FROM
"

THE BIRTHDAY."

chief surpassing all a cuckoo clock! That crowning wonder! miracle of art! How have I stood entranced uncounted minutes, With held-in breath, and ej'es intently fixed

But

On

that small magic door, that when complete The expiring hour the irreversible Flew o])en with a startling suddenness

That, though expected, sent the rushing blood

JSTA

TURE AND AR T.
;

149

In mantling flushes o'er my upturned face 1 Vnd as tlie bird, (that more than mortal fowl
perfect mimicry of natural tone, Xote after note exact Time's message told.

!)

With

How my

heart's pulse kept time with the

!

charmed

voice

And when it As the small

ceased

made simultaneous pause

to,

door clapt

and

all

was

still.

CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY.

AN ETRUSCAN
WuEKE,
Day
girt with orchai'd
hill-fortress

RING.

The whit
after
(Tiiidcd the

and with olive-yard, glimmers on the hill,

day an ancient goldsmith's skill copper graver, tempered hard some lost l^y secret, while he shapeil the sard to Slowly heauty, and his tiny drill, with corundum, ground its Avay niitil Edged

The gem lay perfect for the ring to guard. Then seeing tlie stone complete to his desire,
imagery ear\'en thus, An<l dark Egyptian symbols fabulous. He drew through it the delicate golden wiic. And bent the fastening; and the Kiniriaii sun
^Villl niyslic

Sank

liehind Tlva,

and

tlir

work was done.

H.

What
l>ore

dark-iiaired daughter of a T.ueunio

lier

on

This the

tirst gilt

slim wliite linger (o the gravi; her 'I'yrihene lover gave,

150

DESCRIP TIYE P OEMS.

Those five-and-twenty centuries ago ? What shadowy dreams might liaunt it, lying low So long, while kings and armies, wave on wave, Above the rock-tomb's buried architraA^e Went million- footed trampling to and fro ?

Who
Still

knows ? but well it is so frail a thing. Unharmed by conquering Time's supremacy,

should be
fair,

though scarce

less old

than

Rome.
once again at rest from wandering Across the high Alps and the dreadful sea, In utmost England let it find a home. JOHN WILLIAM MACKAIL.

Now

LEONARDO'S "MONNA
Make

LISA."

thyself known, Sibyl, or let despair Of knowing thee be absolute I wait Hour-long and waste a soul. What word of fate Hides 'twixt the lips which smile and still for:

bear

?
!
!

Secret perfection Mystery too fair the sense no more, lest I should hate Tangle The delicate tyranny, the inviolate

Poise of thy folded hands, the fallen hair. Nay, nay, I wrong thee with rougli words

still

be
Serene, victorious, inaccessible Still smile but speak not lightest irony
;

Lurk ever

'neatli

thy eyelids' shadow;

;

still

Sjjhinx of Italy, 0'(n"top our knowledge Allure us and reject us at thy will!

EDWARD DOWDEN.

LEONARDO'S "MONNA USA"

KA TURE AND AR T.
THE HURRICANE.
Lord
I

1 51

of the

winds

I feel tliue

nigh,
!

know thy breath in the burning sky And I wait, with a thrill in every vein,
Fo.r tlie coining of the

hurricane
of the

And

lo

on the wing

heavy

gales,
sails.

Through Silent and sl(j\v, and The niiglity shadow

the boundless arch of heaven he

terribly strong,
is

borne along, Like the dark eternity to come While the world below, dismayed and dumb, Through tlie calm of the thick hot atmosphere
;

Looks up

at its

gloomy
;

folds with fear.

and the golden blaze fast quenched in the lurid haze, And he sends through the shade a funeral ray

They darken
is

Of the sun

A glare A l)eam
To
its

night nor day, that touches, with hues of death, Tiie cloud al)Ove and the earth beneath.
that
is neitlier

While the
U[)lifted

covert glides the silent l)ird. Jnirricane's distant voice

is

lieard

among Ww

inouiilains

r<iuii(l,

And

the forests hear and answer the souml.

!

He is come! lie is couu; do ye noL behold His ample robes on the wind unrolled?
Oiniit of air
!

\v<^

bid tiicc

li;iil

lb)W

gray skirts toss in the whirling gale; huge and writhing arms arc bent To clasp the zone of tlie firmament.
Ills

How

his

1 52

DES CRIP TIYE P OEMS.

I

And fold at length, in their dark embrace, From mountain to mountain the visible space
Darker,

still

darker

the Avhirl winds bear

The dust

And

of the plains to the middle air ; hark to the crashing, long and loud,
!

Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud You may trace its path by the flashes that From the rapid wheels where'er they dart. As the fire-bolts leap to the world beloAV, And flood the skies with a lurid glow.

start

What

roar

is

that

't is

the rain that breaks

In torrents away from the airy lakes, Heavily poured on the shuddering ground, And shedding a nameless horror round.

Ah

well-known woods, and mountains, and skies, the very clouds ye are lost to my eyes. I seek ye vainly, and see in your place The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space,
!

With

whirling ocean that

c]-ystal

fills

the wall

Of the

And

I,

cut off

heaven, and buries all. from the world, remain

terrible hurricane.

Alone with the

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

NATUEE AND
MIST.

ART,

153

LOW-AXCIIORED cloud,

Xewfoimdlaud

air,

Fountain-head and source of

Dew-cloth, dream-drapery.

rivers,

And
Where bloom

Drifting

nai)kin spread by fays; meadow of the air.

the daisied banks and violets whose fenny labyrinth The bittern booms and heron wades; Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers, Bear only perfumes and the scent Of healing- herbs to just men's fields. HENKY DAVID THOREAU.

And

in

THE COASTERS.
Overloaded
Phnjinrj
,

nndcrmanned,
ivith the land,

Trustiufj to a lee,
J-f<pij

Joclceyinfi the sea Thai's Hie irai/ iJic Coaster goes,

Throiif/h

calm and hnrrieane:

Ever\j\rhcre the tide floirs. Everj/ichere the wind hloics,

Frotn Me.vico to Maine.

East and West!

()

Xorlli

and South!

We

j)ly alon;:; llic

shore.
!->>?.

From famous I*Mindv's fojrrrv mouth. From voes of Labrador;

154

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
strait,

Through pass and

on sound and

From port to port we stand The rocks of Race fade on our lee, hail the Rio Grande.

sea,

We
On
In

Our

sails are never lost to sight;

every gulf and bay

in

They gleam,

winter wind-cloud white,

summer

rain-cloud gray. slippery grip;

We hold the coast with We dare from cape to

Our leaden
fingers feel

cape

the dip

And

We

trace the channel's shape. sail or bide as serves the tide;

Inshore

we

cheat

its flow.

And side by side at anchor ride When stormy head-winds blow.

We

The

are the offspring of the shoal, huck>sters of the sea;

From custom theft and pilot toll Thank God that we are free.
Legging on and
off

the 'beach,

Drifting up Fluking down the river reach, Towing through the gate That -s the tcay the Coaster goes, Flirting with the gale:

the strait.

Everywhere the tide flows, Ererywhere the wind hlotvs. From York to Beavertail.

Here and there

to get a load,

Freighting aiujthing;

NATURE AND
Running
off ivith
i

ART.

155

spanker stowed,

Loafin g That's the

r in g-a-w ing

way the Coaster goes, Chumming with the land:

Everywhere the tide ftoivs, Every irliere the wind blows. From Ray to Rio Grande.

We split
On

the swell where rings the bell man}' a shallow's edge,

We

take our flight past man}- a light That guards the deadly ledge;
the foam,

We greet Montauk across We work the Vineyard

Sound,

The Diamond sees us running home, The Georges outward bound;

Absec'om hears our canvas beat Whon tacked off Ilrigantine;

We

raise the CJuUs with lifted sheet,

Pass wing-and-wing between.

Off ^fonornoy

we

fight the gale,

;

We

drift olT

Sandv Kev

The watcli of I'^Miwick sees our sail Scud for n(Tilo[)en's lee. With <1ccks awash and canvas torn

We
^^'e

^\all()\\ up the Stream; drag dismasted, cargo borne,

And

friglil

tlic

ships of steam.

Death grijjs us w itii Iiis frosty hands In calm and Innricaiie;

We

spill

our hones on
.Mexico to

lifly

sands

l'"'roiii

.M;iiiie.

15G

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Cargo reef in mam and fore^ Manned hy half a crew, Romping up the weather shore, Edging dotcn the Blue That 's the way the Coaster goes,

Scouting with the lead:

Everywhere the tide flows, Everywhere the wind Mows, From Cruz to Quoddy Head. THOMAS FLEMING DAY.

SMOKE.
LiGiiT-wiNOED Smoke!
Icarian bird.

Melting thj^ pinions in tli}' npward {light; Lark without song, and messenger of dawn Circling above the hamlets as thy nest;

Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts;

By

Darkening the

night star-veiling, and by day light and blotting out the sun;

Go thou, my incense, upward from this hearth, And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame.
HENRY DAVID THOREAU.

THE EVENING CLOUD.

A CLOUD
lay cradled near the setting sun, gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; Long had T watched the gloiw moving on

O'er the

still

Tranquil

its spirit

radiance of the lake below. seemed, and floated slow!

Even

in its very

motion there was

rest

MATURE AND

ART.

157

While evoi-y biealli of eve that chanced to blow Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. Emblem, methought. of the departed soul To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given,
!

And by
Where

the breath of mercy made to roll Right onwards to the golden gates of heaven,
to the eye of faith it peaceful lies. tells to man his glorious destinies.

And

JOHX WILSON

{Christojjiter Xorth).

A STILL DAY
I

IN AUTUMN.

LOVE to wander through the woodlands hoary In the soft light of an autumnal day, When Summer gathers up her robes of glory,

And

like a

dream

of beauty glides

away.
lin-

now

through each loved, familiar path she

gers.

Serenely smiling through the golden mist. Tinting the wild grape with her dewy fingers Till the cool emerald turns to amethyst;

Kindling the faint stars of the ha/-el, shining To light the gloom of Autuiiurs mouldering
hails.

Willi hoary plumes tiie clfiualis entwining Where o'er the r(ck liei- witlieriMJ gai-l!in<l falls.

Warm
Till

r.enealli soft

lights are on the sleej^y niilands waning cloiuis along the horizon rolleil,

the

slant

sunbeams through

their

fringes

i-aiiiing

Uathe

all

the hills in melancholy gold.

158

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
of crisped leaves

The moist winds breathe

flowers

and

In the
AA'^ith

damp

hollows of the woodland sown.

Mingling the freshness of autumnal showers

spiev airs from cedarn alleys blown.

Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow. Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground,

With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow The gentian nods, in dewy slumbers, bound.

Upon

those soft, fringed lids the bee sits brooding,

Like a fond lover loath to say farewell, Or with shut wings, through silken folds intruding,

Creeps near her heart his drowsy tale to

tell.

The

little birds upon the hillside lonely Flit noiselessly along from spray to spray. Silent as a sweet wandering thought that only

Shows

its

bright Avings and softly glides away.

SARAH HELEN WHITMAN.

THE SUNSET
There
's

CITY.
in

a city that

lies

the

Kingdom

of

Clouds, In the glorious country on high, Which an azure and silvery curtain enshrouds, To screen it from mortal eye;

city of temples and turrets of gold, That gleam by a sapphire sea,

NATURE AND

ART.

159

Like jewels more splendid liiaii earth may behold, Or are dreamed of bj you aud by me.

And about it are highlands of amber that reach Far away till they melt in the gloom; And waters that hem aj 'mmaculate beach
With
fringes of luminous foam.

Aerial bridges of pearl there are, And belfries of marvellous shapes.

And

lighthouses

lit

by the evening star,

That sparkle on

violet capes;

And

lianging gardens that far

float aloof;

away

Enchantedly

Rainbow pavilions

And banners
AN'lien

in avenues gay, of glorious woof!

the

Summer

sunset's crimsoning fires

Are aglow in the western sky. The pilgrim discovers the domes and spires Of this wonderful city on high;
enrai)t as the gathering shade over the twilight lea. Creeps Sees palace and jtinnacle totter and fade.

Ami gazing

And
Till the

sink

in

1lie

sap[)hire sea*,

slow decrees it wore; TIio silvery cui-tain is drawn, and he sees The beatitiful city no more!
\

ision loses bv

The magical

si>lcn(lor

iiBNRY

svr.vi:.sTi:i{

coijnwicll.

III.

PLACES.

"

THE NILE.
old,

It

flows

through

hushed ^Egypt and

its

sands,

Like some grave, mighty thought threading a

dream

And

times and things, as in that vision, seem

it

Keeping along

their eternal stands,

Caves, pillars, pyramids, the shepherd bands That roamed through the young world, the
glory extreme

Of high Sesostris, and that southern beam. The laughing queen that caught the world's great
hands.

Then comes a mightier silence, stern and strong, As of a world left em])ty of its throng, And the void weighs on us; and then we wake, 3 ad hear the fruitful stream lapsing along Twixt villages, and think how we shall take Our own calm journey on for human sake. LEIGH HUNT.
160

PLACES.

161

OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT.
I MET a traveller from an antique land ^Yho said Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
:

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

^Yhich

yet

survive,

stamped on

those

lifeless

tilings,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that

fed
;

And

on the pedestal these words appear '' My name is Ozvmaudias, king of kings: Look on ni.v works, ye Mighty, and des])air! "
:

Nothing beside remains. Kound the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare. The lone and level sands stretch far away. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

rriKIST-MAS IN INDIA.
Di.M diiwn behind the

fron-yellow
women
in
Ills
fell(\\'

tamarisks the sky

is

saf-

As

the
tlie

And

lie village grind the corn. the river-side, each calling seek paiiots
I

to

That Hie Day,

Oil
(

tlie

staring Eastern
(lie

Day
I

is

born.

the wliile dust on

li

liigliwayl

the steii(lie>< in Hie

byway

the V11--11

Oh

clammy

fog that Intvers over earth

162

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
And
at

Home
part

they

're

making merry 'neath

the white and

What

scarlet berr}' have India's exiles

in

their

mirth?
Full day behind the tamarisks

and staring
.

the

sky

is

blue

As

And
To

the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke, they bear One o'er the field-path, who is past the

hope or caring, ghat belotv the curling wreaths of smoke. Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a
all

brother lowlj'
Call on

Rama he may

hear, perhaps, your

voice

With our hymn-books and our

appeal to other altars,

psalters

we
re-

And

to-day
"
!

we

bid " good Christian

men

joice

High noon behind the tamarisks

above
us

the

sun

is

hot

As Home
They
tell

the Christmas

will drink

Day is breaking wan. our health at dinner those who

love us.

us

how they

And forget us till another year be gone! Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh!
Heimweh,
ceaseless, aching

the

Oh

Youth

the black dividing Sea and alien Plain! Avas cheaj) wherefore we sold it.

Cold was good

we ho])ed

to hold

it.

And

to-day

we know

the fulness of our

gain.

PL AC EH.
Gray dusk behind

103

together
tlie
liis

tlie

tamarisks

tlie

parrots

fly

As

sun
hist

And

sinking sk^wly over Home; ray seems to moek us shackled in a

is

lifelong tether

That drags us back howe'er so far we roam. Hard her service, poor her jtayment she in ancient, tattered raiment India, she the grim t^tepmother of our

kind.
If n

year of
shrine
is

life

be lent her,

if

her temple's

we

enter.

The door

shut

we may not look behind.

Black night behind the tamarisks the owls begin their chorus As the conches from the temple scream and

bray.
\\'itli

fruitless years behind us, and the hopeyears before us. Let us lionjr, oh my l)ro(hers, Christmas l>ay!
tlic

less

Call a truce, then, to our labors

let

us feast

with friends and neighbors.

And
For
if

''

be nuM-ry as the custom of our caste; faint and forcenl the laughter,"
if

and
^^'e

sadness follow
richer
l)y

aflci-,

ai-c

one mocking Christmas

past.

UUDYAUD KIPLING.

Hii

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

THE ORIENT.
FROM
"

THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS."

Know

Are embleais

ye the land where the cypress and myrtle of deeds that are doue in their

Where

clime; the rage of the vnlture, the love of the

turtle,

Now melt into sorrow, now madden to Know ye the land of the cedar and vine.
Where

crime?

the (lowers ever blossom, and beams ever

shine; Where the light wings of ZephjT, oppressed with

perfume,

Wax

faint o'er the gardens of Giil in her bloom? Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute
;

Where

the tints of the earth, and the hues of the

sky.

In color though varied, in beauty may vie, And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye;

Where

And
'T
is

all,

the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, save the spirit of man, is divine?
't

the clime of the East;

Sun,

is

the land of the

Can he

smile on such deeds as his children have

done ?
O, wild as the accents of lover's farewell Are the hearts which thev bear and the tales

which they

tell!

LORD BYRON.

PLACED.

1G5

THE VALE OF CASHMERE.

FROM '"THE LIGHT OF
TIIK

HAREM."

Who

lias

\Vitli

its

not lioard of the \^ilo of ('aslunere, I'oses the brightest that earth ever

gave,
Its temples,

As

and grottoes, and fountains as clear the love-lighted eyes that hang over their

wave?
O, to see
it

at snnset,

when

warm

o'er the lake

Its splendor at parting a sniiimer eve throws. Like a bi-ide, full of blushes, when lingering to

take

last

look of her
!

goes

mirror at night ere she

When
And

the shrines tlirough the foliage are gleaming half shown.

(lie

each hallows
()\\

hour by some

rites of its

n.

Here the music of prayer from a minaret swells. Here the ilagian his urn full of juM-fume is
swinging.

And hcic. Round Ihc

:it

the altar, a zonc^ of sweet bells

waist of some fair Indian dancer

is

i-inging.

Or to sec The lij:lit

il

by moonlight,

wlien

When
And

o'er its pal:n-es, gardens, the waterfalls gleam like a

mellowly shines and shrines;

<|ui<k
fall

of

stars.

the

nightingale's,

hymn from

the

Isle

of

Chcnars

lOG

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

From
Or

Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet the cool shining walks where the young

people meet. when the magic of daylight awakes new wonder each minute as slowly it breaks,
at morn,

Hills, cupolas, fountains, called forth every one Out of darkness, as they were just born of the

sun;

When

the spirit of fragrance

From his harem of And the wind, full

lover

up with the day. night-flowers stealing away; of wantonness, wooes like a

is
till

The young aspen-trees

When
And

the east hopes,

is

as

warm

they tremble all over; as the light of first

day, with its banner of radiance unfurled. Shines in through the mountainous portal that
0})es,

Sublime, from that valley of bliss to the world!

THOMAS

ilOORE.

CARILLON.
In the ancient town of Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city.

As

the evening shades descended.

Low and loud and sweetly blended, Low at times and loud at times, And changing like a poet's rhymes,Rang From
the beautiful wild chimes

the belfi'y in the market

of l>ruges.

Of the ancient town

PLACES.
Then, with deep sonorous clangor Calmly aus\verin.i>- their sweet anger,
the wrangling bells had ended, Slowly struck the clock eleven, And, from out the silent heaven, Silence on the town descended.
Silence, silence everywhere,

1G7

When

the earth and in the air, Save that footsteps here and there Of some burgher home returning, By the street lamps faintly burning.

On

For a moment woke the echoes Of the ancient town of Bruges.

Still

But amid my broken slumbers I heard those magic numbers.

As they loud proclaimed the flight And stolen marches of the night;
Till their

chimes in sweet collision Mingled with each wandering vision, Mingled with the fortune-telling

Oy|)sy-l)ands of dreams and fancies, Which amid the waste expanses

Of the silent land of trances Have their solitaiv (h\('llin<;.

All else
In
tlic

seemed

aslcc]) in
I'"'lcmisli

Bruges,
city..

(pmiiit old
tliougiii

And

Iniw like these

chimes

Ai-c the i)oet's airy rhymes. All his ihymes and roundelays.
Ills coiiccils.
I'"'rom

;md songs. mikI dlKies, (he bclfiv of his brain.

in

Scattered downward, though

vain,

1G8

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
On
the roofs and stones of cities! For by night the drowsy ear Under its curtains cannot hear,

And by day men

go their ways,

Hearing the music as they pass. But deeuiing it no more, alas! Than the hollow sound of brass.

Yet perchance a sleepless wight, Lodging at some humble inn In the narrow lanes of life, When the dusk and hush of night Shut out the incessant din Of daylight and its toil and strife. May listen with a calm delight

To the
Till

poet's melodies,

he hears, or dreams he hears. Intermingled with the song, Thoughts that he has cherished long; Hears amid the chime and singing

The

bells of his

own

And wakes, and Wet with most

Thus dreamed

village ringing. finds his slumberous eyes delicious tears.

I, as by night I lay In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-BIe, Listening with a wild delight To the chimes that, through the night, Kang their cliang(^s from the Belfry Of that quaint old Flemish city.
,

HENRY WADSWOIITII LONGFELLOW.

PLACES.

169

THE RHINE.
TO HIS SISTER.
" CHILDE HAROLD,"

CANTO

III.

The

castled crag of Drachenfels

Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the
vine,

And hills all rich with blossomed trees. And fields which promise corn and wine, And scattered cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine,
Have sti-ewed a scene, which I should With double joy, wert thou with ine.
see

And peasant-girls, with deep-blue eyes, And hands which offer early flowers, Walk smiling o'er this paradise;
Above, the frequent feudal lowers

Through given leaves lift their walls of gray, And many a rock which steejtly 1()\v(m-s,

And
15mI

noble arch in jtroud decay.

o'er this vale of vintage-bowers; one (hing want these l)anks of Rhine, Thy gciillc li;iii(! to clasp in mine!

Look

send

(III'

lilies giveji

to u\i\
tliy

Though know (li:i(

long before
(liey
iiins(

Imiid (hey (ouch

(

liered he,
;

I>ut yet reject

them not as such

170

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

I have clierislied them as dear, Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine e'en here, When thou behold'st them drooping nigh. And know'st them gathered by the Rhine, And offered from my heart to thine!

For

The river noblv foams and flows. The charm of this enchanted ground,

And
The

all its

thousand turns disclose

:

Some

fresher beauty varying round haughtiest breast its wish might bound
life

Through

to dwell delighted here;

Nor could on earth a spot be found To nature and to me so dear,

Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine!
LORD BYRON.

THE CATARACT OF LODORE.

DESCRIBED IN "
"

RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY."

does the water
" at Lodore
!

How

Come down

boy asked me Thus, once on a time; And moreover he tasked me

My

little

To tell him in rhyme. Anon at the word, There first came one daughter, And then come another, To second and third

liOliKR'l'

SOUTHEY

PLACEH.
The request
of their brother,

171

And

how the water Comes down at Lodore, With its rush and its roar, As many a time
to hear

They had seen it before. So I told them in rliyme, For of rhymes I had store; And 't was in my vocation For their recreation That so T should sing; Because I was Laureate To them and the King.

From

its

sources which well

;

In the tarn on the fell From its fountains

In the mountains,
Its rills

and its gills; moss and through brake, Through It runs and it creeps For a while, till it sleeps
In
its

own

little lake.

And
It

thence at departing,
starting,

Awakening and

runs throiigh the reeds,

And awny

it

y)roceeds,

Through meadow and glade, In sun and in sliadc.

And liirongli llic wood-shelter, Among crags in its (lurry,

ITcItei-skcItcr,
ITurr\- skui-rv.

172

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Here
it

comes sparkling,
it lies

And

there

darkling;

Now

smoking and frothing Its tumult and wrath in,

Till, in this

rapid race
it is

On which
Of

bent, It reaches the place

its steep descent.

The cataract strong Then plunges along, Striking and raging As if a war waging Its caverns and rocks among; Rising and leaping, Sinking and creeping, Swelling and sweeping. Showering and springing, Flying and flinging. Writhing and ringing, Eddying and whisking. Spouting and frisking. Turning and twisting, Around and around With endless rebound Smiting and fighting,
:

sight to delight in;

its

Confounding, astounding. Dizzying and deafening the ear with

Collecting, projecting.

sound.

Receding and speeding, And shocking and rocking,

PLACES.
And And And And And And And And And And And And And And And And And And And And
darting and parting,

173

threading and spreading,

wliizziug

and

hissing.
skii)i)iug,

dripping and
hitting

and spitting, sliining and twining. rattling and battling, shaking and <]uaking, pouring and roaring, waving and raving, tossing and crossing. flowing and going. running and stunning.
foaming
;ind

roaming,

dinning and spinning. droi)j)ing and ho])ping, working and jerking. guggling and struggling, heaving and cleaving, moaning and groaning;

And glittering and frittering. And gathering and fcathci-ing. And whitening and brightening. And <piive)-ing and shivering, And hurrxing ;ind skurr.ving. And thundering and lloundering;
Dividing and gliding and sliding. And falling and Innw ling mihI sprawling,

And di-iving iind riving and sli-iving. And sprinkling :nid twiid<ling and wiid<ling. And sounding and bounding and i-onnding.

174

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

And bubbling and troubling and doubling, And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling, And clattering and battering and shattering;
Ketreating and beating and meeting and sheeting. Delaying and straying and playing and spra3ing, Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,

Kecoiling, turmoiling

and

toiling

and

boiling,

And gleaming and streaming and steaming and

And
And And

beaming. rushing and flushing and brushing and gushin <>

flapping
slapping,

and rapping and clapping and

curling and whirling and purling and twirling^

And thumping and plumping and bumping and

jumping.

And dashing and

flashing

and splashing and

clashing; And so never ending, but always descending. Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blend-

ing All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar, And this way the water conies down at Lodore.

ROBERT SOUTIIEY.

THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE.

Taddeo Gaddi built me.
Five centuries
old.
1

am

old.

plant my foot of stone Ui)on the Arno, as Saint Michael's own Was planted on the dragon. Fold by fold

PL A CES.
Beneath

175

me

as

it

struggies, I Ix'hold

Twice hath it ove^th^o^Tn kindred and companions. Me alone It moveth not, but is by me controlled. I can remember when the Medici
Its glistening scales.

My

Were
The

driven from Florence

final

longer

still

ago

wars of Ghibelline and Guelf.

Florence adorns

me

Avith her jeAvelry

And when

Michael Angelo Ilath leaned on me, I glory in myself. HENRY WADSWORTH LOXGFELLOW,

I think that

THE WHITE PEACOCK.

FROM
'

SOSPIRI DI ROMA."

Here where
Where

the sunlight

Floodeth the garden,

the pomegranate
its

Reareth

glory
;

Of gorgeous blossom

Where the oleanders Dream through the noontides

And,
like surf o' the sea

Round clilfs of basalt, The thick magnolias

In billowy masses

Front the soml)re green of the ilexes TTcre where tlie heat lies
Pale blue

Where

in tlie hollows. blue are the shadows

On tlie Where

fronds of

tin; cactus. pale blue the gleaming

17G

J)ES CHIP TI VE
and cypress,

P OEMS.

Of

fir

With the cones upon them Amber or glowing

Witli virgin gold
:

Here where the honey-flower

JMakes the heut fragrant, As though from the gardens

Of

Gulistfin,

Where

the bulbul singeth 1'hrough a mist of roses,

breath were borne Here where the dream-flowers,

:

The cream- white poppies

Silently waver.

And where

the Scirocco,

Faint in the hollows, Foldeth his soft white Avings in the sunlight.

And
Deep

lieth sleeping

in the heart of
:

sea of white violets

Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty,

Moveth in silence, and dreamlike, and slowly, White as a snow-drift in mountain valleys

When
White

softly

as the

upon it the gold light lingers foam o' the sea that is driven

O'er billows of azure agleam with sun-.yello^v Cream-white and soft as the breasts of a girl

Moves the White Peacock,

as

though through the

noon -tide dream of the moonlight

on the beautiful fan

Avere real for a

moment.

Dim

spreadeth, Foldeth and spreadeth abroad in the sunlight, Dim on the cream- white are blue adumbrations,

tliat lie

FLA CES.

177

Shadows so pale in their delicate blueness That visions they seem as of vanishing- violets, The fragrant white violets veined with aznre, Pale, pale as the breath of blue smoke in far woodlands.

Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty "White as the cloud through the heats of the noontide

Moves the White Peacock.

WILLIAJI SHARP.

TO

PaXAIE
RL'IXS.

BURIED IX ITS

Stranger,
In vain
;

't is

vain

midst

Rome

thou seek'st for

Rome
thy foot
is

on her throne

her grave

Iler walls are dust; Time's conquering banners WiH'C

all her bills; hills which themselves entomb. Yes! the proud .Vvcntine is its own womb;

O'er

The royal Palatine is ruin's slave And medals, moldering trophies of

;

tin;

brave,

iNIark

but

tiic

triiun[)hs of oblivious gloom.

Til)er alone endures,

AVorsliipiM'd the

whose ancient Queen of Cities ou

tifle

lier

throne

And now,
()

as round her sepuleliic, eomplaius. IJouic! tlie steadfast grandeur of thy pride
is

And beauty all Which seemed so

Med

fleet

and that aloue and fugitive reUKiius.

;

Fniiii tliu Spiuiish

iif

FRAXCISCO DR QUEVEDO V VILLEOAS.

Truushition of BEXJ. B.

WIKKEN.

178

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

THE COLISEUM.
FROM
" CHILDE HAROLD,"

CANTO

IV.

Arches on arches!

as

it

were that Rome,

Collecting the chief trophies of her line, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine

As

were its natural torches, for divine Should be the light which streams here, to
't

illume This long-explored, but

still

exhaustless,

mine

Of contemplation; and the azure gloom Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume

Hues which have words, and speak

to ye of

heaven, Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument,

And shadows

forth

its glory.

There

is

given
bent,

Unto the things

of earth,

which Time hath

and where he hath leant His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power And magic in the ruined battlement, For which the palace of the present hour Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its
spirit's feeling,

dower.
.
.

And here the buzz of eager nations ran, In murmured pity, or loud-roared applause, As man was slaughtered by his fellow-man. And
wherefore slaughtered? wherefore, but cause
be-

PLACES.
Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws,

179

And the imperial pleasure. Wherefore not? What matters where we fall to till the maws
Of worms, on battle-plains or listed spot? Both are but theatres where the chief actors
I

rot.

see before

me

the Gladiator lie;

He

leans

upon

his hand,

his manly brow

('onsents to death, but conquers agony, And his droo])ed head sinks gradually low.

And

through slow

his side

the last drops, ebbing

From

Like the

the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, first of a thunder-shower; and now

The arena swims around him, he is gone. Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the
wretch who won.

He

heard it, but he heeded not, his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away. He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize;
lUit whore his i-ude iiut by the Danube lay, There were his young bar])arians all at play. There was their Dacian mother, he, their sire,

I'utchered to
All
tills

make a

rushed with

Koman holiday! his blood. HUaW he

ex-

pire,

And unavenged?
ire!

Arise, ye Goths,

and glut your

lUit here,

where Murder breathed her bloody

slcam.

And

here,

where buzzing nations choked the

ways,

ISO

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
roared stream
or

And

murmured

like

a mountain

Dasliing or winding as its torrent strays; Here, where the Roman millions' blame
praise

or

Was death My voice

On And

or

life,

sounds much,

the playthings of a crowd, and fall the stars'

faint rays the arena void, seats crushed, walls bowed,

galleries,

where

my

steps

seem

echoes

strangely loud.

ruin,

yet what ruin

from

its

mass

Walls, palaces, half-cities, Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass. And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. it indeed been plundered, or but cleared? Alas developed, opens the decay,

have been reared;

Hath

When
It will

the colossal fabric's form

is

neared

Which

not bear the brightness of the day, streams too much on all years, man, have

reft

away.
rising

But when the

moon begins

to climb

Its to])most arch,

and gently pauses there;

When

the stars twinkle through the loops of time, And the low night-breeze waves along the air

The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear.

Like laurels on the bald
first CiFsar's head; AVhen the light shines serene, but doth not glare,

PLACES.

181

Then in tliis magic circle raise the dead; Heroes have trod this spot, 't is on their dnst ve dead.

"

Rome shall stand; Kome shall fall; And when Kome falls the World." From our
AVhile stands
tlie

Coliseum,

^"\'hen falls

the Coliseum,

own land
Thus sitake the pilorims o'er this mighty wail In Saxon times, which we are wont to call Ancient; and these three mortal things are still On their foundations, and unaltered all KdHie and her Kuin past Redemption's skill. The A\'(>r](], the same wide den of thieves, or what ye will.
;

LORD

LtYItOX.

THE PAXTIIEOX.
FUOM
"CIIII.DK lIAKor.n,"

TAXTO

IV.

SiAm.K, erect, severe, austere, sublime, Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods.

From Jove
Looking

to Jesus,

spared and blest by

while
falls or

time;

traufiuillity,

nods

Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and iiiiiii plods Ilis way through thorns to ashes, glorious

dome
i-ods

Shalt thou not last

Sliiver

Time's soytlic and tyrants'

Of

art

upon thee, sanctuary and home and piety, Paiillien [(ride of Ronu'

182

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Relic of nobler days and noblest arts
!

Despoiled yet perfect, with thy

circle spreads

A holiness
To
Her

appealing to

all hearts.
'

art a model; and to him who treads Rome for the sake of ages, Glory sheds

Who

light through thy sole aperture to those worship, here are altars for their beads ;
;

And they who feel for genius may repose Their eyes on honored forms, whose busts around
them
close.

LORD BYRON.

A DAY
Though

IN THE PAMFILI DORIA,

NEAR ROME.

the hills are cold and snowy,

And

My

the wind drives chill to-day, heart goes back to a spring-time,

Far, far in the past away.

And I see a quaint old city, Weary and worn and brown, Where the spring and the birds are so early, And the sun in such light goes down.
I

remember that old-time villa Where our afternoons went by.

the suns of ]March flushed warmly, spring was in earth and sky.

Where And
Out

mouldering city, Mouldering, old, and gray, We sped, with a lightsome heart-thrill,

of the

For a sunny, gladsome day,

PLACES.
For a revel of fresh spring verdure, For a race mid springing fiowers, For a vision of plasliing fountains, Of birds and blossoming bowers.
There were
violet

183

banks in the shadows,

;

Violets white and blue

And

a world of bright anemones. That over the terrace grew,

Blue and orange and purple, Itosy and yellow and white. Rising in rainbow l)ubbles, Streaking the lawns with light.

And down from

Those

the old stone-pine trees,

far-off islands of air,

The

birds are flinging the tidings

there.

Of a joyful revel up

And now

for the

grand old fountains.

;

Tossing their silvery spray Those fountains, so quaint and so

That are leaping and singing

Those fountains

all

many. day
;

of strange weird sculpture, Witli lichens and moss o'ergrown, Are they marble greening in moss- wreaths.

Or moss-wreaths whitening

to stone?

Down many

a wild,

dim patliway
till

We ramble from morning noon; We linger, uidieeding the hours.

Till

evening comes

all

too soon.

And from out the ilex alleys. Where lengtiiening shadows

play.

184

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

We

look on the

dreamy Campagna,
clay,

All glowing with setting

All melting in bands of purple,

In swathings and foldings of gold, In ribbons of azure and lilac.

Like a princely banner unrolled.

And the smoke of eacli distant cottage, And the flash of each villa white,
Shines out with an opal glimmer, Like gems in a casket of light.

And

the

dome

of old Saint Peter's

a strange translucence glows, Like a mighty bubble of amethyst

With

Floating in waves of rose

In a trance of dreamy vagueness. We, gazing and yearning, behold

That

city beheld

Whose

by the prophet. walls were transparent gold.

And, dropping

all solemn and slowly, the softening spell. There falls on the dying twilight

To hallow

The Ave Maria

bell.

With a mournful, motherly softness, With a w'eird and weary care.

That strange and ancient city Seems calling the nations to prayer.

And
To

the words that of old the angel the mother of Jesus L'l'ouglit

Rise like a

new evangel, To hallow the trance of our thought.

PLACEl^.

185

With the smoke of the evening incense Our thoughts are ascending then To Mary, the niotlier of Jesus, To Jesus, tlie ]\Iaster of men.

city of prophets

shrines of the sainted

and martyrs dead

AVlion,

when

shall the living day-spring

Once

moi'c on your towers he spread?

is

When He who

meek and lowly

Shall rule in those lordly halls, And shall stand and feed as a shepherd

The

flock

which

his

mercy calls,^

O, then to those noble churches, To i^icture and statue and gem.

To

the pageant of solenui worship.

Shall the rnecadng

come hack

again.

And

and am-ient city. In that reign of his truth and love.

this strange

Shall he

what it seems in the twilight. The type of that City al)ove.

1800.

llAltKlKT lUCKCnKK

STOWE.

FEUKUAUV
Wmk.n
Kdiiian helds
in

IX IJO.ME.
cNclaiueii,

ai'c ri'd wilii

And

Under

the palace gardens you may find, great leaves and slu-ltering lirioiiy-bind,
(

Clusters of

leam-wiiite violets,

oli

then

Tlie ruined eily of immorlul

men
tlic

Must

smile, a iilLle to iur fate resigned.

And through

her eoiiidms

slow

warm wind

180

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

Gush harmonies beyond a mortal ken. Such soft favonian airs upon a flute, Such shadowy censers burning live perfume, Shall lead the mystic city to her tomb Nor flowerless springs, nor autumns without fruit, Nor summer mornings when the winds are mute, Trouble her soul till Rome be no more Rome. EDMUND GOSSE.
;

SAINT PETER'S AT ROME.

FROM
"

CHILDE HAROLD," CANTO

IV.

Vastness which grows, but grows

All musical in
its

to harmonize,

immensities

Rich marbles, richer painting, slirines where flame The lamps of gold, and hauglity dome which vies In air with earth's chief structures, though their frame and this the cloud Sits on the firm-set ground,

must

claim.

Here condense thy soul objects, and control Thy thoughts until tliy mind hatli got by heart Its eloquent proportions, and unroll

To more immediate

The glory

In mighty graduations, part by part, whicli at once upon thee did not dart. LORD BYRON.

PLACES.

187

A VIEW ACROSS THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA.

1861.

Over

campagna-sea, mist and rain, Saint Peter's Church heaves silently

the

dumb

Out

in the offing througli

Like a mighty ship in pain, Facing the tempest with struggle and strain.
]\I()tionless

waifs of ruined towers,

!

Soundless breakers of desolate land

The

sullen surf of the mist devours

That mountain-range upon either hand, Eaten away from its outline grand.

And over Where

the
the

dumb campagna-sea
ship of the

Church heaves on to

wreck,

Alone and

silent as

God must be
!

The Christ walks

Is stiff to turn

Ay, but Peter's neck on the foundering deck.

Peter, Peter, if such be thy name. Now leave the ship for another to steer,

And proving thy faith evermore the same Come forth, tread (Alt through the dark and
drear.

Since

He who walks on
!

the sea

is

here

Peter, Veter

lie

does not speak,

He

is

not as rash as

in old Galilee.

Safer a ship, tbougli it toss and leak. Then a reeling foot on a rolling sea

Andhe'sgotto

Ijc

round

in the girth,

thinks he.

188

DEfiCRlPTlVE POEMS.
!

lie does not stir, Peter, Peter His nets are heavy with silver fish He reckons his gains, and is keen to infer,
:

"The

wish,

broil

on the shore,

if

the

Lord should

But the sturgeon goes

to the Csesar's dish."

Peter, Peter, thou fisher of men,

Fisher of fish wouldst thou live instead, Haggling for pence with the other Ten,

Cheating the market at so nuich a head. Griping the hag of the traitor dead?

At the triple crow of the Gallic cock Thou weep'st not, thou, though
dazed
:

thine

eyes be

What

l)ird

comes next
!

Vultures

as when Romulus gazed, See,

!

in the

tempest shock?

To inaugurate Rome

for a world amr.zed ELIZABETH IJAKRETT BROWNING.

VENICE.
Venice, thou Siren of sea cities, wrought By mirage, built on water, stair o'er stair. Of sunbeams and cloud shadows, phantom-fair, With naught of earth to mar thy sea-born thought Thou floating film upon the wonder-fraught Thou hast no dream so rare Ocean of dreams and sons As are thy daughters, they who wear
!

Foam

flakes

of

charm from thine

ii

enchantment
!

'caught.

dark

bro\\

eyes

tangles of dark hair

PLACES.

189

heaven-blue eyes, blonde tresses where the breeze Plays over sunburned clieelcs in sea-blown air!

Firm limbs of moulded bronze frank debonair Smiles of deep-bosomed women Loves that seize jMan's soul, and waft her on storm melodies
! !
!

JOnX ADDINGTON SYMONDS.

VEXICE.
FROM
" rrALV."

There is a The Sea is in

tlie

glorious City in the Sea. broad, the narrow streets,

;

Ebbing and flowing

and the

salt sea- weed

Clings to the marble of her palaces. No tra(;k of men, no footsteps to and fro, Lead to her gates. The patli lies u'er tliu Sea,
Invisible
;

and from

tlie

land

we

went.

As
So

to a floating City, steering in, And gliding up licr streets as in a

smoot]il\-, silently,

by many a dome
;

dream,

IMosque-likc, ;iiid many a stately jjortico, The statues ranged along an azuic sky
I?y

many
(jld

Of

llic,

more than Eastern splcndni-, I'esidciK't; of merchant kings

ytili-

in

The
Still

fronts of some, thougli

Time had shattered

llieiii,

glowing will) (he richest hues of art. As though (lie wealth within them had run

o'er.
.

A few
froin liim

ill

feai-.

whose boast it was Flying away That the grass grew not where his horse had

(I'od,

190

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
to Venice.
built their nests

Like the waterfowl, They among the ocean waves And wliere the sands were shifting, as the wind Blew from the northjjhe south where they that
;

Gave birth

came
sure the ground they stood upon, an exhalation, from the deep, A vast Metropolis, with glittering spires, With theatres, basilicas adorned A scene of light and glory, a dominion. That has endured the longest among men.
to

Had

make

Rose, like

And whence
Towering?
'T

the talisman by which she rose was found there in the barren sea.
;

Want

Who

met not the Venetian? now

led to Enterprise

and, far or near.

in Cairo,

Ere yet the Califa came, listening to hear Its bells approaching from the Red Sea coast Now on the Euxine, on the Sea of Azoph, In converse with the Persian, with the Russ, The Tartar on his lowly deck receiving Pearls from the gulf of Ormus, gems from Bagdad, Eyes brighter yet, that shed the light of love From Georgia, from Circassia.
;
;

Thus flourish, till That in the Tagus had arrived

Thus did Venice rise, the unwelcome tidings came.

a fleet

From

from the region of the Sun, Fragrant with spices, that a way was found, A channel opened, and the golden streamIndia,

Turned

to enrich another.

Then she

felt

Iler strength departing, and at last she fell. Fell in an instant, blotted out and razed
;

PLACES.

191

She who had stood yet longer than the longest Of the Four Kingdoms, who, as in an Ark, Had floated do^v-n amid a tliousand wrecks, Uninjured, from the Old World to tlie New. SAMUEL KOGEKS.

THE GONDOLA.
Afloat
;

we move delicious
like the

Ah,

What

else is

gondola

This level flow of liquid glass Begins beneath us swift to pass.

It goes as

though it wxnt alone some impulsion of its own. By

(

How

light

it

moves, liow softly

Ah,
!

Were

all things like the

gondola
!

How light

it moves, how softly Ah, Could life, as docs our gondola, TJnvexed with quarrels, aims, and cares. And moral duties and affairs, Unswaying, noiseless, swift, and strong.

For ever
(

thu.s

thus glide along

!

How

light Ave
life

move, how softly

)

Ah,

Were
With

but as the gondola

no more motion than should bear

;

freshness to the languid air

no more effort than expressed The need and naturalness of rest, Whicli wc beneath a gratcfid shade Should lake on peaceful pillows laid
^Vil!l
(

How

light
life

wo move, how

softly
!

All,

Were

but as the

gf)ndf)!a

192

DE^CRlPTlVFj POEMS.
In one inibroken passage borne To closing night from opening morn, Uplift at whiles slow eyes to mark Some palace-front, some passing bark
!

Throngh windows catch the varying shore,

And hear the soft turns of the oar ..Vh, (How light we move, how softly Were life but as the gondola ) ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.
!
!

VENICE.
FROM
" VIEW
is

FROM THE EUGANEAN HILLS."

still.

All EouDd

bright and clear and the solitary hill.

is

Beneath

spread like a green sea

The waveless plain of Lorabardy, Bounded by the vaporous air,

Islanded bv cities fair;

Underneath day's

a/.ure eyes,

Ocean's nursling, Venice, lies, A peopled labyrinth of walls,

Amphitrite's destined balls,

Which her hoary sire now paves With his blue and beaming waves.
Lo! the sun upsprings behind. Broad, red, radiant, half reclined
.

On

the level quivering line Of the waters crystalline;

And

before that chasm of light,

PLACES.
As
M-ithin a furnace bright.
like obelisks of fire,

193

Column, tower, and dome, and spire

Shine
Pointing with inconstant motion From the altar of dark ocean

To the sapphire-tinted skies; As the flames of sacrifice From the marble slirines did As to pierce the dome of gold Where Apollo si)oke of old.
!

rise,

Sun-girt city thou hast been Ocean's child, and then his queen; Kow is coiiie a darker (la.\'. And thou soon must be his ]>rey,

Hallow

If the })0W'er that raised thee here so thy watery bier.

less

drear ruin then than now,

th(^

With thy con<|uest-branded brow

Stooping to
slave of slaves

From

thy tliione
on('<'

among
it

(lie

waves,

Wilt thou be when the sea-mew

Flies, as

bcfoic

flew,

O'er thine isles depopulate.

And
^^'i(ll

all

is in

its

ancient state,
a

Save where many

ialace-gate

giccn overgrown Like a ro<k of occiin's own. Topples o'er llie abandoned sea

s('a-(U)W(M's

As
The

tlie

lilies

change sullenly.

lislier

on his wal<'ry
I

way

M'anderiug a Ihe close ctf day Will spread his sail and seize his oar
Vll

i;i

ID-l

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Till he pass tlie

gloomy shore,

Lest thy dead should, from their sleep Bursting o'er the starlight deep,

Lead a rapid mask of death O'er the waters of his path.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

NAPLES.
FROM
This region,
surely,
^'

ITALY.^^

is

not of the earth.

Was

not dropt from heaven? Not a grove, Citron or pine or cedar, not a grot
it

Sea-worn and mantled with the gadding vine. But breathes enchantment. Not a cliff but liings On the clear wave some image of delight, Some cabin-roof glowing with crimson flowers,

Some ruined temple or muse on as the bark And bo it mine to muse From daybreak, when
To.
fire

fallen
is

monument,

gliding by.

there,

the

mine to glide, mountain pales

his

Yet more and more, and from the mountain-top, Till then invisible, a smoke ascends. Solemn and slow, as erst from Ararat,

When he, the Patriarch, who escaped the Flood, Was with his household sacrificing there,,
Fi'om daybreak to that hour, the last and best. When, one by one, the fisliing-boats comC; forth, Each with its glimmering lantern at the prow. And, when the nets are thrown, the evening; hymn

PLACES.
Steals o'er the trembling waters.

195

Everywhere
Fable and Truth have shed, in rivalry. Each her peculiar influence. Fable came, And laughed and sung, arraying Truth in flowers, Like a young child her grandam. Fable came;
Earth, sea, and sky reflecting, as she flew, A thousand, thousand colors not their own:

And
To

at her bidding, lo! a dark descent Tartarus, and those thrice happy fields,

Those fiplds with ether pure and purple light Ever invested, scenes by him described

Who
What

here

was wont

to

they revealed, Sleeps in a silent grove, o'erlooking thee,

wander and record and on the western shore

Beloved I'arthenope.

Yet here, methinks. Truth wants no ornament, in her own shape Filling the mind by turns with awe and love,

By

And

turns inclining to wild ecstasy soberest meditation.

SAMUEL

ROGERS.

DRIFTING.

My

soul to-day

Is far

away,

Sailing the N'csuvian Bay;

Aly wingod boat, A bird afloat.

Swims round

tlic

piiiiih'

peaks remote:

Bound purpU" peaks

It sails. ;unl seeks

39G

DE^SCRIFTIVE FOEMt^.
Blue iulets and their crystal creeks,

Where high rocks throw,

Through deeps below,

duplicated golden glow.

Far, vague, and dim

The mountains swim;

While, on Vesuvius' misty brim, With outstretched hands, The gray smoke stands
O'erlooking the volcanic lands.

Here

-Ischia smiles

O'er liquid miles; And yonder, bluest of the

isles,

Calm Capri waits, Her sapphire gates

Beguiling to her bright estates.

heed not,

if

rippling ski if Float swift or slow from

My

cliff

to

cliff

;-

With dreamful

eyes

My

spirit lies

Under the walls

of Paradise.

Under the walls Where swells and

falls

The Bay's deep breast at At peace I lie,

T>lown softly by,

intervals,

cloud upon this liquid sky.

PLACES.
The
Is
(lay,

197

so mild,

Heaven's own child, With Earth and Ocean reconciled;

keel.

The

airs I feel
nie steal

Around

Are murmuring

to the

murmuring

Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the

sail;

joy intense. The cooling sense

Glides

down my drowsy

indolence.

With dreamful eyes

My

spirit lies

Where Summer

sings

and never

dies,

O'erveiled with vines. She glows and shines

Among

her future

oil

and wines.

Her The

children, hid
clilfs

amid.

Are gambolling wi(h the gambolling kid; Or down (lie walls, Laugh on
The
Willi lipsy ("ills, the rocks like waterfalls.
fisher's child,

Willi

(resses wild.

Unto the smooth, bright sand With glowing lips

Sings as she skips.

beguiled,

Or gazos

at tho f.irolV ships.

198

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Yon deep bark goes Where Traffic blow s, From lands of sun to lands
This happier one, Its course is run

of

snows ;

From

lands of snow to lands of sun.

O happy ship, To rise and dip. With the blue crj^stal at your O happy crew,

lip

My
Sails,

heart with you

sails,

and

and sings anew

No

more, no more The worldly shore

Upbraids me with its loud uproar! With dreamful eyes

My
Under

spirit lies

the walls of Paradise!

In lofty

lines,

Mid palms and

pines.

And

olives, aloes, elms,

and

vines,

Sorrento swings On sunset wings,

^Vhere Tasso's spirit soars and sings.

THOMAS BUCHANAN

READ.

PLACES.

199

ENGLAND.
FROM
"

THE TRAVELLER."

And

Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, flies where Britain courts the western
spring;
that scorn Arcadian pride,

Where lawns extend

brighter streams than famed Hvdaspes glide. There all around the gentlest breezes stray, There gentler music melts on every spray; Creation's mildest charms are there combined, Extremes are onlv in the master's mind.

And

Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her With daring aims irregularly great,
I'ride in their port, defiance in their eye,

state,

I see the lords of human kind pass by: Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, By forms unfashioned, fresh from nature's hand, Fierce in their native hardiness of soul.

True to imagined right above control, While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to

And

scan, learns to venerate himself as man.

Thine, freedom, thine the blessing pictured

here,

Thine are those charms that dnz/lo and endear! OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

100

DEkiCRlPTIVE POEMS.

THAT ENGLAND.
FROM
"

AURORA LEIGH."

Whoever
I

lives true life, -will love true love.

learned to love that England. Ver^- oft, Before the day was born, or otherwise

Through secret windings of the afternoons, I threw ni}' hunters off and plunged mj'self Among the deej) hills, as a hunted stag
Will take the waters, shivering with the fear

And }>assiou of the course. And when, at last Escaped, so many a green slope built on slope Betwixt me and the enenw's house behind,

I dai'ed to rest,

Made And view

(As
if

or wander, like a rest sweeter for the step u]>on the grass,

the ground's most gentle dimplement, God's finger touched but did not press In making England!) such an up and down

Of verdure,

nothing

too

much up

or down,

ripple of land; such little hills, the sky Can stoop to tenderly and the wheatfields climb; Such nooks of valleys, lined with orchises,

Fed

by invisible streams; where you scarcely tell White daisies from white dew, at intervals The mythic oaks and elm-trees standing out

full of noises

And

o})en jastures,

Self-poised
I

upon their

]>rodigy of shade,

thought

Of being

my father's land was worthy my Shakespeare's.

The

too

skies, the clouds, the fields,

PLACES.
Tlie happy violets hiding The primroses run down

201

I'lom the roads

to,

canning gold, Tlie tangled hedgerows, where- the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths
'Twixt dripping ash-boughs,

hedgerows

all alive

With birds and gnats and large white butterllies Which look as if the May-tlower had sought life

And

palpitated forth upon llie wind, Hills, vales, woods, netted in a silver mist. Farms, granges, doubled up among the hills,

And cattle grazing in the watered vales. And cottage-chimneys smoking from the woods, And cottage-gardens smelling everywhere,
''

Confused with smell of orchards. " See," I said, And seel is God not with us on the earth? And shall we put Mini down by aught we do? ^^'ho says there's nothing for the poor and vile Save jtoverty and wickedness? behold!"
ankle-deep in I"]nglish grass 1 leaped. clapped my hands, and called all very
KLiZAruriii r.ARRioTT
fair.

And And

c.uowmm;.

TIIIO

KXKJIIT.
I.

FROM

"

MAR.MIOX." ("AXTO

Day set on Norham's castled steep. And Tweed's fair rixci-, broad and deej),
And
rii('\i<l's

iiioMiilains lone:

The battled towers, (he donjon keej). The loophole grates where caplives weep, The l!a:d<ing walls llial romid it sweep.
In
\(*llow

lustre shone.

202

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
The warriors ou the turrets
high,

Moving athwart the evening sky, Seemed forms of giant height;

Their armor, as it caught the rays, Fhished back again the western blaze In lines of dazzling light. Saint George's banner, broad and gay, faded, as the fading ray Less bright, and less, was flung;

Now

The evening gale had scarce the power To Avave it on the donjon tower. So heavily it hung. The scouts had parted on their search, The castle gates were barred; Above the gloomy portal arch,
Timing his footsteps to a march. The warder kept his guard
;

Low humming,

as he paced along,
song.

Some ancient Border-gathering

He

distant trampling sound he hears; looks abroad, and soon appears.

hill,

O'er Horncliff

clump

of spears,

Beneath a pennon gay; A horseman, darting from the crowd, Like lightning from a summer cloud, Sjmrs on his mettled courser proud Before the dark array. Beneath the sable palisade, That closed the castle barricade, His bugle-horn he blew; The warder hasted from the wall,

PLACES.
And warned
the captain in the hall,

203

For well the blast he knew;

And

iovfuUv that knight did call

squire,

To sewer,
"

and seneschal.

Xow

broach ye a pipe of Malvoisle, Bring pasties of the doe,

And quickly make the entrance free, And bid my heralds ready be, And every minstrel sound his glee, And all our trumpets blow;
And, from the platform, spare ye not

To

tire

a noble salvo-shot:

Lord Marmion waits below." Then to the castle's lower ward

Sped forty yeomen tall, The iron-studded gates unbarred,

Raised the
jiortcullis' jionderous

'

guard,

The

lofty jialisade uusparred,

let

And

the drawbridge

fall.

Along the bridge Lord Mai-mion

rode.

Proudly his red-roan charger Irode, ITis helm hung at the saddle-bow; Well by his visage you inight know He was a stalworth knight, and keen, And had in many a battle been.

The scar on

bis biowii chec^k revealed token true of lioswoitli held; His eyebrow daik, and eye of lii-e, Rliowed spirit jroiid. and pi-omj)! to ire;

Vcl lines of Ihoiigbt upon his cheek Did deep design and counsel s])eak.

204

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

His forehead, bj his casque worn bare, His thick mustache, and curly hair, Coal-black, and grizzled here and there, But more through toil than age; His square-turned joints, and strength of limb, Showed him no carpet-knight so trim,

But

in close fight a champion grim. In camps a leader sage.

Well was he armed from head to heel. In mail and jjlate of Milan steel;

But

his strong helm, of

all

mighty

cost.

Was

with burnished gold embossed;

Amid

A falcon

the plumage of the crest, hovered on her ni?st.

With wings outspread, and forward breast; E'en such a falcon, on his shield, Soared sable in an azure field
:

The golden legion bore

%V\\o

aright,

rhcch,'i at mc to rtrath x^ rti(\ht. Blue was tlie charger's broidered rein Blue ribbons decked his arching mane;
;

Was

The knightly housing's ample fold velvet blue, and trapped with

gold.

Behind him rode two gallant squires Of noble name and knightly sires; They burned the gilded spurs to claim; For well c(uld each a war-horse tame, Could draw the bow, the sword could sway,

And
Nor

lightly bear the ring

less

away;

with courteous precepts stored, Could dance in hall, and carve at board,

PLACES.
And frame love-ditties passing And sing them to a lady fair.
rare,

2U5

Four men-at-arms came at their backs, With halbert, bill, and battle-axe;
The}' bore

Lord Marmion's lance so strong,

And led his sumpter-mules along, And ambling palfrey, when at need Him listed ease his battle-steed.
The
last

and trustiest of the four

tail, in

On

high his forky

Like swallow's

pennon bore; shape and hue,

Fluttered the streamer glossy blue. Where, blazoned sable, as before,

The towering falcon seemed to soar. Last, twenty yeomen, two and two. In hosen black, and jerkins blue, With falcons broidered on each breast.
Attended on their lord's behest Each, chosen for an archer good.
:

Knew
And
And

Each one

hunting-craft by lake or wood; a six-foot bow could bend, far a cloth-yard shaft could send;

Each held a boar-spear tough and strong.

at their bolts their (juivers rung.

Their dusty i>alfreys and array

Showed they had marched

SUi

weary way. WALTEU SCOTT.

200

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
O,

THE PLEASANT DAYS OF OLD!

of
old,

O,

THE pleasant days

all

which so often

people i)raise! True, thev wanted

the luxuries that grace our

rushes^ the walls

modern days: Bare floors were strewed with

let in the cold;

0,

how they must have

days of old
!

shivered in those pleasant

O, those ancient lords of old,

how

magnificent
kings,

they were!

They

threw down and imprisoned thwart them who might dare?

to

They ruled their serfs right sternly; they took from Jews their gold, Above both law and equity were those great lords

of old

O, the gallant knights of old, for their valor so

renowned With sword and lance and armor strong they

!

scoured the country round;

And whenever aught

wood

By

to tempt them they met by or wold, those right of sword they seized the prize, old of gallant knights

O, the gentle dames of old fear or pain,

who, quite free from

Could gaze on Joiist and tournament, and see their champion slam^

PLACES.
The}'
lived

207

on good beefsteaks and

0,

made them strong and bold, more like men than women were
dames
of old
!

ale,

vviiich

those gentle

O, those mighty towers of old! with their turrets,

moat, and keep, Their battlements and bastions, their dungeons

Full

dark and deep. many a baron held his court within the
castle hold;

And many

a ca})tive languished there, in those strong towers of old.

O, the troubadours of old! with the gentle minstrel sie

Of hope and
lot

joy, or deep despair, whiche'er their

might be;

For years they served

their passions told,

their ladye-loves ere they

O, wondrous patience must have had those troubadours of old ! O, those bh'ssT'd times of old, wiili Iheir chivalry

and state!
I love to

read their chronicles, which such brav(;

deeds relate;
I

love to sing their ancient rhymes, to hear tiieir

Icgen<ls told,

liut,

Iloavcn be thanked!
blessed times of old!

lived no(

in

(liosc

FRANCKS nilOWNB.

208

DESCBIPTIVE POEMS.

MELROSE ABBEY.
FROM
"

THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL," CANTO

tiie

II.

If tliou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,

(jo visit it

by

pale mooiiliglit

For the gay beams

of lightsome day Gild, but to {lout, the ruins gray. Wlien the broken arches are black in night,

And each When the

shafted oriel glimmers white; cold light's uncertain shower

Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory
:

When
And

silver edges the imagery, the scrolls that teach thee to live

and

die;

When distant Tweed is heard to rave, And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's
Then go, but go alone the while, Then view Saint David's ruined pile;

grave,

Was

And, home returning, soothly swear. never seen so sad and fair!

The pillared arches were over their head. And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead.
Spreading herbs and flowerets bright

dew of night; Nor herl) nor (lower glistened there, But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair. The monk gazed long on the lovely moon, Then into tlie night he looked forth;
Glistened with the

PLACES.
And
Were dancing
red and bright the streamers light in the glowing north.

209

So had he seen, in fair Castile, The youth in glittering stjuadrons Sudden the li.ying jennet wheel.

start,

And hurl the unexpected dart. He knew, by the streamers that shot
That
spirits

so bright,
light.

were riding the northern

By

a steel-clenched postern door.

They entered now the chancel tall; The darkened roof rose high aloof On pillars lofty and light and small; The keystone, that locked each ribbed

aisle,

Was
The

a lleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille:
corbel Is

were carved grotesque and grim:

And

the pillars, with clustered shafts so trim,

With base and with capital nourished around, Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had
bound.
I-'ull

Shook

a scutcheon and banner, riven. to the cold night-wind of heaven. Around the screened altar's pale;

many

And

lieforc (hy \u\\

there the dying lamps did burn, and h>nely urn.

O
()

gallant Chief of Otterburne! AihI thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale!

fading honors of the dead! high ambition lowly laid!

oiiel

Thetiioon on Iheeasl
Vll

shone

Through slender shafts of shapely stone,

14

210

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
By
foliaged tracery combiued
;

Thou wouklst have thought some

fairy's

hand

'Twixt poplars straight the osier Avand In many a freakish knot had twined; Then framed a spell, when the work was done,

And changed

the willow wreaths to stone.

The silver light, so pale and faint, Showed many a prophet, and many a saint, Whose image on the glass was dyed Full in the midst, his Cross of Red
;

Triumphant Michael brandished.

And trampled

the Apostate's pride.

The moonbeam kissed the holy pane. And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. SIR WALTER SCOTT.

AN OLD TIME CHRISTMAS.

FROM
"

MARMION," INTRODUCTION TO CANTO

I

VI.

Heap on more wood

But,
let it

the

wind

is chill

whistle as

it will,

We

'11 keep our Christmas merry still. Each age has deemed the new-born year The fittest time for festal cheer: Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane At lol more deep the mead did drain;

High on the beach

And
Then

his galleys drew, feasted all his pirate crew;

in his

Where

shields

low and pine-built liall, and axes decked the wall,

steer;

They gorged upon the half-dressed Caroused in seas of sable beer;

PLACES.
While round, in brutal jest, were thrown The half-gnawed rib and marrow-bone;

211

Or listened all, in grim delight. While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. Then forth in frenzy would they hie. While wildly loose their red locks fly; And, dancinj^ round the blazing pile,
Thoy make such barbarous mirth the while, best might to the mind recall The boisterous joys of Odin's hall.

As

And well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had rolled And brought blithe Christmas back again
With
all his

hospitable train.

Domestic and religious rite Gave honor to the holy night: On Christmas eve the bells were rung; On Christmas eve the mass was sung; That only night, in all the year,

Saw

the stoled priest the chalice rear.

The damsel donned her kirtle sheen; The hall was dressed with holly green; Forth to the wood did merrv-men go. To gather in the mistletoe. Then opened wide the baron's hall To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; Power laid his rod of rule aside,

And Ceremony

doffed her pride.

The heir, with roses in his shoes. That night might village partner choose; The lord, undeiogating, share The vulgar gniiie of " post nnd pair."
]

All hailed, with uncontrolled delight.

212

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
general voice, the Iiappy night to the cottage, as the crown,

And
That

Brought tidings of salvation down. The tire, with well-dried logs supplied,. Went roaring up the chimney wide; The huge hall-table's oaken face. Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn,

By

old blue-coated serving-man;

Then the grim boar's-head frowned on high Crested with bays and rosemary.
Well can the green-garbed ranger tell How, when, and where, the monster fell;

What dogs before his death he tore, And all the baiting of the boar.
The wassail round,
in good brown bowls, Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls. There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by

Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie; Nor failed old Scotland to produce. At such high tide, her savory goose. Then came the merry maskers in, And carols roared with blithesome din; If uumelodious was the song, It w^as a hearty note, and strong.

Who
And

lists

may

in their

mumming
;

see

Traces of ancient mystery

White

skirts sup])lied the masquerade, smutted cheeks the visors made:

But, O, what mas(]uers richly dight Can boast of bosoms half so light!

PLACE8.
]{;ii<;laii(l was merry Englaml, when Old Christmas brought his sports again. 'T was Christmas broached the mightiest 'T was Christmas told the merriest tale;

213

ale;

Cliristmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year.
SIR

WALTER

SCOTT.

THE CASTLE KUIXS.

HAPPY day at Whitsuntide, As soon 's the zun begun to

all

vail,

We

strolled

up the steep hill-zide

To Meldon, gret an' small; Out where the Castle wall stood high A-mwoldreu to the zAinny sk^'.
An' there wi' Jenny took a stroll Iler youngest sister, Poll, so ga}% liezide .John Mind, ah! merry soul, An' mid her wedlock fay; An' at our zides did play an' run Mv little maid an" smaller son.

Above the beaten mwold u])sprung The driven doust, a-spreadcn light,
An' on
(lie

new-leaved thorn, ahung,

Wer
On

wool a-quiv'ren while;

a slicfMicn Itriglil, did

An' corn,

bow,

sluprMi .Mcldon's

vmuux brow.
glow

There,

down

(lie

roofless wall did

The zun upon

the grassy

loor.

214

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

An' weaklj-wandren winds did blow, Unhindered by a door; An' smokeless now avore the zun

Did

Stan' the ivy-girded tun.

My bwoy

did watch the daws' bright wings

A-flappen vrom their ivy bow'rs; My wife did watch my maid's light springs,

Out here

an' there vor tiow'rs;

And John

did zee uoo tow'rs, the pleace

Polly's feiice.

Vor him had only

An' there, of all that pried about The walls, I overlooked em best, An' what o' that? Why, I meiide out Noo mwore than all the rest: That there wer woonce the nest of zome That wer a-gone avore we come.

When woonce

above the tun the smoke Did wreathy blue among the trees, An' down below, the liven vo'k Did tweil as brisk as bees Or zit wi' weary knees, the while The sky wer lightless to their tweil. WILLIAM BARNES.
;

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of Where health and plenty cheered
swain,
the
the
ilain,

laboring

Where smiling spring

its earliest visit

paid.

OLIVER

goldsmhh

PLACES.
And

215

partiug summer's liugci-iug blooms delayed: Dear lovely bowers of iuuoeence aud ease,
Seats of

my

youth,
1

wheu every sport could

please,

How
How

often Lave
often have

loitered o'er thy green,.

Where humble happiness endeared each

1

scene;

paused on every charm.

The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topped the neighboring
hill.

The hawthorn-bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made; How often have I blessed the coming day,
^\hen
toil

remitting lent

its

turn to play,

Aud

the viUage train, from labor free. Led up their f>ports beneath the spreading tree, While many a pastime circled in the shade.
all
;

The young contending as the old surveyed And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground. And sleights of art and feats of strength went
round
;

And

as each repeated pleasure tired. Succeeding sports the mirthful band insi)ired;
still

The dancing

i)air that simply sought renown, out to tire each other down; By holding The swain mistrustless of his smultcd face.

While secret laughter tittered round the place;

Tiie bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,

The nmtron's glance that would those looks

prove These were thy charms, sweet village; sports
:

re-

like

these.

With sweet

succession, taught even

toil to

please;

21G

DESCRIPTIVE P0E.U8.
shed,

These round thy bowers their cheerful influence These were thy charms, But
fled.

all

these charms are

Sweet smiling

village, loveliest of the lawn,

fled,

Thy

sports are
;

and

all

thy charms with-

drawn Amidst thy bowers the

And
One

tyrant's hand is seen, desolation saddens all thy green: only master grasps the whole domain,
:

And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain No more thy glassy brook reflects the day.
But choked with

sedges, works its weedy way. Along thy glades, a solitary guest. The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest;

Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing

flies.

And
And

tires their echoes

with unvaried

cries.

in shapeless ruin all. the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's

Sunk are thy bowers,

hand. Far, far away, thy children leave the land.

Ill

fares the laud, to hastening

ills

a prey.
:

Where wealth accumulates and men decay Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, tiieir country's pride,

When

once destroyed, can never be supplied.

When

time there was, ere England's griefs began. ever^' rood of ground maintained its man;

PLACES.
For bim
light

217

Labor
life

s{)read bor

wbolesome

store,

Just gave what

required, but gave no more:

His best companions, innocence and health;

And

his best riclies, ignorance of \\'ealth.

But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land and dispossess the swain Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose. Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose; And every want to luxury allied,
;

every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that ])lenty bade to bloom. Those calm desires that asked but little room. Those healthful s[iorts that graced the peaceful
scene,

And

Lived

in

each

look,

and

brightened

all

the

green ; These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more.

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour. Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power.

Here as 1 take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruined grounds, And. many a y<'ar elapsed, return to view Where once he cottage stood, he h;i\vti)oi-n grew, KenuMubranee wakes with all her busy (rain. Swells at my Ineast, and turns the past to ]"aia.
I
I

in nil hiy

In
1

ill

ni.\

griefs

still

h;i(i

nnderings round ihis world of care, and Clod has given my share' liopes my latest lioui-s (o crown,
v.

Amidst

these

humble bowers

lo lay

me down;

218

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

life's taper at the close, the tiame from wasting by repose. keep I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill,

To husband out

And

Around my

an evening group to draw, and all I saw; And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return and die at home at last.
fire

And

tell

of all

I felt

blest retirement, friend to life's decline,

Retreat from care, that never must be mine, How blest is he who crowns in shades like these,

youth of labor with an age of ease; quits a world where strong temptations And, since 't is hard to combat, learns to fl}'! For him no wretches, born to work and weep.

Who

try.

Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep No surly porter stands in guilty state To spurn imploring famine from the gate; But on he moves to meet his latter end,. Angels around befriending Virtue's friend; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay,

While Resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His Heaven commences ere the world be past!
Sweet was the sound, when
close
oft

at evening's

Up yonder
There, as
I

hill

the village

murmur

rose;

passed with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came softened from below;

PLACES.
The The The The The

219

swain responsive as the milkmaid sung. sober herd that lowed to meet their young,
noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, playful children just let loose from school.

watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering

wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,

And

filled

each pause the nightingale had made.

But now

No No busy
But
all

the sounds of population fail, cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,

steps the grass-grown foot-way tread, the bloomy Hush of life is tied.

All but

yon widowed, solitary thing, That feebly bends beside the plashy spring; She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread,

To To To

strip the brook with

mantling cresses spread, her wintry fagot from the thorn. pick seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn;
train, plain.

She only left of all the harmless The sad historian of the pensive

Near yonder
smiled.

copse,

where once

the

garden

And

where many a garden-flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose. The village preacher's modest luansiou rose.
still

A man
And

country dear, with forty jjouuds a year; Kemote from (owns he lan liis godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his
lie

was

to all the

iassing

rili

place; Unpra<tise(l he to

f;iwii.

or seek for po^ver,

220

DESCRIPTIVE POEiJS.
varying Iiouu;

I;y doctrines fasliioned to the

Far otlier aims his heart had learned to prize, More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train,

He

chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain;

his guest, his

The long-renienibeied beggar was

Wlio.se beard descending

swept aged breast; The ruined sjendtlirift, now no longer proud. Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed;

The broken
Sate by his

soldier, kindly
tire,

bade to stay,

and talked the night away; o'er his Wept wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won.
Pleased witii his guests, the good
glow,
quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits or their faults to scan,

man

learned to

And

His

i)ily g;'ive

ere charity began.

Thus

And
But

to relieve the wretched was his pride. even his failings leaned to Virtue's side;

duty prompt at every call. Avept, he prayed and felt for And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
in his

He watched and

all.

To tempt

its new-fledged oil'spring to the skies, tried each art, rei.roved each dull delay, Allured to blighter worlds, and led the way.

He

Beside the bed where parting life was laid. sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed The reverend champion stood. At his control,

And

PLACED.

221

Despair aud auguish lied the struggling soul; Comfort tame down the trembliug wretch to raise,

Aud

his last faltering accents whispered praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. The service past, around the pious man,

With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; Even children followed with endearing wile,

Aud

i>lucked his
smile.

gown, to share the good man's

His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, Their v.el fare i)leased him, and their cares
tressed
;

dis-

To them

his heart, his love, his griefs

liut all his serious thoughts

had

rest* in

were given, Heaven.

leaves

As some

tall cliff,

that

lifts its

awful form,
the

Swells from the vale, and

storm.

midway

Though round
spread.

its

breast the rolling clouds are

its

Eternal sunshine settles on

I'eside

head.

yon straggling fence that skirls the way,

Willi blossomed furze unprohtably gay, ThiM-e. in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule.

The village masier taught his little school; A man sevei-e he wiis. and stein to vi<'\\-; kiM'w liim well, and every tnmiil knew;
I

Well

liad

the ixdliiig tremblers Icariicil

lo Irace

The day's

disasters in

liis

moi-ning face;

222

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

Full well tbe}' laughed with counterfeited glee

At

all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned;

Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught. The love he bore to learning was in fault.

The village all declared how much he knew, 'T was certain he could write, and cipher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,

And

even the story ran that he could gauge. In arguing too, the parson owned his skill. For even though vanquished, he could argue still
sound.

While words of learned length and thundering

Amazed

And

the gazing rustics ranged around ; they gazed, and still the wonder grew Tbat one small head could carry all he knew.
still

But past is all his fame. The very Where many a time he triumphed, is
Near yonder thorn, that
lifts its

spot
forgot.

head on high,

Where once the sign-post uiught the passing eye. Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts
inspired,

Where graybeard mirth and smiling toil retired, Where village statesmen talked with looks profound.

And news much

older than their ale went round.

Imagination fondly stoops to trace

The parlor splendors of that festive place; The whitewashed. wall, the nicely sanded floor,
.The varnished clock that cliciced behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to ]>ay,

A bed

by night, a chest of drawers by daj j

PLACES.
TliC iMC-tures placed for

223

ornament and use. The Iv.elve good rules, the royal game of goose; The hearth, except when winter chilled the day, With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay;
A\'hile

Kanged

broken teacups, wisely kept for show, o'er the chimney, glistened in a row.
I

Vain transitory splendor

could not

all
!

Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart

An

hour's importance to the poor man's heart; Thither no more the peasant shall repair To sweet oblivion of his daily caie;

No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,
ponderous strength, and lean to hear; The host himself no longer shall be found
Itelax his

Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest,
Shall kiss the cup to pass
it to

the rest.

Yes!

let

the rich deride, the proud disdain,

Thesse simple blessings of the lowly train;

To me more dear, congenial to my heart. One native charm, than all the gloss of art;
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play. The soul adopts, and owns their lirst-born sway;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, rncnvie.I, uiiiiiolested, un<(nlinc(l
:

lUil the
\\"\{h

long pomp, the midnight masijuorade, all the freaks of >\an(on wealth arraved,
ere trillers half their wish obtain,

In

tliese,

224

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy.
friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'T is yours to judge, how wide the limits stand

Ye

The

Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore;
Hoards, even beyond the miser's wish abound. rich men tlock from all the world around. Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name That leaves our useful products still the same. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his jjark's extended bounds,

And

Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds;

The robe that wraps

his limbs in silken sloth

Has robbed
;

the neighboring field of half their

growth where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies AVhile thus the land adorned for pleasure all

His

seat,

In barren splendor

feebl}^

waits the

fall.

As some fair female unadorned and plain. Secure to please while youth confirms her reign. Slights every borrowed chaini that dress supplies. Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes: But when those charms are past, for charms are
frail.

PLACES.
Wlioii time advances,

225
fail,

and when lovers

She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,

In
all

Thus

the glaring- imi)Otence of dress. fares the land, Ly luxury betrayed,

In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed; But verging to decline, its splendors rise,
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; While, scourged by famine from the smiling land

The mournful peasant leads

his

humble band;

And

while he sinks, witliout one arm to save. The country blooms a garden, and a grave.

Wliere

llicii.

ali

where

shall poverty reside,

To

'scape the j)ressure of contiguous pride? If to some common's fenceless limits strayed

He

Those fenceless

drives his flock to pick the scanty blade. fields the sons of wealth divide.
tlie bar(^

And even
To To To To

worn common

is

denied.
liiin

ir to llie city

sped

What waits

there?

see profusion that he must not share; see ten thousand bamful aits combined
]am|ter luxury, and thin mankind; see those joys tiie sons of jdeasure know

Extorted fiom his IVWow-crealure's woe. Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, There the i;ile luiist jilies the sickly trade;
Here, while
dis|)lay.
ili<'

proud

ihcir

longdinw n pomps

There the black gibbet glooms iK'side the way. The <lome where IMeiisin'e holds iier midnight reign, Here, richly decl<e<l, admits the gorgeous train;

Tumultuous grandeur The rattling chariots

Vil

15

row<ls the bla;',ing s.piarc, clash, the torches ghire.

<

226

DESCRIPTIVE POEMfi.
!

Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! Sure these denote one universal joy

Are

these thy serious thoughts?

Ah,

turn thine
lies.

eyes Where the poor houseless shivering female She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest,

Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn
her friends, her virtue fled, Kear her betrayer's door she lays her head.
lost to all
;

Now

And

pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower. With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town. She left her wheel and robes of country brown.

Do

thine,

sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest

train.

Do

thy fair tribes participate her pain?

Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. At proud men's doors they ask a little bread!

Where

To distant climes, a dreary scene. half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracks with fainting steps they go.
Ah, no.
to their woe.

Where wild Altama murmurs

Far different there from all that charmed The various terrors of that horrid shore;
Those blazing suns that dart a downward And fiercely shed intolerable day; Those matted woods where birds forget to

before,

raj".

sing.

But

silent bats in
i)()isonous

Those

drowsy clusters cling; fields with rank luxuriance

crowned,

PLACES.
Where Where
The
the dark scoriiioii gathers death around at each step tlie stranger fears to wake

227
;

rattling terrors of the vengeful snake;

Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, And savage men more murderous still than they;
While
oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. Far d liferent these from every former scene,

The cooling brook, the grassy vested green. The breez}- covert of the warbling grove, That only sheltered thefts of harmless love.

Good ITeaven what sorrows gloomed that

I

i)art-

ing day That called them from their native walks away;

When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, Hung round their bowers, and fondly looked
last.

their

And

For seats

look a long farewoll, and wished in vain like these beyond the western main;
still

And shuddering

to face the distant deep,

Keturned and wept, and still returned to weep. The good old sire the first pre])ared to go To ncw-fouiid woilds, and wept for others' woe;
liut for himself, in ((mscious virtue brave,

lie only wished for worlds

Ills lovely

beyond the grave.

daughter, lovelier in her tears,

The fond companion of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of hei- charms.

And
AN'ith

left

a lover's for a father's arms.

louder jdaints the nutther spoke her woes,

blesse<l the c<t

And And And

where every j)leasnre rose; kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
clasped them dose, in sorrow doubly dear;

228

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
relief

Whilst her fond hiisbiiDd strove to lend In all the silent manliness of grief.

O Luxury

thou curst by Heaven's decree,

How How

exchanged are things like these for thee! do thy potions, with insidious joy,
ill

Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! Kingdoms, by thee, to sickly greatness grown,
florid vigor not their own At every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe; Till sapped their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round.

Boast of a

is begun. destruction done; And half the business of Even now, methinks, as pondering here 1 stand,

Even now the devastation

I see the rural virtues leave the

land

Down where yon

That
idly

anchoring vessel spreads the sail,

Downward

waiting ila})s with every gale. they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.

Contented toil, and hospitable care. And kind connubial tenderness, are there; And piety with wishes placed above,

And And
Still

steady loyalty, and faithful love. thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid. first to fly where sensual joys invade;

Unfit in these degenerate times of shame, To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame

Dear charming nymi)h, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, ray solitary pride; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe. That found'st mo poor at first, and keep'st me so;

PLACES.
Thou guide by which
I

229

tlie

nobler arts excel,

!

Tlion nurse of every virtue, fare thee well Farewell, and O where'er thy voice be tried,

Pambamarca's side, Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Toruo's
cl
ill's,

On

or

Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigors of the inclement clime;

Aid slighted truth; with thy persuasive strain Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; Teach him, that states of native strength possest,

Though very poor, may still be very blest; That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, As ocean swee])s the labored mole away While self-de[>endent power can time defy. As rocks resist the billows and the sky.
;

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

SONNET.
COMPOSED UPON WESTM IXSTEU
E.MtTii lias not
J)ull
r.lMU(;E,

LOXDOX,

1802.

anything to show moi-e fair; who could ]>ass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This city now doth, like a garment, wear The beauly of the morning; silenl. Iiar,^, Ships, towers, (Ionics, Ihcnlics. and l('m]les lie Open unio Ihc fields, and lo li"* sky. All hii^lil :Mid glitt<M'inu- in llic smokeless air. Never did snn moi'c 1>ennl ifnily sleep

would

lie

bo of soul

Til

his

fii-sl

Ne'er s:iw

1,

splendoi' valley, i-ock, or hill; ne\ei- fell, :i ciilin so deep!

230

DESCRIPTIVE
The
Dear God
!

POEM.'?.
:

river glideth at his own sweet will the very houses seem asleep
all

And

that mighty heart

is

lying

still

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

LONDON.
Athwart the sky a lowly sigh From west to east the sweet wind
The sun
stood
still

carried
;

on Primrose Hill
:

His light in

all

the city tarried

lilies

The clouds on viewless columns bloomed

Like smouldering
"

unconBumed.

sweetheart, see how shadowy, Of some occult magician's rearing,

!

Or swung

in space ot heaven's grace

Dissolving, dimly reappearing, Afloat upon ethereal tides,

St. Paul's

" above the city rides

!

A rumor

broke through the thin smoke Enwreathing abbey, tower, and palace,

The parks, the squares, the thoroughfares, The million-peopled lanes and alleys,

An

The heart

ever-muttering prisoned storm, of London beating warm. JOHI< DAVIDSON.

PLACES.

231

THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS.

FKOM
"

THE SCHOOLMISTRESS."

An me

full sorely is

my

heart forlorn,
neglected
hei* blasts
lies,

To think how modest worth While partial Fame doth with

adorn
;

Such deeds alone as pride and pomp disguise Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous emprise. Lend me thy clarion, goddess let me try To sound the praise of merit, ere it dies, Such as I oft have chaunced to espy.
!

Lost in the dreary shades of dull obscurity.

In every village marked with
little spire,

Embowered

in trees,

Tliere dwells, in

and hardly known to fame, and mean attire, shed lowly

matron

old,

whom we

Schoolmistress

name
:

Who

boasts unruly brats with birch to tame

sore, in piteous

They grieven

durance pent,
;

Awed l)y the power of this relentless dame And ofttimos, on vagaries idly bent.
For unkempt
air,

or task uncojined, arc sorely shenL

And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree. Which Learning near her little dome did
Whih)ni a twig

stow,

of sm:ill rcgiird to see, iKiw so w idc its wiiviiig branches flow. Tliougli

And work tlie simpli' vassals inicklc woe; For not a wind might curl tlie leaves that blew, lint their liml)s shuddcicd, and their pulse beat
low;

232

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
as they looked, they found their horror grew, shaped it into rods, and tingled at the view.

And And
Her

cap, far whiter

than the driven snow,

:

right meet of decency does yield Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe.

Emblem
As
is

the harebell that adorns the field

And in her hand, for sceptre, she does wield Tway birchen sprays with anxious fear entwined,
;

With dark

And And

and sad repentance filled and sharp affliction joined. fury uncontrolled, and chastisement unkind.
distrust,
;

steadfast hate,

A russet stole was o'er her shoulders thrown A russet kirtle fenced the nipping air
:

'T

'T

was simple russet, V)ut it was her own was her own country bred the flock so fair, 'T was her own labor did the fleece prepare
;
;

And, sooth to say, her pupils, ranged around, Through pious awe, did term it passing rare For they in gaping wonderment abound. And think, no doubt, she been the greatest wight on
;

ground.

Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth, Ise pompous title did debauch her ear

Goody, good- woman, gossip, n'aunt forsooth. Or dame, the sole additions she did hear
;

Yet these she challenged, these she

dear
:

lield

right

Ne would

Who

esteem him act as mought behove, should not honor eld with these revere

PLACED.
For never title yet so mean could prove, But there was eke a mind which did that
In elbow-chair
r>y the
(like that of Scottish stem,

233

title love.

sharp tooth of cankering eld defaced,

wlien
lie

In

wliicli,

receives his diadem.

is

Our sovereign prince and liefest liege The matron sat; and some Avith rank
(Tlie source of cliildrcn's

placed) graced,
!

slie

IJedrossed affronts, And warned theui not

of courtiers' jiride ) for vile affronts tliere passed

fretful to deride,

and

tlie

But love each other

dear,

whatever them betide.

TJight well slie

knew each temper to descry, To thwart the proud, and the submiss to raise; Some with vile copper-prize exalt on high, And some entice with i)ittance small of praise; And other some with l)aleful sprig she 'frays:
Evcu absent, she the reins of jiower doth hold. While Mitli (juaiiit arts the giddy crowd she

sways Forewarned,

if little liird tlicir

])ranks behold,
all

'T will whisper in her ear,

and

the scene unfold.

I.o

now with

state slie utters her

tlicir

connnand;

tasks repair. Their books of stature small they take in hand,

Eftsoons the urchins to

"Which with
I'o save

|)cllucid hoi-n

secured are,
:

lingi-r wet the letters fair The w(jrk so gay, that on Ihcir back is seen. Saint Geoigc's high achievements do(\s declare

from

On which

thilk wight that has y-gazing been,

234

DESCRIPTIVE POEMF^.
the

Kens

forthcoming rod,
1

unpleasing

sight,

ween

But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle

;

sky,

And Liberty unbars her prison door And hke a rushing torrent out they fly And now the grassy cirque han covered
;

o'er
;

With

boisterous revel rout and wild uproar thousand ways in wanton rings they run.

Heaven

shield their short-lived pastimes, I im;

]3lore

For well may freedom erst so dearly won Appear to British elf more gladsome than the sun. WILLIAM SHENSTONE.

THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR.

Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged white heat now
:

't is

at

The bellows The

little

ceased, the flames decreased

though

on the forge's brow

flames
:

still fitfully

play through the sable

see

mound

And

fitfully

you

still

may

the grim smiths

ranking round.
All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare ;

Some

rest

upon

their

sledges here,

some

work

the windlass there.

The windlass strains the mound heaves below.

tackle-chains, the black

And

red and deep a hundred veins burst out at

every throe;

PLACES.
It rises, roars,

235

rends

all

outright,

Vulcan, what a

glow
'T
is

blinding white, 't is blasting brigiit, the high sun shines not so The high sun sees not, on the earth, such a fiery, fearful show, The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy,
!

lurid

row
like

Of smiths that stand, an ardent band,

l)efore the foe.

men

through his fleece of flame, tlic monster slow Sinks on the anvil, all about the faces fiery grow. "Hurrah!" they shout, "leap out, leap out;" bang, ])ang, the sledges go Hurrah the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low
As,

quivering

sailing

A hailing fount
l)l()\v
;

of fire is struck at every squashing

The

leathern mail rebounds the hail

cindei's

tlic

rattling

strew
;

The ground around

fountains flow
;

at every

bound the sweltering

And

thick and loud the swinking crowd, at every

stroke, pant
"

Ho!

"

Leap out, leap on load

!

out,

my

masters

leap out and lay

Let's foige a goodly anchor, a bower, thick and broad

;

For

liciirt

of oak

is

hanging on every blow,

bode. And I see the good

road,

slii[>

riding, all in a pcrillous

230

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
reef roaring

The low
Fj'oni

on her

lee,

the roll of ocean

ponred stem to stern, sea after sea the mainmast by the board The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats
; ;

stove at the chains,

But courage

still,

brave mariners, the bower

still

And

remains, not an inch to flinch he deigns save

pitch sky-high.
his head, as "
I
!

when ye
"Fear

Then moves

nothing, here am
in
;

though

he

said,

Swing

your strokes in order,

let

foot

and hand

keep time Your blows make music

steeple's chime.

sweeter far than

any

But while you

burden
be.
is
!

sling

your sledges, sing

and

let the

The Anchor men we

Strike

the Anvil King, and royal crafts-

in, strike in,

!

the sparks begin to dull their

din, our

rustling red

Our hammers ring with sharper

;

work

will

soon be sped Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich
array

For

hammock

at the roaring bows, or

;

an oozy

couch of clay

Our anchor soon must change the

craftsmen here.

lay of

merry

For the Yeo-heave-o, and the Heave-away, and the

sighing seaman's cheei
;

PLACES.
When, weighing
love
slow, at eve they go

237

far, far

from

and home,

And

sobhing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam.

In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens

last
:

down

at

A
O

shapely one he

is,

and strong

as e'er

from cat
life

was
like

cast.
if

trusted and trustworthy guard,

thou hadst

me,

What

pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the

!

deep green sea

deep-sea diver, sights as thou

't

who
'?

miglit

then behold such

The hoary monsters'

were now

palaces

methinks what joy

th'

To go plumb plunging down amid

the whales. And feel the churned sea round
their scourging tails
!

assembly
boil

of

me

beneath

Then deep

in

tangle-woods to fight the

fierce sea

uniconi.

And
To

send him foiled and bellowing back, for ivory horn

;

all his

leave the subtle sworder-fish of

lorn
;

bony blade

for-

And
To

the ghastly-grinning shark, to laugh his jaws to scorn

for
;

Icnp

down

oil

the kraken's back, whoi-cmid Norfor

wegian
lie lies,

isles
aiicIior:ig(^

a Inbbei-

sudden sludlowed

miles,

238
Till

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
snorting,
rolls
;

like

an under-sea volcano,

off

he

Meanwhile
shoals

to swing, a-buffeting the far-astonished

Of

his back-browsing ocean calves

or,

haply in a

cove,

Shell-strewn, and consecrate of old to

love,

some Undine's
or,

To

find the long-haired

mermaidens

hard by
cerulean

icy lands.

To

wrestle
sands.

with the sea-serpent upon

broad-armed fisher of the deep, whose sports can

equal thine?
a thousand tons that tugs thy
't is

The Dolphin weighs

cable line
;

And

thy delight, thy glory day by day. Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant
night by night

game

But, shamer gave,

to play of our little sports

;

forgive the

name

A fisher's joy
O

is

to destroy, thine office is to save.

lodger in the sea-king's halls, couldst thou but

Whose

understand be the white bones by thy

side, or

who

that

Slow swaying

dripping Ijand, ni the heaving waves that round about

thee bend,
in a dream, blessing their

With sounds like breakers

ancient friend
:

PLACES.
0, couldst thou

239

know what heroes glide with larger round thee, steps Thine iron side would swell with pride thou 'dst
;

leap within the sea

Give honor to their memories

strand

who

left

the pleasant

To shed
AVho

their blood so freely for the love of father-

land,

chance of quiet age and grassy churchyard grave

left

their

So freely for a restless bed amid the tossing wave O, though our anchor may not be all 1 have fondly
sung,

Honor

liim for their

!

memory whose bones he

goes

among

SAMUEL FERGUSOlf.

NEWPORT-BEACH.
"Wave
after

wave successively

rolls

on

And

One To swell

dies along the shore, until more loud billow ^vith concentrate force is heard

prophetic, and exultant rears lucent form above its pioneers,

And
And

rushes past them to the farthest goal.

unuttercfl feelings rise and tall. thouglit will follow thought in ('(jual waves,
will.
I'eigns,

Thus our

Until reflection nerves design to

Or sentiment

o'er

chance emotion

And

all its

wayward

niidulations blend
!

In one o'erwhelming surge IIENUV TIIEOnORE TUCKEUM.VX.

240

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

THE SETTLER.
His echoing axe the
settler

swung

Amid

the sea-Hl<:e solitude,

And, rushing, thundering, down were flung

Tlie Titans of the

wood

Loud

shrielced tlie eagle, as he

dashed

From out his mossy nest, which crashed With its supporting hough. And the first sunlight, leaping, flashed On the wolf's haunt below.
Rude was tlie garb and strong the frame Of him who plied his ceaseless toil To form that garb the wild wood game
:

The The

Contributed their spoil soul that Avarmed that frame disdained

;

tinsel,

gaud, and glare that reigned

their

Where men
The simple

crowds

collect;

fur,

untrimmed, unstained,

This forest-tamer decked.

The paths which wound mid gorgeous trees, The stream whose bright lips kissed theii
flowers,

I'he

winds that swelled their harmonies

Through those sun-hiding bowers. The temple vast, the green arcade. The nestling vale, the grassy glade, Dark cave, and swampy lair These scenes and sounds majestic made
;

His world, his pleasures, there.

PLACES.
;

241

His roof adorned a pleasant spot Mid the black logs green glowed the grain, And herbs and plants the woods knew not

Throve in the sun and rain. The smoke- wreath curling o'er the

dell,

The

low, the bleat, the tinkling bell, All made a landscape strange.

Which was

the living chronicle

Of deeds that wrought the change.

The violet sprung at spring's first tinge The rose of summer spread its glow, The maize hung out its autumn fringe. Rude winter brought his snow
;

And

lone one labored there. His shout and whistle broke the air.
still tlie

As cheerily he jilied His garden-spade, or drove his share

Along
tlie

hillock's side.

He

mai'ked the fire-storm's blazing flood

And

Roaring and crackling on its patli, scoicliing earth, and inciting wood. Beneath its greedy wrath
;

the rapid wliirlwind shoot. the Trampling pine-tree with its foot, And durkcning tliick the day

He marked

With streaming

lough and silvered root, JIurled whizzing on its way.

iKiniid yillcd,
liis I'lHe

His gaunt
Tlie

flashed,
;

grim bear hushed his savage growl In blood and fonm the jianther gnashed
His fangs, w
itli

dying liowl

VII 16

242

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
The
fleet deer ceased its flying bound, Its snarling wolf-foe bit the ground,

And, with its moaning cry, The beaver sank beneath the wound
Its pond-built

Venice by.

Humble

When

the lot, yet his the race. Liberty sent forth her cry,

Who
To

thronged in
fight,

to

conflict's deadliest place,

bleed,

to

die!

Who

cumbered Bunker's height of red, By hope through weary years were led. And witnessed Yorktown's sun Blaze on a nation's banner spread, A nation's freedom won,
ALFRED
B.

STREET.

SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE.

Out
of the hills of

Habersham,

the valleys of Hall, I hurry amain to reach the plain. Run the rapid and leap the fall.
Split at the rock

Down

Accept

my

and together again. or narrow or wide. bed,

folly

And

flee

from

on every side

With a lover's pain to attain the i)lain Far from the hills of Habersham, Far from the valleys of Hall.
All

down the

hills of

Habersham,

All through the valleys of Hall, The rushes cried, " Abide, abide,"

The wilful water-weeds held me

thrall,

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK

PLACES.
The loving- laurel turned my tide, The ferns and fondling grass said " Stay," The dewberry dipped for to work delay,

243

And

the

little

reeds sighed,

'-

Abide, abide,"

Here Here

in the hills of

Habersham,

in the valleys of Hall.

o'er the hills of

High

Habersham,

Veiling the valleys of Hall,

The hickory told me manifold Fair tales of shade; the poplar

tall

Wrought me

her shadowy self to hold; The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine,
Said,
"

Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign,

Pass not, so cold, these manifold

iH'cp siiades of the hills of

Habersham,

These glades

in the valleys of Hall."

And And

oft in the hills of

oft in the vallevs

Habersham,
of.

Hall,

The white quartz shone, and the smooth brookstone

Did bar me of i)assage with friendly brawl; And many a luminous jewel alone

Cryst.il

linby.

oi-

clear or a-cloud with mist, garnet, or amethyst

Made
In
111

iui-cs

with the lights of streaming stone

of
llic hills ol' liic

llic ticf'ts IIk'

beds of

llal>ersham, valleys of Hall.

Rut oh:

nol the hills of

:

Habcishnm,

not the valleys (tf Hall Avail; I am fain for to water the plain. J)ownward the voices of duty <'all;
oil

And

244

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

Downward to toil and be mixed with the main; The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn, And a myriad flowers mortally yearn, And the lordly main from beyond the plain
Calls o'er the hills of Habersham, Calls through the valleys of Hall.

SIDNEY LANIEE.

WEEHAWKEN AND THE NEW YORK

FROM
"

BAY.

FANNY."

WEEHAwncEN

lu thy mountain scenery yet, All we adore of Nature in her wild

!

And frolic hour of infancy is met And never has a summer's morning
;

smiled

Upon

a lovelier scene than the

on,

full

Of the enthusiast revels

when high

eye

Amid

thy forest solitudes he climbs

O'er crags that proudly tower above the deep, And knows that sense of danger which sublimes
Is

wlien his daring step breathless moment, on the verge of the clitf, and he can hear The low dash of the wave with startled ear.

The

Like the death-music of his coming doom, '\nd clings to the green turf with desperate force. As the heart clings to life and when resume
;

The currents

in his veins their

There lingers a deep feeling, like th(^ uioau Of wearied ocean when the storm is gone.
In such an hour he turns, and on his view Ocean and earth and heaven burst l)efore him;

wonted

course,

PLACES.
Clouds

245

sluiuljc'i'iiig at his feet, and the clear blue Of suuuner's sky in beauty bending o'er him, The city bright below and far away,
;

Sparkling in golden
Tall spire,

light, his

own romantic

bay.

and glittering

roof,

and battlement,
;

And banners floating in the sunny air And white sails o'er the calm blue waters
Green
111

bent.

isle,

and circling shore, are blended there

And many
Its

wild reality. When life is old. a scene forgot, the heart will hold

memoi-y of tliis; nur lives there one AVhose infant breath was drawn, or boyhood's days Of happiness were passed beneath that sun, That in his manhood's prime can cahnly gaze Upon that bay, or on that jnountain stand,

Nor

feel the

prouder of his native land.

I'lTZ-GRKEXE IIALLECK.

MANNATTATTA.
I

WAS asking
!iiy city,

for

something

specific

and perfect

for

Whercujioii

lo

upsprang the aboriginal name.

is

Xow
I sec

sec wliat IbciT'

in

a name, a woi'd,

Ii(iui(l,

sane, unruly, musical, sclf-sufliciciit,

that the word of

old,

my

city

is

that

word from

of

IJecause

see that

word
all

Jiestod in ncsls of wnlci-

IJicli,

bays, su])crb, licnuned thick

around with

sail slii])s

and

steam

s]ii|)s,

an island sixteen miles long,

solid-

founded,

246

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
streets,

Numberless crowded
slender,

high growtlis of

iron,

ward

strong, light, splendidly uj^rising toclear skies.

Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, towards

sundown,

The flowing

sea-currents, the little islands, larger

The

adjoining islands, the heights, the villas. countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers
well-modelled.

The down-town

streets,

the

jobbers'

houses of

business, the houses of business of the shipmerchants and money-brokers, the river-streets.

Immigrants arriving,
a week.

fifteen or

twenty thousand in
of drivers

The

carts hauling goods, the

manly race

of horses, the brown-faced sailors,

The summer The

air, the bright sun shining, and the clouds aloft. sailing Avinter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice

The

in the river, passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide. mechanics of the city, the masters, well-formed,

beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes, Trottoirs thronged, vehicles, Broadway, the women,

the shops and shows,

manners free and superb open million people voices hospitality the most courageous and

friendly

young men.
!

City of hurried and sparkling waters

city of spires

and masts

City nested in bays

my

city

WALT WHITMAN.

PLACES.

247

THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE.

A GRANITE cliff on either shore, A highway poised in air

;

Above, the wheels of traffic roar. Below, the fleets sail fair ;

And

in

and out forevermore.

tides of ocean pour,

The surging

And past the And winds

towers the white gulls soar,

the sea-clouds bear.

peerless this majestic street,

This road that leaps the brine Upon its heigiits twin cities meet,
!

And throng its grand incline, To east, to west, with swiftest feet. Though ice may crash and billows beat. Though blinding fogs the wave may greet
Or golden summer
Sail

shine.

up the Bay with morning's beam, Or rocky Ilellgate by,

cables gleam, Its the sky tents athwart Great

rise, its
!

colunms
lone
it

And When,
Till

looms, august, supreme, with the splendor of a dream, Its blazing cressets gild the stream

evening shad(j\vs

fly.

By

But they were The awful gloom The mourners'

Nile stand proud the pyramids, for the dead

;

tliat

joy forbids,

silent tread,

248

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
The
crypt, the coffin's stony lids,

Sad as a soul the maze that thrids Of dark Amenti, ere it rids
Its

way

of

judgment dread.
and cheer

This glorious arch, these climbing towers,

Are

all for life

Part of tlie New World's nobler dowers Hint of millennial year

That comes apace, though evil lowers, When loftier aims and larger powers Will mould and deck this earth of ours, And heaven at length bring near
!

Unmoved
Its

its cliffs shall

Its arch the

crown the shore chasm dare

;

network hang, the blue before.

in air
;

As gossamer

While in and out The surging tides

fore verm ore,

of ocean pour,

And past its towers the white gulls And winds the sea-clouds bear
!

soar

EUNA DEAN PROCTOR.

SCYTHE SONG.
Mowers, weary and brown, and blithe. What is the word methinks ye know. Endless over- word that the Scythe
? Sings to the blades of the grass below and in the clover, grass Scythes that swing

they say as they pass What is the word that, over and over. Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass

Something,

still,

PLACES.
Hash, ah hush, the Scythe was saying,
not, and fall asleep ; to the grasses swaying; J/t^sh, they say JL/sh, they sing to tlie clover deep
ira.s/i,

249

and heed

Iltish

't is

the lullaby

Time

is

singing

Jliish, and heed not, for all thlnfjs pass ; Iliish, ah hash ! and the Sojthes are svnnging

Over the

clover, over the grass

ANDREW LANG.

THE MOWEKS.
The sunburnt mowers
are in the swath

Swing, swing, swing!

The towering lilies loath Treml)le and totter and fall The meadow-rue
Dashes
its tassels

of golden

dew;
all

And
The

the keen blade sweeps o'er

Swing, swing, swing!

flowers, the berries, the feathered grass,

Are thrown
Hastens away
"With
lialf

in a

smothered mass;
;

And And
'i'lie

brown b(!('s hie; niciulow-lark shrieks distix'st, leaves the jioor younglings all in the nest
LIk;

butterfly tlicir l)urden tlic

th<;

daisies clasp ami

iail

And totters tlic .laeolTs-ladder tall. Weaving and winding and eur\ inglitho. O'er plumy liilloeks througii dewy hollows,

His subtle scythe

Tile nodding mf)W(M' follows

Swing, swing, swing!

250

DE^CRIPTIYE POEMS.
Anon, the chiming wlietstones ring
Ting-a-li)ig !

Hng-a-ling !

And

the

mower now

Pauses and wipes his beaded brow. A moment he scans the fleckless sky ; A moment, the fish-hawk soaring high

And

watches the swallows dip and dive Anear and far.

chatter and
strive

They whisk and glimmer, and

;

What

do they gossip together ?

!

Cunning fellows they are, Wise prophets to him " Higher or lower they circle and skim
Fair or foul to-morrow's hay- weather
Tallest primroses, or loftiest daisies. Not a steel-blue feather
!

"

Of slim wing grazes

" Fear not
!

fear not

"
!

cry the swallows.

Each mower tightens

And
The

his snath-ring's wedge. his finger daintily follows long blade's tickle-edge
;

Softly the whetstone's last touches ring

! ting-a-ling !

Ting-a-Ung Like a leaf-muffled bird in the woodland nigh.

Faintly the fading echoes reply
Ting-a-ling
"
! ting-a-ling !

Perchance the swallows, that flit in their glee. Of to-morrow's hay- weather know little as we " " Be it hidden in shower Says Farmer Russet. Or sunshine, to-morrow we do not own
!

To-day

is

ours alone

PLACES.
Not
a twinkle

251

we

'11

Avaste of the golden hour.

Gras^j tightly the

nibs

give

heel

and give
!

toe!
Lay a goodly swath, shaved smooth and low Prime is the day

Swing, swing, swing

"
!

Farmer Russet
Gray

is

aged and gray

as the frost, but fresh as the spring,

As

Straight is he the green fir-tree

And with heart most blithe, and He leads the row with his merry
"

sinews

lithe,

Come, boys
"While

strike
circle

up

scythe. the old song

we

around

The song we always

in haytime sing

And let the woods ring, And the echoes prolong

The merry sound
SONG.
"
!

July

is

just in the nick of time

(Hay- weather, hay- weather

;)

The midsummer mionth

all

the golden prime F(jr haycocks smelling of clover and thyme;

is

July

is

(Swint^ together!) just in the nick of time

Chorus.

O,

we'll

make our hay while the good suu

shines

No

waste not a golden minute shadow of storm ilm IjIuc arch lines;
'11
!

We

252

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
'11

We

waste not a minute not a minute For the west-wind is fair

O, the hay-day is rare is without a brown cloud in
!

The sky
June
is

it

too early for richest

hay

The But

(Fair weather, fair weather ;) corn stretches taller the livelong day grass is ever too sappy to lay
;

June

is

(Clip all together !) too early for richest hay.

's

August

that too far goes by ; (Late weather, late weatlier ;) Grasshoppers are chipper and kick too high And grass that 's standing is fodder scorched dry
!

month

;-

(Pull all together !) August 's a month that too far goes byl

July

is

just in the nick of time

(Best weather, best weather ;) The midsummer month is the golden prime For hayco(;ks smelling of clover and thyme ;

July

is

(Strike all together !) just in the nick of time

Still hiss

Shudder the

the scythes grasses' defenceless blades

!

The
And,

lily-throng writhes;

as a plialanx of wild geese streams, Where the sliore of April's cloudland gleams,

On

tlunr dizzy way, in serried grades

Wing on wing, wing on wing The mowers, each a step in advance

PLACES.
Of

253

his felloAV, time their stroke with a glance Of s\\'erveless force ;

far throiioh the
IS

And

meadow

leads their course

!

wing, swing, swing

MYROX

B.

BENTON.

CHATEAU PAPINEAU.
(afloat.)
I.

The

red-tiled towers of the old Chateau, Perched on the cliff above our bark. Burn in (he western evening glow.

The fiery spirit of Papineau Consumes them still with its fever spark, The red-tiled towers of the old Chateau
I

Drift by and mark liow bright they show. And liiiw the iiiullioiicd windows mark!

Burn

in tlic

western evening glow!

Diift down, or up, where'er you go. They flame from out (he distant ])ark,
rii

ic

red-tiled towers of the

(incc witli rriciid,
tlH'V

i-Id

Cliali au.

So was it Far oil"

Ilurn in

saw

tin-

with Inc; patriot's ark

tiic

western evening glow.

Tliiid< of liim

tliouglil bestow. As, blazing against the pine trees dark, T]u- red-tiled towers ol" the old ChAt.MU
I

now

One

Burn

in

the western evening glow

254

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
(ashore.)
II.

"Within this

charmM

cool retreat

Where bounty dwelt and beauty waits, The Old World and the New World meet.
Quitting the straggling village street,

Enter, passing the great gray gates, Within this charmM cool retreat.

Where thrives a Where vulgar

The Old World

garden, ancient, neat, noise ne'er penetrates. and the New World meet.

For mouldering vault and carven seat Tell us that France predominates Within this charmed cool retreat,

Though Canada be felt in beat Of summer pulse that enervates The Old World and the New World meet
:

In

dial, arbor, tropic heat.

Enter

And

note,

how

clear all states

That, in this

charmed cool retreat. The Old World and the New World meet.
III.

The garden

's

past.

'T

is

forest

now

Encircling us with leafy tide. Close clustering in green branch and bough.

So beautiful a wood, we vow, Was never seen, so fresh, so wide.

The garden

's

past,

't is

forest

now,

PLACE&.
'T
is

255

more,

't is

Canada, and

how

Should feudal leaven lurk and hide

Close clustering in green branch and bough ?

Quaintly the dial on the brow

Of yonder open glade The garden 's past, 't is

is

spied

forest

now,

Yet doth the dial straight endow The green with glamour undenied, Close clustering hi green branch and bough.
Such
relics

who would
's

disallow
;

?
;

We

pause and ponder

past,
't is

turn aside

The garden

Close clustering

now, green branch and bough.

IV.

forest

The

glint of steel, the gleam of brocade, "Monseigneur" up in his tarnished frame, A long low terrace, half sun, half shade
;

Tapestry, dusty, dim, and frayed, Fauteuil and sofa, a flickoring flame,

glint of steel, a

gleam

of brocade;

" jNtdme," on the wall as a roguish maid, Later some years as a portly dame.

The long low

terrace, half sun, half shade. "

!

Where " ^Idme.'s " ghost and " Monsieur's And play at omhre, their favorite game
The
glint of steel, the

parade

gleam of brocade,

Hang

over iiaU and balustrade.

Paceth a spectral peacock tame The long low terrace, half sun, Iialf shade.

25G

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Waketh a nightly serenade Where daylight now we see proclaim The glint of steel, the gleam of brocade, The long low terrace, half sun, half shade

The spell of Age is over all, The lichened vault, the massive keep, The shaded walks, the shadowy hall,

And
The The

mediseval mists enthrall

senses bathed in beauty sleep, spell of age is over all
!

No

marvel

if

a silken shawl

Be sometimes heard to trail and sweep The shaded Avalks, the shadowy hall.

No marvel if a light footfall Adown the stair be heard to

The
spell of

creep,

age

is

over

all.

A foot we

muse both arched and small, Doth often tread this terrace steep. Those shaded walks, this shadowy hall

foot as white as trilliums tall

hall.

Musing, the wall

we

lightly leap.
!

The spell of Age is over all The shaded walks the shadowy

S.

FKANCES HAEKISON

(Seranm).

PLACES.
IN MEXICO.
TiiR cactus towers, sti-ai<^ht and tall, Thi'oiigh tallow tields of chapparal;

257

Aud

here and there, in paths apart, dusky peon guides his cart, And yokes of oxen journey slow,

In Mexico.

And

oft some distant tinkling tells Of muleteers, with wagon bells That jangle sweet across the maize,

And

green agave stalks that raise Kich spires of blossoms, row ou row, In Mexico.
the whitened city walls

Upon

The golden sunshine softly falls. On archways set with orange trees, On jiaven coui-ts and balconies NN'here trailing vines toss to and fro.
In Mexico.

And
\Villi

p;i(i('iil

liltic

(htnkeys fare

I.kIcii

sa<ldle-bags,
n;irr(w
loiiiid

and bear
(|ii,iiii(

Througli

ways
with

Wreathed

\\ax('ii

lily

water-jars stars

And

scarlet

poppy-buds that blow,

hi

.Mexico.
iiKirc

^^'h('Il
'^riic

Iwiliglil

falls.

near and clear

blooniiiig limes

tender
Vll

S(tii( lieiii

skies appe;ir,
<('

An<l

<l<i\\ri

17

green slopes

258

DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.
Come cascades of cathedral chimes; And prayerful figures worship low,
In Mexico.

A
Of

land of lutes and witching tones,

onyx, opal stones; land, wherein all seems Enchanted into endless dreams;
silver,
laz}'

And

never any need they know, In Mexico,

Of life's unquiet, swift advance; But slipped into such gracious trance. The restless world speeds on, unfelt,
Unheeded, as by those who dwelt In olden ages, long ago. In Mexico. EVALEEN STEIN.

NARRATIVE POEMS.

NARRATIVE POEMS.
THE FALL OF
FROM THE
TTJOY.

" ,ENETD."

^XEAS, speahing to Dido^ Queen of Carthage.

Forward we
ing

fare,
l)}-

Called to the palace of Priam

tlie air.

war- shouts rend-

Here

of a truth raged battle, as

though no combats
all

beside

Keigncd elsewliere, no thousands about

died.

Ilion

ITore

we

In-lu'ld

in

liis

fury \\w Mar-pxl

t'ocnicu

the roof
Scaling,

the thrushijld Ijlockud with a

iicalhousc,

jav('lin-])roof.

Ladders rest
Stair

oiiUu.' walls,

armed warriors iliiubby

the door

upon

stair, left

hands, hj the airows round

thcui that jiour, Holding a Imcklcr, the battlement ridge in tlKMiglit

held

fast.

Trojans in turn wrench loose from the and tower

;

palai-e turn-t

Ketvdy with these, when the end seems death's dark hour
2Gi

\isilile,

2G2

NARRATIVE POEM^.
them now,

Closing around the last.

to defend their lives to

kings of the

Gilded rafters, the glory of Trojan

past,

ItoU on the enemy.

lire,

Others, with javelins flashing

Form

at the inner doors,

and around them

close

in a ring.

Hearts grow bolder within us to succor the

j)alace, to

bring

Aid

to the soldier,
inspire.

and valor

in

vanquished hearts to

There was a gate with a secret door, that a passage adjoined

Thridding the inner palace

hind.

postern planted bequeen, oft

Here Andromache,
alone,

ill-starred

entered

Visiting Hector's parents, the throne

;

when

yet they sate on

Oft to his grandsire with her the boy Astyanax led. Passing the covered way to the roof I mount overhead,

Where

lin

Troy's children were hurling an idle javeshower.

it

From

a turret rose, on the topmost battle-

ment height
stars, whence Troy and the and the white Dorian tents were wont to be seen in a happier

Raised to the

Danaan
hour.

ships

'

"With bright steel

we

assailed

it,

and where high

flooring of tower

GREECE.
Offered a joint that yielded,

263
it

we wrenched

loose,

and below
Sent
it

a-drifting.

It fell

with a thunderous crash

close

on the
again,

foe,

Carrying ruin

afar.

But the ranks

round us

Stones and the

ingly rain.

myriad weapons of war unceas-

Facing the porch, on the threshold itself, stands Pyrrhus in Ijright Triumph, with glittering weapons, a flashing mirror
of light.

As

to the light
fed,

some

viper,

on grasses poisonous

Swollen and buried long by the winter's frost in his

Ijed,

Shedding his weeds, uprises in shining beauty and

strength,
Lifts,

new-born, his bosom, and wreathes his

pery length.

slip-

High

darting flickering tongue,

sunliglit

to

the

three-forked

Periphas

Inigu

strides near,

and the

l)raye

Au-

tomedoii, long

Charioteer to Achilles, an arm()r-l)earer to-day.

All of the flower of Scyros beside him, warriors young. Crowd to the palace too, wliile flames on the battlement play.

Pyrrhus
Breaches

in

front

of

tlie

host, witli

a two-edged

ax(; in Ills liand.

tlic

stubborn doors, from tbu liinges rends

with his brajid

2G4

NARRATIVE POEMS.
timbers, heart of the oak

Brass-clamped
Strikes,

panel cleaves, to
for the

the

and

yawning chasm
is

sunlight

gapes at his stroke.

Bare to the eye

hall

the palace within

long vistas of
is

Open

the

inmost dwelling of Priam

all
:

seen of

them
day,

Bare the inviolate chambers

of kings of

an

earlier

And

they descry on the threshold the armed

standing at bay.

men

Groaning and wild uproar through the inner palace

begin
;

Women's

wailings are cloisters within.

heard from

the

vaulted

Shrieks to the golden stars are

rolled.

Scared
the
as

mothers in fear

Over

the

vast

courts

wander,

embracing

thresholds dear,

Clasping and

kissing the doors.

On

strides,

his father in might,

Pyrrhus

no gate can stay him, nor guard withstand him to-night Portals yield at the thunder of strokes plied ever
:

and aye Do\/n from the hinges the gates are flung on their
;

faces to
is

lie.

broken; the enemy's hosts stream inEntry wards and kill All in the van, each space with a countless soldiery
mi.

Not

so rages the river, tliat

o'l'r

its

barriers flows

ROME.
White
with

265
earth-built

mounds

foam, overturning the that oppose,

a

When

on

the fields as

mountain

it

rolls,

by

Mold, Sweeping to ruin the herd and the eyes did behold

meadow and

stall.

These

Pyrrhus maddened with slaughter

the
sill

and marked on

of the gate
I

Both the Atridae brethren.

sate,

saw where Hecuba

of

Round her

a hundred brides

her

sons,

saw

Priam with blood

Staining the altar-fires he had hallowed himself to
his god. Fifty his bridal chambers within,

each seeming a
dust
all lie

sweet Promise of children's children,

his feet
, !

in

at

Doors emblazoned with

barian gold,
Lie
in

spoils,

and with proud baryielil

the dnsl

Wlicre flames
!

passage,

Danaans hold

From
Translation of SIR

the Latiu of VIKCilL.

CHARLES BO WEN.

ITORATI rs AT
Lai;s I'oitsKNA
}^y (lie

THE

IMMlKiE.

{)i Clusiam, Nine (tods lu; swore

That
P)y

tJK! grcal Iionsc of T:ir<|iiin Slionld sMil'cr wrong no more.

tli(!

Nine (iods

lie

swon-

it,

And named

a trysting-day,

266

NARRATIVE
And

POEMfi.

bade his messengers ride forth, East and west and south and north,

To summon

his array.

East and west and south and north The messengers ride fast, And tower and town and cottage

Have heard Shame on the

the trumpet's blast.

false

Etruscan

Who
When
Is

lingers in his home, Porsena of Clusium

tjre

on

march

for

Rome

The horsemen and

Are pouring
in

the footmen

amain

From many a stately market-place. From many a fruitful plain, From many a lonely hamlet,
Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest hangs on the Of purple Apennine
:

crest

From lordly Volaterrse, Where scowls the far-famed hold

Piled by the hands of giants For godlike kings of old ;

From sea-girt Populonia, Whose sentinels descry

Sardinia's

snowy mountain-tops
;

Fringing the southern sky

From

the proud mart of Pisse, Queen of the western waves,

Where

Heavy with

ride INlassilia's triremes, fair-haired slaves

ROME.
From where sweet
Through
Clanis wanders

267

corn and vines and flowers,

C'ortona
lifts to

From where

heaven

Her diadem

of towers.

Tall are the oaks

whose acorns
rill
;

Drop

in

dark Auser's

Fat are the stags that champ the boughs Of the Ciminian hill Beyond all streams, Clitumnus
;

Is to the

herdsman dear

Best

of all pools the fowler loves

The great Volsinian mere. But now no stroke of woodman

heard by Auser's rill No hunter tracks the stag's green path Up the Ciminian hill
Is
;
;

TJnAvatched along ("litumnus Grazes the milk-white steer;

Unliarmed the water-fowl may dip

In the Volsinian mere.

The harvests

of Arretium,

This year, old This year, young

men

shall reap ; boys in Umbro

;

Shall [)lunge the struggling sheep And in the vats of Luna,

This year, the must shall foam

Round
There

till-

wliite feet of laugliiug girls

Whose

sires

have mavdicd
chosen

to

Rome.

b(; thii'ty

|iin|ih('t.s,

The wisest

of the laud.

Who

always by Lars I'orsena Both morn and evening stand.

IG8

NARRATIVE

POEHIS.

Evening and morn the Thirty

Have turned tlie verses o'er, Traced from the right on linen white

By mighty seers of yore And with one voice the Tliirty

;

"Go

answer given go forth, Lars Porsena, Go forth, beloved of Heaven

their glad
:

Have

forth,

Go, and return in glory To Clusium's royal dome,

And hang round

The golden

Nurscia's altars

shields of

Rome

"
!

And now

hath every city Sent up her tale of men

The foot are The horse

fourscore thousand, are thousands ten.

Before the gates of Sutrium Is met the great array

;

A proud
For
all

man was

Lars Porsena

Upon the trysting-day.

the Etruscan armies

Were ranged beneath his eye, And many a banished Roman, And many a stout ally
;

And

with a mighty following.

To join the muster, came The Tusculan Mamilius,

Prince of the Latian name.

But by the yellow Tiber Was tumult and affright

From all the spacious cliampaign To Rome men took their flight.

ROME.

269

A A

mile around the city

The throng stopped up

fearful sight
it

the

ways

was

to see

Through two long nights and days. For aged folk on crutches,

And women great with child, And mothers, sol>l)ing over babes
That clung
to

them and

smiled,

And

sick

men borne in

litters

And

High on the necks of slaves, troops of sunburned husbandmen With reaping-hooks and staves,
droves of nniles and asses
of wine,

And

Laden with skins

And endless flocks of goats and And endless herds of kine. And endless trains of Avagons,

sheep.

That creaked beneatli the ^\eight Of corn- sacks and of household goods, Choked every roai'ing gate.

Now,

fi'oni

Hk- rock T;u'i)eian,

Could the wan bnrghers spy

The

line of lila/.ing villages

ill

K'cd

llic

midnight sky.
of the City,

The Fathers
They
With
sat

all

night and day,

Foi- cviu-y lionr

some horseman carao

tidings of dismay.

To

eastwai'd and to westward

Ffavi!

Nor

spread tin; 'i'liscan bands, house, nor fence, nor dovecote

In Crustumerium stands.

?J0

NARRATIVE POEMS.
Verbenna down to Ostia Hath wasted all the plain Astur hath stormed Janiculum,
;

And

the stout guards are slain.

I wis,- in all the

Senate

There was no heart so bold But sore it ached, and fast it beat,

When
Up

that

ill

news was

told.

FortliAvith

up

rose the Consul,

;

rose the Fathers all

In haste they girded up their gowns, And hied them to the wall.

They held a

council, standing Before the River-gate Short time was there, ye well
;

may
:

guess,

For musing or debate.

Out spake the Consul roundly " The bridge must straight go down
For, since Janiculum is lost, Naught else can save the town."

Just then a scout came flying, All wild with haste and fear
"

To arms

to

arms
is

Sir Consul,

Lars Porsena

here."

On

the low hills to westward

fixed his eye,
saAV the

The Consul

And
And

swarthy storm of dust

Rise fast along the sky.

nearer fast and nearer
;

Doth the red whirlwind come And louder still, and still more loud.

From underneath

tliat rolling cloud,

ROME.
Is heard the trumpets' war-note proud,

271

the hum. more plainly Now through the gloom appears, Far to left and far to right,

The trampling and

plainly and

And

In broken gleams of dark-blue light, The long array of helmets bright,

The long array

of spears.

And

plainly and more plainly, Above that glimmering line,

Now

might ye see the banners

;

Of twelve fair cities shine But the banner of proud Clusium Was highest of them all, The terror of tlio Umbrian, The terror of the Gaul,

And plainly and more

plainly

might the burghers know. By port and vest, by horse and crest, Each warlike Lucumo There Cilnius of Arretium On his fleet roan was seen And Astur of the fourfold shield, Girt with the brand none else may wield Tohimnius with llie Ixdt of gold. And dark ^'(;rbr'nna from the hold
:

Now

By

reedy Thrasymcnc.

Fast by the royal standard,

O'erlooking
all

the war,
car.

Lars Porscua of Clusium

Sat in his ivory

272

NARRATIVE POEMS.
By
the right wheel rode Mamilius,

Prince of the Latian

name

And by

the left false Sextus, That wrought the deed of shame.

face of Sextus

But when the

Was

seen

among
the

the foes,
arose.

A yell
On

that rent the firmament

all

From

town

the house-tops was no

woman
hissed,

But spat towards him and

No child but screamed out And shook its little fist.

But the Consul's brow was

curses,

sad,

And the Consul's speech was low, And darkly looked he at the wall. And darkly at the foe
;

" Their van will be

upon us

Before the bridge goes

down

And if tliey once may win the What hope to save the town

bridge,
"
':'

Then out spake brave Tloratius, The Captain of the gate " To every man upon this earth
:

Death cometli soon or

late.

And how
Than

can

man

die better

For the ashes

facing fearful odds of his fathers

And

the temples of his gods,

for the tender

And

mother
rest,

Who

dandled him to

ROME.
And
for the wife who nurses His baby at her breast, for the holy

273

And
To

maidens

Who

feed the eternal flame,

save them from false Sextus That wrought the deed of shame

" Ilew

down the bridge, Sir Consul, With all the speed ye may
;

I,

with two more to help me, Will liold the foe in play.
:

In yon strait path a thousand May well be stopped liy three

Now who
And

will stand

on either
Mitli

liand,

keep the bridge

meV"

Then out spake Spurius Lartius, A Ramnian proud was he

:

"

Lo, I

Avill

stand at thy

riglit

hand,

And keep the bridge with thee." And out spake strong Ilerminius,
Of Titian
" I
\\ ill

l)lood

was he:
left side,

al)iil(!

on thy

And keep
'

the liridge with thee."

iroratius," (lUdlli

llic

Consul,

"As tliou saycst so let it b(\" And straight against that great array Went forth the dauntless three.
For Ivomans
in IJonKi's fpiarrcl

Spai'ed ueitlier land iior gold,

Nor

son nor wife, nor limb nor

I

life,

VH IS

In

lie brav(,'

days

of old.

274

NARRATIVE POEMS.
Then none was for a party Then all were for the state Then the great man helped- the
;

poor,
;

And

Then Then spoils were fairly sold The Romans were like brothers
:

the poor man loved the great lands were fairly portioned
!

In the brave days of

old.

Now Eoman
More

is

to

Roman

hateful than a foe, And the tribunes beard the high. And the fathers grind the low.

As we wax hot in faction, In battle we wax cold Wherefore men fight not as they fought
;

In the brave days of

old.

Now

while the three were tightening Their harness on their backs. The Consul was the foremost man To take in hand an axe
;

And

mixed with commons^ Seized hatchet, bar, and crow. And smote upon the planks above,
fathers,

And

loosed the props below.

Meanwhile the Tuscan army, Right glorious to behold, Came flashing l)ack' the noonday

light,

Rank behind

rank, like surges bright Of a broad sea of gold.

Four hundred trumpets sounded

A peal of

warlike glee,

ROME.
As that great host with measured tread, Aiid spears advanred, and ensigns si)read, Rolled slowly toward the bridge's head, AVliere stood the dauntless three.
The
three stood calm and silent,

27;-)

And looked ui)on the foes. And a great shout of laughter

From all the vanguard rose And foi'tli three chiefs came spurring
;

Before that deep array earth they sprang, their swords they drew. And lifted high their shields, and flew To win the narrow way.
;

To

Annus, from green Tifernum, Lord of the Hill of Vines; And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves Sicken in Ilva's mines And Pieus, long to Clusium Vassal in peace and war,
;

Who
The

From

led to fight his Umbrian powers that gray crag where, girt with towers, fortress of Xe(iuinum lowers

O'er the pale waves of Nar.

Stout Lartius hurled down Into the stream beneath

Annus
;

Herminiiis struck at Seius, And clove him to the teeth

At Picus brave
Darted one

Iloratius

fiery thrust,

And

the proud Umbriau's gilded Clashed in the Idoodv dust.

arms

27G

NARRATIVE POEMS.
Then Ociius of Falerii Rushed on the Roman And LauHulus of Urgo, The rover of the sea
;

three

And Aruns

of Volsinium,

slew the great wild boar, The great wild boar that had his den

Who

Amidst the reeds

of Cosa's fen,

And

wasted

fields,

and slaughtered men,

shore.

Along Albinia's

Herminius smote down Aruns Lartius laid Ocnus low Right to the heart of Lausulus rioratius sent a blow " fell " Lie pirate there," he cried, No more, aghast and pale. From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark The track of thy destroying bark
;
;
:

No more
Thy

Campania's hinds shall fly To woods and caverns, when they spy
thrice-accursed
sail

"
!

But now no sound

of laughter
;

Was

heard among the foes wild and wrathful clamor

all

From

the vanguard rose.

Six spears' length from tlie entrance, Halted that mighty mass. And for a space no man came forth

To win
But, hark

the nari'ow pass.

And

lo

the cry is Astur: the ranks divide ;

ROME.
And
the great lord of lAina
his stately stride.

277

Comes with

Upon

his

ample shoulders

Clangs loud the fourfold shield,

And in his hand he shakes the brand Which none but he can wield.
He

smiled on those bold Romans, smile serene and high

;

He eyed the flinching Tuscans, And scorn was in his eye.

Quoth
he,

"The

she- wolf's litter

;

Stand savagely at bay But will ye dare to follow. If Astur clears the way V "
Then, wliirling uj) his l)roadsAVord AN'ith lioth hands to tlic lieight, He rushed against Horatius,

And smote witli all his might. AVith shield and blade Horatius
Kight deftly turned the blow.

The blow, though The Tuscans To see the

turned,

came yet

too nigh

It missed his hclni, but

gashed

his thigh.

raised a joyful cry red blood tiow.

He reeled, and on Iferminius He leaiKMl one brcathiiig-siiace.

Then,
like a wild-cal

mad with wounds,

li.'lniet

Sprang

rigid
IcH'tii
;i

at Asl nr's face.

Through
So

and skull and

The

thrusl he s|icd, good swdTfl sbiod a Iiandbicadl

fierce
ilie 'i'usean's Jiead,

li

dut

J5ehind

278

NARRATIVE POEMS.
And
As
Far
the great lord of

Luna

Fell at that deadly stroke,

falls

on Mount Avernus

A
And
On

thunder-smitten oak.
o'er the crashing foi'est
;

The giant arms

lie spread the pale augurs, muttering low Gaze on the blasted head.

Astur's throat Horatius

Right firmly pressed his heel, And thrice and four times tugged amain, Ere he wrenched out the steel.

And

"

" the See," he cried, welcome,

!

What
To
But

Fair guests, that waits you here noble Lucumo comes next
taste our

Roman

cheer

"

at his
sullen

haughty challenge

murmur

ran.

Mingled with Avrath and shame and dread, Along that glittering van. There lacked not men of prowess,

Nor men
For
all

of lordly race, Etruria's noblest

Were round
But
all

the fatal place.

Etruria's noblest

Felt their hearts sink to see

the earth the bloody corpses. In the path the dauntless three ; And from the ghastly entrance. Where those bold Romans stood.

On

All shrank, like boys who, unaware, Ranging the woods to start a hare,

ROME.
Come
to the

270

mouth

of the

dark

lair

Where, growling low, a fierce old bear Lies amidst bones and blood.

who would be foremost To lead such dire attack But those behind cried " Forward " And those before cried " Back "
"Was none
;
!

And

l)ackward

now and forward

;

Wavers the deep array

And on
To

the tossing sea of steel and fro the standards reel,

the victorious trumpet-peal
fitfully

And

Dies

away.

Yet one man

for one

moment
;

Strode out before the crowd

Well known was he to all the three, And they gave him greeting loud
"

Now welcome, Now welcome

welcome, Sextus
to thy

home

Why

dost thou stay, and turn away Here lies the road to Rome."

Tlirico looked he at the city

Thrice looked he at the dead:

And thrice came on in fury, And thrice turned back in

dread;

And, whit(! with fear and hatred, Scowled at the narrow way

Where, wallowing in a pool The bravest Tuscans lay.

of blood,

But meanwhile axe and lever Have manfully been plied:

280

NARRATIVE POEMS.
And now
"

the bridge hangs tottering

boiling tide.
!

Above the

Come back, come back, Iloratius Loud cried the Fathers all,

"

"

Back, Lartius back, Ilerminius " Back, ere the ruin fall
! !

Back darted Spurius

Lartius,
;

feet

Herminius darted back

And, as they passed, beneath their

They But when they turned

felt

the timbers crack.

their faces,

And on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone.

They would have crossed once more ;
But
witli a crash like tlnnider

Fell every loosened beam,

And, like a dam, the mighty wreck Lay right athAvart the stream And a long shout of triumph Rose from the walls of Home,
;

As

to the highest turret-tops

Was
And
The

splashed the yellow foam.

like a horse

When first

unbroken. he feels the rein,

furious river struggled liard, And tossed his tawny mane,

And

burst the curb, and bounded, Rejoicing to be free

;

And

down, in fierce career, and Battlement plank and pier,

wiiirling

Rushed headlong

to the sea.

ROME.
Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind, Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. " Down with him " cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face

281

Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, " " Now yield thee to our grace
!

Round turned

he, as not deigning

;

Those craven ranks to see

Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus nauglit spake he But he saw on Palatinus The white porch of his home
; ;

And

he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome

Tiber
!

Father Tiber
the

To whom

Romans

pray,

Roman's life, a Roman's arms. Take thou in charge this day " So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed The good sword by his side,
!

And, with his harness on his back, PAuiged headlong in the tide.

No sovniil (if jiiy or sori'ow Was h(;ard fn^m citlicr bank.

But
friends

and

foes in (himb surprise,

Witli parted lips and straining eyes, Stood gazing wlicri* lie sank;

And when above

They saw

the surges

his crest appear.

282
All

NARRATIVE POEM 8.
Home And even
But
sent forth a rapturous cry, the ranks of Tuscany

Could scarce forbear to cheer.

fiercely

ran the current,

Swollen high by months of rain; And fast his blood was flowing,

And he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, And spent with changing blows And oft they thought him sinking,
But
still

again he rose.

Never, I ween, did swimmer, In such an evil case.

Struggle through such a raging flood Safe to the landing-place
;

But

his limbs

were borne up bravely

By the brave heart within, And our good Father Tiber

Bare bravely up his chin.
" Curse on
"

him

"
!

quoth

false Sextus,
?

Will not the

villain

drown

But
"

for this stay, ere close of

day
!

" should have sacked the town " Lars Heaven help him Porsena, quoth

We
"

And

bring him safe to shore

feat of arras

For such a gallant

Was

never seen before."

feels the

And now he

bottom

Now on dry earth he stands Now round him throng the Fathers
;

To

press his gory hands

ROME.
And now, with shouts and clapping, And noise of weeping loud, He enters through the River-gate,
Borne by the joyous crowd.

283

They gave him of the corn-land, That was of public right. As much as two strong oxen Could plough from morn till night And they made a molten image.

And set And there

To

it
it

up on
if

high,

stands unto this day

I lie*

witness

It stands in the

Plain for

all

folk to

Comitium, see,

Horatius in his harness, Halting upon one knee;

And underneath
In letters

is

written.

all of gold.

How
And

valiantly he kept the bridge In the brave days of old.

still his name sounds stirring Unto the men of Rome, As the trumpet-blast that cries to them To charge the N'olscian home; And wives still pray to Juno

For

l)oys

with hearts as bold

As

his wlio kept the l)ridge so well In the brave days of old.
in the ni^dits of winter,

And

W'licn the cold noi-th-winds blow.

284

NARRATIVE POEMS.
And
Is

the long howling of the wolves heard amidst the snow;

When
And

round the lonely cottage Roars loud the tempest's din,

the good logs of Algidus Roar louder j^et within
;

When
And

When
And

is opened, the largest lamp is lit the chestnuts glow in the embers,
;

the oldest cask

the kid turns on the spit

.

When
When

ypui^g and old in circle Around the firebrands close

And

the girls are weaving baskets, the lads are shaping bows ;

When
And

When
AVitli

goodman mends his armor, trims his helmet's plume the goodwife's shuttle merrily
the
;

Goes flashing through the loom weeping and Avith laughter

Still is

How

the story told, well Iloratius kept the bridge In the brave days of old.

THOMAS BABINGTOX, LOKD MACAULAY.

THOR RECOVERS
Wroth waxed

HIS

HAMMER FROM
flown.

THRYM.
Tlior, when his sleep was And he found his trusty hammer gone He smote his brow, his beard he shook,
;

The son

of earth 'gan

And this

the

first

round him look word that he spoke

XOfx'f^ELAND.
"

'285

Xow

listen Avliat

I tell

thee,

Loke
is

known, Xor in heaven al)Ove my hammer's gone." Their way to Freyia's bower they took, And this the first word that he spoke
:

Which

neither on earth below

"

Thou, Freyia,must lend a Avinged robe, To seek my hammer round tlie globe."

FREYiA sang.

"Thatshouldst thou have, though 'twere of And that, though 't^^cre of silver, liold."

gold,

Away

the winged robe sounds, flew Loke Ere he has left the Asgard grounds. And ere he has reached the .liitunheim bounds. High on a mount, in haughty state,
;

Tlirym, the king of the Thursi, sate For his dogs he was twisting collars of gold. And trinnning the manes of his coursers bold.
;

TuuYM

sang.
?

"How

fare the Asi

the Alfl liow

Why
"TU

com'st thou alone to Jotunheim

now

"

LOKK sang.
fare the Asi
;

the Alfi

mourn

Tlior's

hammer from

liim tlnm hast torn."

i'iii:\M

sang.

"T

lia\e 11h' 'I'liundcri'i's liaiuuicr

bound
;

Fathoms cigliL beneatii the ground With it shall Uf) on(! homeward tread.
Till

he liriug

me

Kreyia to siiare
;

my

Ix'il."

vVway Hew Lolce tlie winged robe sounds, Ere lie has let'l tlie .Fill imheini hounds.

286

NARRATIVE POEMS.
ere he has reached the

And And
"

Asgard grounds.
:

At Mitgard Thor met

crafty Loke,

this the first word that he spoke Have you your errand and labor done ?

Tell from aloft the course

you run
;

For, setting

oft,

And, lying

oft,

the story fails the lie prevails."

LOKE sang.
is past, mine errand I bring thine hammer, the giant king has Thrym With it shall no one homeward tread.

"

My

labor

Till

he bear him Freyia to share his bed."

Their way to lovely Freyia they took. And this the first word that he spoke
:

Now, Freyia, busk, as a blooming bride Together we must to .Jotunheim ride."

"

Wroth waxed Freyia with

All Asgard's hall

ireful look
;

with wonder shook

Her great bright necklace started mde " Well may ye call me a wanton bride,
If I

with ye to Jotunheim ride." The Asi did all to council crowd. The Asinise all talked fast and loud

This they debated, and this they sought, How the hammer of Thor should home be brought. Up then and spoke Heimdallar free. Like the Vani, wise was he
:

"Now

busk

Ave

Thor, as a bride so fair

Let him that great bright necklace wear

Round him

let ring the spousal keys.

And And

maiden

kirtle

hang

to his knees,
;

on his bosom jewels rare

THOMAS BAHINGTON, LORD MACAULAY

NORSELAXD.
And high and quaintly braid his hair," Wroth waxed Tlior witli godlike pride " Well may the Asi me deride, If I let me be dight as a blooming bride."
:

287

Then up spoke Loke, Laufeyia's son " Now hush this must be done: thee, Thor The giants will strait in Asgard reign.
:

If

thou thy

hammer

Then busked they Thor,

dost not regain." as a bride so

fair.

And

the great bright necklace gave him to wear. Round him let ring the spousal keys,

And a maiden kirtle hang to his knees, And on his bosom jewels rare And high and quaintly braided his hair.
;

then arose the crafty Loke, Laufeyia's son, and thus he spoke
"

Up

thy Together we must to Jotunheim w^end."

servant

steps will tend,

Now home

the goats togetlier hie

Yoked to the axle they swiftly fly. The mountains shook, tlie earth burned red, As Odin's son to Jotunheim sped. Then Thryn], the king of the Thursi, said
:

*'

Giants, stand n\) let the seats be spread Bring Freyia, Niorder's dangliter, down.
;

To .share my bed, from Noatun. With lioiiis all gilt each coal-black
Is led to
;

beast

deck the giants' feast wealth and jewels have T stored Large I lack but Freyia to grace my board." Betimes at evening they ai)proach('d.

And the mantling ah' the gianta broached. Tliu spou.su of Silia ate alono

288

NARRATIVE POEMS.
Eight salmons, and an ox full-grown, And all the cates, on which women feed And drank three firkins of sparkling mead.
;

Then Thrym,

"Where have
Ne'er saw
I

the king of the Thursi, said ye beheld such a hungry maid?

:

Nor drink so deep of Then forward leaned

bride so keenly feed, the sparkling mead."

And

the crafty Loke, thus the giant he bespoke " Naught has she eaten for eight long nights. So did she long for the nuptial rites."
:

He
"

But he

stooped beneath her veil to kiss, started the lengtli of the hall,

wiss

are the looks of Freyia so dire? It seems as her eyeballs glistened with fire."

Why

Then forward leaned the

crafty Loke, thus the giant he bespoke "Naught has she slept for eight long nights, So did she long for the nuptial rites."

And

Then

Who
"
If

in the giant's sister came, dared a bridal gift to claim

Those thou

rings of gold from thee I crave, fondness have, wilt all

my

All

my

love and fondness have."

:

Then Thrym, the king of the Thursi, said " Bear in the hammer to plight the maid
;

Upon her lap the bruiser lay, And firmly plight our hands and
The Thunderer's

fay."

soul smiled in his breast.

liis

When

th(^

haimner hard on

lap

was

placed.

Thrym tiist, the king of the Thursi, he slew And slauglitered all the giant crew.

He

slew that giant's sister old.

N0R8ELAND.
prayed for bridal gifts so bold money and rings, I wot, The hammer's bruises were her lot.
Instead of

289
;

Who

Thus Odin's son

From

his

hammer

got.

Uie Icelandic of

S.EMUND'S EDDA.
W. HERBERT.

Translatiou of

FRITIIIOF
KUUM
'T
IS

AT THE COURT OF ANGANTYR

TllK "

FKITHIOF SAGA," CANTO

tell

XI.

time to
earl,

how Angantyr,

The
High

was seated then

in his hall of stately fir, Carousing with his men.

Thence he surveyed, in merry mood. The day-car as it rolled

;

Now
.Ml

cleaving through the purple flood,

lilvc

swan

of gold.

The

\\iu(l()W near, a trusty

swain,
;

Old

Ilalvar,

kept good heed

One eye ui>on the foamy main. One on tlie frothy meatl.
Oft as
II(!

tlie

veteran's dole

({Uaft'cd till all \\as

,

came round, drawn

;

'J'lifn str;ii<;]it

witli

gravity

ihoi'iiuikI,

]{c])];icc(l

he
it

(.\!i;iust('il

lioni.

Now
"The
I

liiiilcd,

lidiiiidcd

(111

the

lloor,

A\'hilst loud tlic

Ijillows,

\\;ii'<lfi' ci'icil,

laboring towaid

tin; sliore,

sec a vessel ride.

]i;ile

Wrcslling with death,

rowers strain,

And now
Vll lU

they touch the land;

290

NARRATIVE POEMS.
ghastly forms, by giants twain, Are strewed along the strand."
chieftain o'er the glassy vale his hall on high :
is

And
The
"

Looked from

Yon pennon
Fl-ithiof, I

Ellida's sail
is

ween,

nigh.

That noble

port, that lofty brow, Old Thorsten's son declares Such cognizance, brave youth, as thou,
;

No

gallant

Northman

bears."

Swift from the bench, with maddening The Berserk Atle flew
;

air.

O'er whose gaunt visage, gore-stained hair sable horror threw.

" I haste,"

he roared, " intent to brave This sword-subduer's spell.

peace or truce ne'er deigned to crave,
tell."

Who

As vaunting rumors

Then twice six followers from the board Rushed forth with fierce delight They whirled the club, they waved the sword,
;

Impatient for the

fight.

Thus storming,

to the

Where
Seated,

Fj-ithiof

beach they hied, on the sand

by spent

Ellida's side,

Cheered his disheartened band.

Conquest," he 'gan, with thundering voice, " Were feat of light emprise, Yet generous Atl6 grants a choice,

Ere luckless Frithiof

dies.

NORSELAND.
For
Else
i)roffered peace deign once to sue, all umvont to plead,

291

Thy. steps, myself, as comrade true,

To yonder keep
"

will lead."
conflict fell

Though worn with

In
ire, tlie

and long,"

Bold replied, " Ere Frithiof wear a suppliant tongue.

Be the fresh battle tried." Then from each sunburnt warrior's The lightning flashes came,

steel

And

Angurvadel's runes reveal

fate, in

Dark

signs of flame.
hail.

Now

on their bucklers, showered like

;

clattering death-strokes l)eat at once, each shield's bossed mail cleft Till, Falls clanging at their feet.

The

Yet, proof alike 'gainst fear and ruth, They played the desperate stake ;

But keen was Angurvadel's

tooth,

And

Atl^'s falchion brake.

Said Frithiof, " Swordless foeman's Ne'er dyed this gallant blade So, list thee to prolong the strife,
:

life

Be equal war essayed." Like billows driven by autunm's blast,

The champions met and

closed;
fast,

In nuitual clutch locked firm und

Their steel-clad breasts op^msed.

They hugged like bears, that, wandering Meet on their clill' of snow;

free,

292

NARRATIVE POEMS.

Grappled like eagles o'er the sea, That frets its waves below. Such force had well-nigh torn the rock, Deep-rooted, from its bed And, shaken less, the iron oak
;

Had bowed

its

leafy head.

Big from their brows the heat-drops Cold heaves each laboring chest,

roll,

Touched by their tread, stone, bush, and knoll Start from their ancient rest.
wait Trembling, their sturdy followers

The

issue of the fray

And

oft shall

Northern

lips relate

The wrestling
'T
is o'er
;

of that day.

for Frithiof's matchless strength

Has

felled his

ponderous

size

And

'neath that knee, a giant length,

"
!

Supine the Viking lies. But fails my sword, thou Berserk swart The voice rang far and wide,
Its hilt

" Its point

should pierce thy inmost heart, should drink the tide."

"

Be free to lift the wcaponed hand," Undaunted Atl^ spoke,

brand Hence, fearless quest thy distant
:

Thus I abide the stroke To track Valhalla's path of

In arms immortal shine,

light.

My

destiny, perchance, this night,

To-morrow may be tbine!"

NORf^ELAND.
Nor Frithiof long delayed intent To close the dread debate,
;

293

His blade redeemed 'gainst Atl^ bent, And aimed the expected fate.

But reckless courage holds a charm Can kindred wrath surcease

;

This quelled his ire, this checked his arm. Outstretched the hand of peace.

The warder growled, and eyed

tlie

cheer,

Waving "But little

his staff of white

boots our l)an(|net here,

;

That Hildur's cates invite For you must stand the savoi-y meat Untouched in reeking row, For you these lips be parched with heat, llalvar his horn forego."

Now,

brotlKU's sworn, the former foes

Thive passed the spacious gate. Whose valves to Fritliiof's view disclose

Wonders
For
phiiiks,

of wealth
liis

and

state.

walls' rude vest, scant aid

To exclude
Berries of

the i)iercing cold.

o'erlaid,

Rich skins with glidoiiig flowers

])ciidi'iit

gold.

Nocciilral balflirc

in

Ihc hail
;

With stifling s]I('ii(lor slionc But glcnved \\ilhin tlic cun fiiird

wall

A
No

heart]

of polished sLone.

The

sooty clouds Ihc roof defaced. polished plank dislained

;

Glass neatly S(|uaii'ii (lie windows graced The door a lock restrained.

291

ISKIRRATIVE POEMS.
For torch
of pine, whose crackling blaze Diffused a flickering gleam,
silver shed, bright rays Rivalled the solar beam.

From branching

He saw

the table's ample sweep

larded hart adorn,

With

And

gold-hoof raised for menaced leap, leaf in grove of horn.

chief, serene,
;

Behind the seated

Appeared a virgin-form So locks the star of beauty's queen,

Soft, o'er a sky of storm. There nut-brown ringlets circling flowed There sparkled eyes of blue
;

And,

Small

as a flower 'midst runes, there lips of roseate hue.

glowed

High on a throne of ore-clad elm Sat Angantyr sedate

;

Bright as the sun his burnished helm,

As

bright his gilded plate.

His mantle, rich with many a gem, Strewed the bespangled ground ;

Along whose border's purple hem The spotless ermine wound.

He

strode three paces from the dais,

His gallant guest to greet. And led, with many a gracious phrase,

To
"

honor's nearest seat.

place a comrade's cherished
for Thorsten's son

What

name

Might ask

Is thine, brave

youth

the due of fame,

By

peerless valor won."

XORi^ ELAND.

295

Now

flagons from Sicilia's store

;

Their treasured nectar gave Not Etna's fire could sparkle more,

More

"Come, Be welcome pledged," he said, " And let the brimming goblet blend The living and the dead."

froth Charybdis' wave. pledge the memory of my friend,

"Whilst jest and social joys engage, Swift the night-watches fled
;

Freighted with mirth, not fraught with rage. The golden goblet sped health to Angantyr they shout,
;

And

the close of each regale Frithiof wears the winter out, Ere swells Ellida's sail. From tlie Swedish of ELIAS TEGNER. Tnuislation of WILLIAM STRONG.
:

At

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR.*

" Si'EAK
!

Who,

witli

Speak! thou fearful guest thy hollow breast

Still in

Comest

rude armor drcst, to daunt me

!

Wrapt not

in Eastern balms,
fleshless

But with thy

palms

Stretched, as if asking alms. " dost thou haunt me ?

Why

Then from those

cavcriMius eyes
rise.

Pale flashes seemed to

As when
Gleam
*
SupKestfiil

the Northern skies

in

December;

hy an armor-cljiil skelfton du;^ up at Fall Rivor, and in tlie ballad coiiiKcted with the old Kutnaii Towor at Newport.

29G

NARRATIVE POEMS.
And,
like the water's flow

Under December's snow, Came a dull voice of woe

From
"I

the heart's chamber.

a

was

Viking old

My

No No
Thou

deeds, though manifold, Skald in song has told,

Saga taught thee

Take heed that

in thy verse

dost the tale rehearse,

this I

Else dread a dead man's curse;

For

sought thee.

" Far in the Northern Land, By the wild lialtic's strand,

childish hand. the gerfalcon And, with my skates fast-bound, Skinnned the half-frozen Sound,
I,

with

my

Tamed

That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on.

*'

Oft to his frozen

lair

Tracked I the grisly bear. While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow Oft through the forest dark Followed the were- wolf's bark,
;

Until the soaring lark

Sang from the meadow.

But when I older grow, Joining a corsair's crew, O'er the dark sea I flew

"

With

the marauders.

XORI^ELA XD.
Wild was
the
life

29'
;

we

led

Many the souls that sped, Maii)^ tlie hearts that bled, By our stern orders.
out Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing,

"Many a wassail-hout Wore the long- Winter

As we

the Berserk's tale

Measured

in cups of ale, Draining the oaken i)ail

Filled to overflowing.
"

Once as

I told in

glee

Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me,

Burning yet tender

And as the white stars shine On the dark Noi-way pine, On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.

"I wooed the hlue-cycd maid.

And

Yielding, yet hall' afraid, in the forest's shade

Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest

Fluttered
Ii.r little breast.

Like

bii'ds

within

llieir

nest

IJy Die

li;i \\

k IVigbled.

"

Ih-igbl

ill

Iier Ijilliei's hall

Shields gleamed ii|k)1i (be wall. Loud sang the minslrcls all.

Chanting

bis glory

298

NARRATIVE POEM&.
When
I

of old Ilildebrand

asked his daughter's hand, Mute did the minstrels stand

To hear my story. While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed,

And

as the wind-gusts waft brightly,

of scorn,

The sea-foam
Out
of those

So the loud laugh

li])S

unshorn,

From

the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly.

She was a Prince's child, but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled,
I

was discarded

Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew's flight ?

Why

did they leave that night

Her nest unguarded ?

Scarce

had

put to

sea.

Bearing the maid with me, Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen
!

When

on the white sea-strand,

Waving his armM hand. Saw we old Ilildebrand, With twenty liorsemen.
'

Then launched they

to the blast,

Bent like a reed each mast. Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us

N0R8ELAND.
And with a sudden flawCame round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us.
"

299

And

as to catch the gale

Round veered
*
'
!

the flapping

sail,

Death was the helmsman's Death without quarter

' '
!

hail,

Midships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel Down her black hulk did reel
;

Through the black water

*'As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant,

Seeking some rocky haunt. With his prey laden, So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,

Through the wind hurricane.

Bore
I

the maiden.

" Three weeks

we westward
the shore
;

bore,

And

wlien the storm M-as

o'er.

Cloud-like

we saw

Stretchhig to leeward

There
Built

for

my

lady's

bower

I tlie
ti)

lofty tower.
this

Which,

very hour, Stands looking seaward.

"There lived \ve many years; Time dried tho niii idea's tears;

300

NARRATIVE POEMS.
She had forgot her fears, She was a mother Death closed her mild blue eyes ; Under that tower she lies Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another.
;

" Still

grew my bosom
a stagnant fen
!

then,

Still as

Hateful to

me were men,
hateful
!

The sunlight

In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear,

Fell I

upon my

spear,
!

Oh, death was grateful

*'

Thus seamed with many

scars.

Bursting these prison bars.

'

Up to its native stars My soul ascended

!

There from the flowing bowl

Deep drinks the

jSkoal/ to the Northland

warrior's soul, skoal f'

!

'

Thus the tale ended. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.

O'er a low couch the setting sun Had thrown its latest ray.

Where

in his last strong agf)ny

dying warrior lay, The stern old Baron Rudiger, Whose frame had ne'er been bent

GERMANY.
By wasting
"

301
toil

pain,

till

Its iron strength

time and had spent.

They come around me

My
That

days of
I shall

life

here, are o'er,

and say

And

lead

They come, To tell ]ne now, that I, Their own liege lord and master born, That I ha! ha, ! must die.

mount my nol)le steed my band no more and to my beard they dare

;

"Ami

wiiat

is

Death?

I 've

Before the Paynim spear Think ye he 's entered at my gate, lias come to seek me here ?
I've

dared him oft

met him, faced him, scorned him,

AVlien the light was raging hot,

I
'11
I "11 ])rave his try his miglit fear him not. and Defy,

power;

"IIo! sound the tocsin from

my

tower,

And
\i'ul

tire tlie

cuhH'i'in,

eacli retainer

arm with
;

speed,

Call every vassal in

Up

with

my

banner on the
the pditiil of

wall,

Tlir
'I'hrttw

b;in([iicl-l)(i;ii(l
\\\i\{'.

jire])are,

my

hall,

And biing my armor ihcre!"

hundi-cd hands were busy

tlii'ii,

The

hinKpict forth

was spread,

And rung the heavy oaken lioor With many a marli.U treail,
\Vhile from the rich, dnik tracery .Vlong the vaulted wall,

302

NARRATIVE POEMS.
Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear. O'er the proud old Gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate, The mailed retainers poured,

On through the portal's frowning arch, And thronged around the board.
While at its head, within his dark, Carved oaken chair of state.

Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, With girded falchion, sate,

" Fill every beaker up, men. Pour forth the cheering wine ;

my

and strength in every drop, Thanksgiving to the vine Are ye all there, my vassals true ? Mine eyes are waxing dim Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, Each goblet to the brim.
There
's life
!

Ye 're there, but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword, And let me hear your faithful steel
Clasli once

"

I hear

it

around my board Louder yet faintly

:

What
Up,
'

all,

and shout for Rudiger,

'
!

clogs

my

heavy breath
"

Defiance unto Death

to bowl,

Bowl rang

steel clanged to steel,

rose a deafening cry That made the torches flare around, And shook the flags on high " IIo cravens, do ye fear him ?
!

And

Slaves, traitors

have ye flown ?

GERMANY.
Ho
!

303

To meet him
" But

cowards, have ye left me here ahiiie ?

/defy him

let

him come

"
!

Down
Came

While from

rang the massy cup, its sheath the ready blade

;

And, with the

up and heavy plumes Scarce treu)hling on his head. There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, Old Kudiger sat, dead. ALBERT G. GREENE.
flashing lialf-way
])lack

THE XOliLEMAX AXD THE PEXSIONER.

"

Old man, God

sw'eetly
?

bless

you
!

does your pipe taste

l)eauty,

by

my

soul

A red-clay
What

fiowei'-pot, rinnned with gold so neatly ask you for the liowl? "

"O

sir,

that bowl
;

for

Avorlds

would not part

with

brave
it

Who won
At
"

now what think'

ah
!

man gave

it

me,

you?

of a bashaw
i

Belgrade's victory.
sir,

There,

there was booty wort)

the show-

Bong

life

to Prince

Eugene!

Like after-grass you might liave seen us Tile 'J'urkish ranks dcnvn clean."

mowing

"Another time

hear your story; Come, old man, be ni) fool

I

Ml

304

NARRATIVE POEMS.
And
let

Take these two ducats,

me have

gold for glory, " the bowl

!

" I

'm a poor churl, as you may say, sir; My pension 's all I 'm worth Yet I 'd not give that IjowI away, sir, For all the gold on earth.
:

" Just hear

now

Once, as

we

hussars,

all

merry.

Hard on the

foe's rear jiressed,

A
"

blundering rascal of a janizary Shot through our captain's breast.

At once across my horse I hove him, The same would he have done, And from the smoke and tunuilt drove him
Safe to a nobleman.
" I

nursed him, and, before his end, bequeathing His money and this bowl To me, he pressed my hand, just ceased his breathing,

And
"

so he died, brave soul

The money thou must

give mine host,

so thought
I

I-

Three plunderings suffered he And, in remembrance of my old friend, brought The pipe aAvay with me.
:

" Ilencefortli in all

campaigns with
;

me
it

bore

it,

In flight or in pursuit
It

was

a holy thing, sir, and T wore Safe-sheltered in my boot.

THE ORIENT.
"

305
sir,

This very limb,

I lost it

Under the walls

First at

of

by a shot, Prague
:

my

precious pipe, be sure, I caught,

sir,

And
"

then picked up

my

leg."
:

You move me even

AV'iiat

to tears, old sire

was the brave man's name

Tell me, that

And
"

I, too, may admire, venerate his fame."

They

called him only the brave Walter His farm lay near the Rhine."

"

God

bless

your old

e^'^es

't

was

my

father,

And
"

that same farm

is

mine.

Come,
11

friend,

you

've seen

some storm}' weather,

;

With me

is

now your bed

We
"

drink of Walter's grapes together, And eat of Walter's bread."

Now,

done
're

march

in,

then, to-morrow
;

You

his true heir, I see

And when
From

I die,

your thanks, kind master,

pipe shall
l)e."

The Turkish

the GernKva of

Translation

GOTTLIKB CONRAD PFEFFEL. of CIlAliLKS TIMOTIH lUiOOKS.

M.\^^T()T'T).

TiiERK came a man. makin;; his linsiy moan IJeforc the Sultan Malimoud on liis (hrone.

And And
"

rryinii' onl.
I

irill

.My sorrow is niy li^lil. see the Snltan. ;iih1 Io iii<;lit."

s:iid

Son-ow,"
VII

Malimoud,

"

is

a reverend thing;

iiO

30G

NARRATIVE POEMS.

I recognize its right, as king with king ; " fiend has got into house," Speak on." Exclaimed the staring man, " and tortures us,

my

One

of thine officers

lie

comes,

tlie

abhorred,

And

takes possession of
;

My

bed

And

have two daughters and a wife, the wild villain comes and makes me mad with
I

my

house,

my

board,

life."

now ? " said Mahmoud. " No he left The house when I did, of my wits bereft, And laughed me down the street, because I vowed
" Is he there
;

I 'd I

'm

bring the prince himself to lay him in his shroud. mad with want, I 'm mad with misery.
cries out for

And, O thou Sultan Mahmoud, God

thee
"
!

The Sultan comforted the man, and said, " Go home, and I will send thee wine and bread (For he was poor) "and other comforts. Go
;

"

And

should the wretch return,

let

Sultan

Mahmoud

know."

In three days' time, with haggard eyes and beard, And shaken voice, the suitor reappeared. And said, " He's come." Mahmoud said not a word. But rose and took four slaves, each with a sword, And went with the vexed man. They reach the
place.

And
That

hear a voice, and see a woman's

to the
in,"
tell

face,
:

Go

window fluttered in affright said Mahmoud, " and put out the
first to

light
;

But

the females

leave the

room

And when

the drunkard follows them,

we come."

THE ORTEXT.
The man went
in.

307

There was a
is

cry,

and hark
:

tal)le falls,

the

window

struck dark

Fortli rush the breathless

women, and behind

curses comes the fiend in desperate mind. In vain the sabres soon cut short the strife,
:

With

And chop
life.

the shrieking wretch, and drink his bloody

"

Now

light the light," the

:

Sultan cried aloud

was done he took it in his hand and bowed Over the corpse, and looked upon the face Then turned and knelt, and to the throne of grace Put up a prayer, and from his lips there crept Some gentle words of pleasure, and he wept.
'T
;

In reverent silence the beholders wait. Then bring him at his call both wine and meat And when he had refreshed his noble heart,
lie

bade his host be

blest,

and rose up

to depart.
tears,

The man

amaz-cd, all mildness

now and

with many prayers, And begged him to vouchsafe to tell his slave The reason first of that connnand he gave About the light then, when he saw the face,
Fell at the Sultan's feet
;

Wliy That

lie

knelt

down and
;

lastly,

how
him

it

was

fare so poor as his detained

said,

in the jDlace.

The Sultan
I

with a benignant eye,

tliy cry,

" Since first I

saw thee come, and heard

could not rid

me

of a (bead, that one

IJy

wliom

siicli

daring vilhinics were done

jMust be

some

loid of miiic,

ay,

e'en pcrliaps a
:

S07i.

For this I had the light put out but when I saw the face, and found a stranger slain, I knelt and thanked the sovereign Arbiter,

308

NARRATIVE POEM^.
I
;

had performed through pain and fear And then I rose and was refreshed with food, The first time since thy voice had marred my soli-

Whose work

tude."

LEIGH HUNT.

PRINCE ADEB.
In Sana, O, in Sana, God, the Lord, Was very kind and merciful to me Forth from the Desert in my rags I came, Weary and sore of foot. I saw the spires
!

And

swelling bubbles of the golden domes Rise through the trees of Sana, and my heart Grew great within me with the strength of God

And
I,

I cried out,

"

Now

shall I right

myself,
"

Adeb

the despised, for

God

is

just!

There he who wronged my father dwelt in peace, My warlike father, who, when gray hairs crept Around his forehead, as on Lebanon The whitening snows of Avinter, was betrayed

To

Imam, and his tented wealth from him, 'twixt the roosting of the cock Swept And his first crowing, in a single niglit: And I, poor Adeb, sole of all my race. Smeared with my father's and my kinsmen's blood,
the sly

Flod through the Desert, till one day a tribe Of hungry IJcdouins found me in the sand, Half mad with famine, and they took me up.

And made

me, a prince from them. All was fuliillcd at last. but my heart, In rags and sorrow. Nothing Like a strong swinnner, bore me up against
a slave of

me,of

I fled

THE ORIENT.
The howling sea of my At length o'er Sana, in
I stootl like a

309

adversity.

the act of swoop,

a crag.

young eagle on

The
I

traveller passed
for

me with

suspicious fear

nothing; I was not a thief. The lean dogs snuffed around me my lank bones, Fed on the berries and the crusted pools,

asked

Were
Called

a scant morsel.

Once a brown-skinned

girl

me

a little from the

common

path,

And

gave

me

figs

and
kiss,

bai-ley in a bag.

I paid Ixr

And And
I

with nothing more. she looked glad; for I was beautiful. virgin as a fountain, and as cold.
with a

Iler figs
foot

stretched her bounty, pecking like a bird and barley, till my strength returned.
ricii Sana lay beneath my eyes, was as tlie leopard's, and my hand
;

So when
j\Iy

As heavy

as the lion's brandished paw And underneath my burnished skin the veins And stretcliing muscles played, at every step,

In wondrous motion.
I l(;(jkcd

was very strong.

upon

my

Iody, as a bird

That
I,

Itills

his feathers ere he takes to flight,

;

watching over Sana. Then I i^rayed And on a soft stone, wetted in the brook,
(iroinid

(iod licai'd

my long knife; and (licii my voice;, ])rc])ariiig all

llic hills,

])raycd again

tor
I

mo,

As, softly skipping dow n

saw

The
III

mam's summer-palace
last
tiasli

all abla/.e

till'

of siiiiscl.

K\cry
(lie

loiiiit

Was
JJ()r('

spouting

liri',

and

all

the orange-trees

blazing coals, and from

sjjires

marble walls

Andgilde(l

and

eoliiiniis,

strangely wrought,

310

NARRATIVE POEMS.
light, until

Glared the red

my

With
I lay

the

fierce

splendor.

Till

eyes were pained the night grew

thick,

within the bushes, next the door,

a serpent, as invisible.

Still as

The guard hung round the portal. They dropped away, save one lone

Man by man
sentinel.
;

And on his eyes God's finger lightly fell He slept half standing. Like a summer wind
I stole

That threads the grove, yet never turns a from shadow unto shadow forth
;

leaf,

Crossed all the marble courtyard, swung the door Like a soft gust, a little way ajar, My body's narrow width, no more, and stood

in the painted hall. marvelled at the riches of my foe I marvelled at God's ways with wicked men. Then I reached forth, and took God's waiting hand
I

Beneath the cresset

And

over mossy floors. Flowered with the silken summer of Shiraz, Straight to the Imam's chamber. At the door
Stretched a brawn eunuch, blacker than my eyes His woolly head lay like the Kaba-stone In Mecca's mosque, as silent and as huge. I stepped across it, with my pointed knife
:

so he led

me

Just missing a

full

And, pushing by the

I,

Adeb the despised, upon the spot

vein along his neck, curtains, there I was,

all.

Tliat,
I

next to heaven, I longed for most of could have shouted for the joy in me.

Fierce pangs and flashes of bewildering light Leaped through my brain and danced before
eyes,

my

TEE ORIENT.
So loud

311
its

my

heart beat, that

;

feared

sound

Would wake the sleeper and the bubbling blood Choked in my throat till, weaker than a child, I reeled against a column, and there hung In a blind stupor. Then I prayed again And, sense by sense, I was made whole once more. I knew I was the same I touched myself
:

Myself to be lone Adeb, young and strong. With nothing but a stride of empty air Jk'tween me and God's justice. In a sleep, Tliick with the fumes of the accursed grape.

Sprawled the false Imam. On his shaggy breast. Like a white lily heaving on the tide Of some foul stream, the fairest woman slept These roving eyes have ever looked upon.

Almost a

child, her

bosom barely showed

;
;

The change beyond her

Were

gh'lhood. All her charms half opened for I saw l)udding, but
itself.

Not only beauty wondrous in But possibility of more to be

In the
full

process of her blooming days. I gazed \\\n)n her, and my heart grew soft, As a parched pasture with tiie dew of heaven.

While thus I gazed she smiled, and slowly raised The long curve of her lashes; and we looked Each ujjon each in wonder, not alarm, Not eye to eye, but soul to soul, we held Each other for a moment. All her life Seemed centred in tlu; circle of her eyes.

She stirred no limb JK.'r long-drawn, equal breath Swelled out iind ebbed away beneath her breajst, Not a sign of fear In calm unbroken. Touched the faint color on her oval cheek,
;

312

NARRATIVE POEMS.
of her tender
vision,

mouth. and she lay With her sleep's smile unaltered, as in doubt Whether real life had stolen into her dreams,

Or pinched the arches

She took me for a

Or dreaming stretched into her outer life. was not graceless to a woman's eyes.

Tlie girls of Damar paused to see me pass, walking in rags, yet beautiful. One maiden said, " He has a prince's air " I am a prince ; the air was all my own.
I

my

So thought the

lily

on the Imam's breast ;

mist, that lifts

And

lightly as a

summer

Before the morning, so she floated up.

Without

a sound or rustle of a robe,

From
With

her coarse pillow, and before me stood asking eyes. The Imam never moved.

A
I

stride

and bloAv were

in

all

my
I

Were wholly

my

power.

need, and they took her hand,

held a Wiirning finger to my lips, in her small, expectant ear, " " She replied Adel), the son of Akem

And whispered

In a low murnnu- whose bewildering sound

lulled wakeful me to sleep, and sealed " sleeper's lids in tenfold slumber, Prince, Lord of the Imam's life and of my heart.

Almost

The

Take all thou seest, But spare the Imam

arrayed me Shining with gold and jewels and I l)ou]id In my long turban gems that might liave l)ought The lands 'twixt Babelmandel) and Sahan. I girt about me, with a blazing belt,

Then

it is thy right, I knoAV, for thy own soul's sake " in a r()l)e of state.
!

scimitar o'er which the sweating smiths

THE ORIENT.
Damascus luuiiuiered fur long years, hilt and scabbard shot a trembling light From diamonds and rubies. And she smiled,
In far

313

Wlu.sc

As To
I

piece by piece 1 put the treasures on, in pride she smiled. see me look so fair, at my side. I scooped, lunig long purses

From ott' a table, tigs and dates and rice, And bound tlieni to my girdle in a sack.
Then over
all
I

Hung

snowy

cloak.

And

l)i'ckonc<l to tiic

maiden.

So she

stole

Forth like my shadow, past the sleeping wolf ^Vho wronged my father, o'er the woolly head Of the swart eunuch, down the painted court,

And by

the sentinel

who

standing slept.

Strongly against the portal, through my rags, My old base rags, and tlnough the maiden's veil, T pressed my knife, upon the wooden hilt

Was In my
MV)

"

long slavehood, as a passing sign

Adeb, son of Akem," carved

Ijy

me

wait the Imam's waking. Shadcjws cast From two high-sailing clouds upon the sand
I'assed
ii<>t

more

noiseless than

we

t\\(),

as one,

(llided l)eneath the mooidight,

till I

smelt

The fragrance of the stables. As I slid The wide doors open, with a sudden bound
Uprose the startled horses: but
Still

tliey

stood

as the

man who

in a foieign land

Hears his si range language, when my Desert call. As low and jihiintive as the nested dove's. From stall to stall. Fell on lliiir listening ears.
Feeling
I
I

hi-

horses with

my

groping hands,
I

crept

I'jx)!!

eaiiie darkness; and at length rounded whose sister mares two sides.
in

314

NARRATIVE

P0E3IS.
ears,

Fine muzzles, and small heads, and pointed

And

foreheads spreading 'twixt their eyelids wide, Long slender tails, thin manes, and coats of silk,

hundred steeds there stalled, treasures. O'er and o'er My I felt their bony joints, and down their legs no blemish anywhere To the cool hoofs These 1 led forth and saddled. Upon one
Told me,
that, of the

hand was on the

I set the lily,

gathered

now

for me,

own, henceforth, forever. So we rode Across the grass, beside the stony path,

My

Until

we gained

Leading from Sana,

the highway that is lost, in the eastern sands

:

When, with

Knew

a cry that both the desert-born without hint from whip or goading spur,
.

"We dashed into a gallop. Far behind In sparks and smoke the dusty highway rose And ever on the maiden's face I saw.

When
It

upon it, the strange smile Once I kissed her mouth When she grew weary, and her strength returned. All through the night we scoured between the hills: The moon went down l)eliind us, and the stars Dropped after her but long before I saw
the
flashed

moon

wore on waking.

planet blazing straight against our eyes. The road had softened, and the shadowy hills

Hnd

flattened out, and I could hear the hiss Of sand spurned backward by the flying mares. I was at home again Glory to God The sun rose on us far and near I saw The level Desert; sky met sand all round.
! !

We

And

paused at midday by a palm-crowned well, ate and slumbered. Somewhat, too, was said

THE OR I EXT.
The

315

We

Avords have slipped my memory. That same eve rode sedately through a Hamoum camp,

I, ^Vdeb, prince amongst them, and my l)ride. And ever since amongst them I have ridden, A head and shoulders taller than the best And ever since my days have been of gold, My nights have been of silver, God is just GEORGE HENRY BOKER.
;

THE LEPER.
"Room
for the leper
!

The cry passed on, room "

!

room
"

"
!

And
for

as he

came
!

Room

the

leper

And

aside they stood,

Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood, all Who met him on his way, and let him pass. And onward through the open gate he came, A le])er with the ashes on his brow. Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip A covering, stepping painfully and slow,

And with a difficult utterance, like one Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down,
Crying,

"

Unclean

unclean

"
!

Day was breaking

When
The

at the altar of the temple stood holy priest of God. The incense-lamp

light, and a low chant Swelled through the iiollow arches of tliu roof, Like an articulate wail, and there, alone,

Burned with a struggling

Wasted

to ghastly thinness, Ilelon knelt.

o KJ

NARRATJVI^ POEMS.
of the in the distant aisles,

The echoes
Died

melancholy strain and he rose up, with Struggling weakness, and bowed down his head

ashes, and put off raiment for the leper's garb, costl)' And with the sackcloth round him, and his Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still,

Unto the sprinkled

His

lip

Waiting
"

to hear his

doom

Depart

depart,

child

Of Israel, from the temple of thy God, For he has smote thee Avith his chastening

rod,

And From all

"

to the desert wild

That from thy plague

!

thou lov'st away thy feet must flee, his people may be free.

Depart and come not near The busy mart, the crowded city, more; Nor set thy foot a human threshold o'er
stay thou not to hear Voices that call thee in the way

And
all

and

fly

From
"

who

in the wilderness pass by.

Wet not thy burning lip In streams that to a human dwelling glide
Nor
rest thee

wherethe covert fountains

hide.

Nor kneel thee down to dip The water where the pilgrim bends

to drink.

By
Thi^

desert well, or river's grassy brink.

"And

And Where human

pass not thou between weary traveller and the cooling breeze, li(^ not down to sleep beneath the trees
tracks are seen
;

THE ORIENT.

317

Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain Nor pluck the standing coin or yellow grain.
"

And now
heart
is

Thy
Lift

depart and wlien heavy, and thine eyes are dim,

!

up thy prayer beseechingly

to

Him

Wlio, from the tribes of men, Selected thee to feel his chastening rod.

Depart

leper

and forget not God

!

"
!

And

he went forth alone not one of all The many mIioih he lov('(l, nor she whose name "Was woven in the fibres of the heart Breaking A^'ithin him now, to come and sjieak Comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way,
Sick and heart-broken and alone, For God had cursed the leper
!

to die

Tt was noon, .\nd Ilelon knelt beside a stagnant pool In the lone Avilderness, and bathed his brow, Hot with the burning lei)rosy, and touched

The

loatlisome water to his fevered

blest,

Praying that he might be so

Footsteps approa(bc<l,
flee,
:in(I,

to die!
lij),

iijis,

wiih no strength to

He drew
Of
till'

" Crying, T'nclean

the covering closer on his " uncluan ami

!
I

in

the folds

He

coarse sa(;kcloth shrouding U[) his face, fell upon Uk; earth till they slioiild jkiss.
tlie

Nciircr

stranger
"'

ciinic,

and, licnding o'er

Tlic Icpi'i's
"

|)ii)strat(! I'oiiii,
-

HeU)n
rich

pidnoiiiKcd his nauic. the voici; was like Ihr niastcr-tonc

Of a

Ami

ills! nniiciit, most sliangcly sweet; the dull pulses of disease awoke.

318

NARRATIVE POEMS.
beat beneath the hot

And for a moment And leprous scales

"

with a restoring

thrill,

Helon

arise

"
!

and he forgot

his curse,

And rose and

stood before him.

Love and awe

Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye As he beheld the stranger. He was not In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow The symbol of a princely lineage wore No followers at his back, nor in his hand Buckler or sword or spear, yet in his mien Command sat throned serene, and if he smiled,
;

The

kingly condescension graced his lips lion would have crouched to in his

lair.

His garb was simple, and his sandals worn ; His stature modelled with a perfect grace ; His countenance, the impress of a God, Touched with the open innocence of a child; His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky In the serenest noon his hair unshorn
;

Fell to his shoulders

and his curling beard

The

fulness of perfected

manhood

bore.

He looked on Helon earnestly awhile, As if his heart was moved, and, stoojiing down, He took a little water in his hand And laid it on his brow, and siiid, " Be clean " And lo the scales fell from him, and his blood
!
!

Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins, his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow The dewy softness of an infant's stole. His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down Prostrate at Jesus' feet, and worshipped him.

And

NATHANIEL PARKER

AVII.LIS.

THE ORIEST,

319

ERMINIA AND THE WOUNDED TANCRED.

"Though
gone, though dead, I love thee
:

still

be-

hold

Death wounds but kills not love yet if thou live, Sweet soul, still in his breast, my follies bold Ah pardon, love's desires and stealth forgive Grant me from his pale mouth some kisses cold,
:

And of Let me

Since death doth love of just reward deprive, thy spoils, sad death, afford me this,

his mouth, pale, cold,

and

bloodless, kiss.

"O

kind and sweet gentle mouth! with speeches Thou didst reliov^e my grief, my woe, and pain;

Ere

from this frail body fleet. Ah, comfort me with one dear kiss or twain Perchance, if we alive had happed to meet, They had been given which now are stolen

my weak

soul

oh

vain,

feeble
let

life,

betwixt his
first,

lips

out
let

fly

Oh,

me

kiss thee

then

me

die

'Receive

my
it

Guide
This
said,

to

yielded spirit, and with thine heaven, where all true love hath

place."

And from
face.

she sighed and tore her tresses fine, her i^yes two streams poured on his

Tlie man, revived with those showers divine, Awaked, and opened his lips a space
;

His

lips

were opened, but

fast shut his eyes,

t'loiu

And

with her sighs one sigh

him uplHes.

320

NARRATIVE POEMS.
that Tancred breathed and
sight,

The dame perceived

Wliich calmed her grief some deal and eased her

fears " " Unclose thine eyes (she
:

"

says),

my

lord and

knight.

See See

my

last services,

my

plaints,

and

tears

lier

that dies to see tliy

woful plight,

That of thy pain her part and portion hears Once look on me small is the gift I crave, The last which thou canst give, or I can have."
:

Tancred looked up, and closed his eyes again, Heavy and dim and she renewed her woe. Quoth Vafrine, " Cure him first and then complain Medicine is life's chief friend, plaint her worst
;

foe."

They plucked
Each
joint,

his armor and sinew

off,

felt

and she each and handled

vein.
so.
;

And

searched so well each thrust, each cut

skill

and

wound. That hope of life her love and

soon found.

From

weariness and loss of blood she spied

His greatest pains and anguish most proceed. Naught but her veil amid those deserts wide She had to bind his wounds in so great need:
liut love could other

bands (though strange) pro;

vide,

And
For She

pity

witli lier

tied

wept for joy to see that deed amber locks, cut oft", each wound O happy man, so cured, so bound
!

For Avhy

her

veil

was short and

roll,

tliin,

those deep
:

And

cruel hurts to fasten,

and bind

^PAIN.
;

321

Nor salve nor simple had she yet to. keep Her knight alive, strong charms of wondrous kind She said, and from him drove that deadly sleep.
That now his eyes he lifted, turned, and twined, And saw his squire, and saw that courteous dame
In habits strange, and wondered whence she came.

He said, " O Yafrine, tell me whence com'st And who this gentle surgeon is, disclose."

thou.

She smiled, she sighed, she looked she wist not how. She wept, rejoiced, she blushed as red as rose
:

"

You

shall

know

all

"

(she says)

"
;

your surgeon

now Commands your silence, rest, and soft repose; You shall be sou'i.d, prepare my guerdon meet."
His head then laid she
in

her bosom sweet.

From

the Italian of

TORQUATO TASSO.

Translation of

EDAVARD FAIRFAX.

ALONZO THE 15KAVE AND THE FATU

IMOGINE.

Aiti:int

so bold, and a virgin so bright.

;

Conversed as they sat on the green They gazed on each otluT w iih Icnch-r delight
Alon/i) the IJrave

was the

ikuiic of ihc

knighi,-

The
"
.\ii(l
<

maiden's, the Fair Imogine.

),"

said tlic youth, " since to-nioiiow

in

go

To
Some

light

u far distant land,

^'nur tears for

my absence

soon ceasing to How,

:inil
\iiii
1

othei- will couil you,

will l)est(tw
''

On
VII

a wealthier suitor \<iur

hand

21

822
"

NARRATIVE
0,

POEM(^.
Imogine
said,

hush these suspicions," Fair " Offensive to love and to me ;

For,
I

if you be living, or if you be dead, swear by the Virgin that none in your stead Shall husband of Imogine be.

" If e'er

lust or by wealth led aside. the Brave, Alonzo Forget my God grant that, to punish my falsehood and pride. Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my side, May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride,
I,

by

And
To

bear

me away

to the grave

"
!

Palestine hastened the hero so bold, His love she lamented him sore
;

But

scarce

had a twelvemonth elapsed when,

!

be-

hold

A baron,

all covered with jewels and gold, Arrived at Fair Imogine's door.

His treasures, his presents, his spacious domain, Soon made her untrue to her vows He dazzled her eyes, he bewildered her brain He caught her affections, so light and so vain. And carried her home as his spouse.
;

And now had

priest
;

the marriage been blest by the

The revelry now was begun The tables they groaned with the weight
:

of the

feast.

Nor yet had

When

the laughter and merriment ceased. the bell at the castle tolled one.

SPAiy.
Then
first

323

with amazement Fair Imogine found

:

A
His

air

stranger was placed by lier side was terrific lie uttered no sound,
;

He spake

not, he moved not, he looked not around,

But earnestly gazed on the

bride.

His visor was closed, and gigantic his height, His armor was sable to view All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his
;

sight

The dogs, as they eyed him, drew back in affright The lights in the chamber burned blue
!

His presence

all

The guests

sat in silence

bosoms appeared to dismay and fear

At

length spake the bride,

while

she trembled,

"I

I'l-ay,

Sir knight, that your helmet aside you And deign to partake of our cheer."

would lay

The

lady

is

silent

the stranger complies

;

His visor he slowly unclosed

O God

what

a sight

What words can express

When

a skeleton's

met Fair Imogine's eyes her dismay and surprise, head was exposed

All prosont then uttered a tcniliiil shout, All turned with disgust from the scene;

The worms they

crept

in,

and the worms they

And

crept out. sported his eyes aixl his tcinidcs about,

the spectre addressed Imogine:

While

324
" Behold
"

NARRATIVE POEM^.
me, thou false one, behold
the Brave
!

me

"
!

he

cried,

Remember Alonzo
to

punish thy falsehood and pride. My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride,

God grants that,

And

bear thee away to the grave

"
!

Thus saying his arms round the lady he wound, While loudly she shrieked in dismay Then sunk with his prey through the wide;

yawning ground, Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found. Or the spectre that bore her away.

Not long

lived the baron

and none, since that

To presume For chronicles tell that, l)y order sublime. There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime, And mourns her deplorable doom.
;

time. inhabit the castle

At midnight,
sprite,

four times in each year, does her

When

mortals in slumber are bound,

Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white. Appear in the hall with the skeleton knight,

And

shriek as he whirls her around

of skulls

While they drink out

the grave,

newly torn from

;

Dancing round them the spectres are seen is blood, and tljis horrible stave howl "To the health of Alonzo the Brave, They
Their liquor
:

And

his consort, the Fair

Imogine JMATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS.

I

"

SPAIN.

321

THE BROKEN PITCHER.

It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well, And A\'liat tliat maiden thouglit of, I cannot, cannot
tell.

by there rode a valiant knight, from the town Oviedo Alphonso Guzman was he hight, the Count of
of

When

Desparedo.
Avhy sitt'st thou by the spring? Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing ? gazest tliou npou mo, with eyes so large and
!

"

maiden, Moorish maiden

Why
And

wide. wlierefore doth the pitcher

side
?

lie

"

broken by thy

" I do not seek a lover, thou Christian kniglit so gay,

]5ecause an

ai-tielo

like that

hath never come

my

way

Jiut wliy I gaz(! ujioii you, T eainiot, caiuioi tell, Except that in your iron hose you look unconnnon

swell.

"3Iy

iiitclirr it is Ijrokeii,

and

this tlu; reason

is

A
I

slu'pjicid

came behind me, and

tried to snalcli a

kiss

would not stand

s])oke,

his nonsense, so ne'er a

word
jiig

But scored
broke.

hitu

on the costard, and so

(lie

was

"3Iy

uncle, the

Alcayd^,

lie

wnils for
unlil

And

will not take his

tiiinlilci-

home, /orayda come.

me

at

326

NARRATIVE POEMS.
him
water,

I cannot bring

the pitcher
it,

is

And
"

so I'm sure to catch

nieces."

'cos

he wallops

in pieces 5 all his

maiden, Moorish maiden

wilt thou be ruled

by

me

So wipe thine eyes and rosy

kisses three
;

lips,

and give me

And
To

give thee teous lady,

I'll

my

helmet, thou kind and courto thine

carry

home

the water

uncle,

the

Alcayd^."

He

lighted a tree

down from

off his

steed he
and took

tied

him

to

He bowed him
three
"

to the maiden,

his kisses

To wrong
a sin
!

thee, sweet Zorayda, I "

swear would be
his hel-

He

knelt

him
in.

at the fountain,

and dipped

met

Tip rose the Moorish maiden she steals,

Ijehind

the knight

And

caught Alphonso
heels
;

Guzman up

tightly

by the

She tipped him

"

in,

and held him down beneath the

bubbling water, Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's daughter "

Christian maid is weeping in the town of Oviedo She waits the coming of her love, the Count of
;

Desperedo.

FRANCE.
I pray

327

How

you all in charity, that you will never tell he met Moorish maiden beside the lonely well WILLIAM JSDMONSTOUNE AYTOUif.

THE BALLAD OF GUIBOUR.

FROM
"

CALENDAU."

At

Aries in the Carlovingian days, By the swift Rlione water,

side.

hundred thousand on either

Christian and Saracen, fought till the tide Ran red with the slaughter.

May God

forefend such another flood

!

Of direful war The Count of Orange on that black morn

By

seven great kings was overborne,

And
Wherias
lie

fled afar,

would avenge the death

his

Of

nephew
:

slaiu.

Now
He
Hu

are the kings upon his trail ; slays as he flies like fiery hail

His sword-strokes
hius

rain.

him

into the Aliscamp,

No

shelter there
is

Moorisli hi\e

the
liis

home

of tlic dead,

And

hard

lie

spurs
liis

goodly steed

In

despair.

Over the

iiKjuntiiin

and om-v the moor

(Juillanine;

Flies

Count

By sun and by moon

he ever sees

328

NARRATIVE POEMS.
;

The coming cloud of his enemies Thus gains his home.

Halts and
lifts

at the castle gate

mighty cry, Calling his haughty v/ife by name " Guibour, Guibour, my gentle dame,
;

Open
"

'T

is I

Open the gate

Ta'en
is

to thy

Guillaume

the city

thirty thousand Saracen, Lo, they are hunting me to my

By

den

Guibour, have pity

"
!

But the countess from the rampart

"
;

cried,

Nay, chevalier, I will not open my gates to thee For, save the women and babes," said she,
" "

Whom

I shelter here,

And

My
Are
"

who keeps the lamps alight. Alone am I. brave Guillaume and his barons all
the priest
fighting the

Moor by
fly
!

the Aliscamp wall,

"

And

scorn to

Guibour, Guibour, it is I myself And those men of mine

"

(God rest their souls !) they are dead," he cried, Or rowing with slaves on the salt sea-tide.
I

have seen the shine

;

"

fire in tlie dying day have heard one shriek Go up from all the arenas Avhere

Of Aries on
I

FRANCE.
The nuns
disfigure their bodies fair

329

Lest the Marran wreak

"His

brutal will.

Avignon's
!

self

to-day Sweetheart, I faint oh, let me in Before the savage Mograbin

;

Will

fall

Fall on his prey

"
!

"I

swear
"

tliou liest," cried

Guibour,
!

Thou base

deceiver

Thou

Who

art perchance thyself a Moor wliinest thus outside my door

]\Iy

Guillaume, never
to look

on burning towns by f/iee ! Guillaume to see his comrades die, Or borne to sore captivity.

"

Guillaume

And

fired

And "He knows

then to flee!

Where
"^riic licatlit'ii 'J'lic

not flight others

s|i(iil('r"s

He
fly
!

is

a tower

doinii is sure,

vii'gin's lioiior

aye secure,
l)y!"

When
("luilliiuiiK;

he

is

leapt up, his bridle set

tectli,

llctwcen his
Wliilc
Icai's of love;
Ills l)uriiiiig

and (cars of shame

eyelids came,
l)realh.

Und(n'

And hard drew

330

NARRATIVE
seized his

POEMfi.
his spurs

And

sword and plunged

Riglit deep, and so storm, a demon, did descend

To

roar and smite, to rout and rend

The Moorish

foe.

As

wlien one shakes an ahnond-tree,

Tlie heatlien slain

Upon the tender grass fall thick. Until the flying remnant seek
Their ships again.

Four kings with

his

own hand he

slew,

And when

once more
fight,

He turned him homeward from the Upon the drawbridge long in sight
Stood brave Guibour.
"

By

the great gateway enter My lord " she cried ;

!

in.

And might no
But

further welcome speak. loosed his helm, and kissed his cheek, With tears of pride. From the Provencal of FREDERIC MISTRAL. Translation of HARRIET WATERS PRESTON.

THE GLOVE AND THE

King Francis was a hearty
sport,

LIONS.

king,

and loved a royal

And one

day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court.

FRANCE.
The nobles
filled

331

the benches, with the ladies in

their pride,

And
And

'ni(>nj;st

them sat the Count de Lorge, with

he sighed
:

one for
truly
't

whom

was a gallant thing

to see that crown-

ing show,

Valor and

love,

and a king above, and the royal

beasts below.

Ramped and

roared the lions, with horrid laugh-

ing jaws;

They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paAvs; With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled
on
Till
all

ftuf

another.

the pit with sand Ihundci'ous smother;

the

and mane was

in

The bloody foam above the bars came whisking

tliroiigli
ail*;

Said

''Faith, better here than there."

llien,

Francis

gentlemen,

we're

De

Lorge's love o'erheard the King, a beauteous

liv('l_\ (lame, AVith smiling lips and shari bi-ight eyes, which always seemed the same;

She

llioiiglit,

the (Jounl,
;

my

lover,

is

brave as

bra\'

can be

lie surely would do l<>vc of mc

;

wondrous things
all

to

show his
is

King, ladies, lovers,

divine;

look on; the occasion

332
I'll

NARRATIVE POEMS.
drop

my

glove, to prove his love

great glory

will be mine.

She dropped her glove, to prove his

love,

then
the

He bowed, and
lions wild;

looked at him and smiled; in a moment leaped

among

The leap was quick, return was quick, he has

gained his place.

re-

Then threw the

'^

By Heaven,"

glove, but not the lady's face. "

with

love, right in

said Francis,

rightly done
;

"
!

and

''

No

he rose from where he sat " but vanity, sets love a task love," quoth he,
like that."

LEIGH HUNT.

THE GLOVE.
(peter eonsard
loquitur.)

"Heigho," yawned one day King Francis,

Distance all value enhances When a man's busy, why, leisure
!

Strikes

him

as wonderful pleasure

I 'ra
!

he ? 'Faith, and at leisure once is be to wants he busy. Straightway Here we 've got peace and aghast
;

Caught thinking war the true pastime

Is there a reason in metre
?
!

" Give us your speech. Master Peter I who, if mortal dare say so, Ne'er am at loss with my Naso, .

FRANCE.
"
" Sire," I replied, joys

333
:

prove cloudlets

Men
.
.

are the merest Ixions "

Here the King whistled aloud, " Let 's " Ileiglio go look at our lions Such are the sorrowful chances
.

If

you talk
so, to

fine to

King

Francis.

And

the court-yard i)roceeding.

Our company, Francis

Increased
T)y

new

\\as leading. followers tenfold

i)enfol(l;

Before he arrived at the

Lords, ladies, like clouds which bedizen At sunset the western horizon.

And
With

Sir

the

De Lorge dame he
!

i)ressed 'mid the foremost

professed to adore most

One hy fits eyed Oh, what a face Her, and tlic iHin-ihlc pitside
;

For the penfold surrounded a hollow Wliich led where the eye scarce dared
^\nd shelved to the chand)er secluded

follow,

AVhere

BluelM.'ard, the great lion,

brooded.

The King hailed his keeper, an Arab As glossy and black as a scarab, And 1)ade liim make sport and at once

stir

Up

and

(Hit

of his den

tjic

old monster.

Tlicy (i[)ened a holr

in tin' wii-c-worlv

Across

llicrc ;i lircwork, one's heart's Ijeating redouljled A pause, while the jiit's mouth was troubled, Tlie blackness and silence so uller,
il,

and dnippcd

And

flrd

By lh(! lirework's slow si)arkling and Then eartli in a sudden eonlortion Gave out U) uur gaze her ahoilion
!

sputter.

334

NARRATIVE POEMS.'
!

a l)rute Were I friend Clement Marot (Whose experience of Nature 's but narrow, And whose faculties move in no small mist When he versifies David the Psalmist)

Such

llluia

should study that Lrute to describe you Juda Leoneni de Trihu !

One's whole blood grew curdling and creepy To see the black mane, vast and heapy,

The tail in the air stiff and straining, The wide eyes, nor waxing nor waning, As over the barrier which bounded
His platform, and us who surrounded The barrier, they reached and they rested On the space that might stand him in best stead For, who knew, he thought, what the amazement,
;

The eruption

of clatter

and blaze meant,

And if, in this minute of wonder, No outlet 'mid lightning and thunder,
Lay broad, and, his shackles all shivered, The lion at last was delivered ? Ay, that was the open sky o'erhead And you saw by the flash on his forehead, By the hope in those eyes wide and steady, He was leagues in the desert already,
!

Driving the flocks up the mountain. Or catlike couched hard by the fountain,

To waylay

the date-gathering negress

So guarded he entrance or egress. " How he stands " quoth the King
!

"
;

we may

well

swear,

No novice, we 've won our spurs elsewhere, And so can afford the confession,

FRAyCE.

335

We

exercise

wholesome discretion
;

In keeping aloof from his threshold Once hold you, those jaws want no fresh hold, Their first would too pleasantly purloin

The
l)Ut

visitor's brisket or surloiu

who

's

he would prove so foolhardy?

of

Not the best man

Marignam, pardie

"
!

The sentence no sooner wf>s uttered, Than over the rails a glove fluttered.
Fell close to the lion,

and rested

The dame 't was, who flung it and jested With life so, De Lorge had been wooing
For months past he sate there pursuing II is suit, weighing out with nonchalance Fine speeches like gold from a balance.
;

Sound the trumpet, no true knight

's

a tarrierl

De Lorge made one Walked straight to

leap at the barrier, the glove while the lion

Ne'er moved, kept his far-reaching eye on The palm-tree-edged desert spring's sapphire, And the nuisky oiled skin of the Kaflfir Picked it up, and as cahnly retreated,

And

Leajx'd \nu-k where the lady was seated. lull in the face of its owner
tlie

Flung

glove
"

Your
"

So should
ity,

cried

heart's queen,

the

King"

you dethrone her? 't was mere van"

!

Not

love, set that task to

alik(;

humanity
iji

Lords and ladies

turned with loathing

sheep's (clothing.

From such

a proved wolf

33r>

^^ARRATIYE POEMS.
so I
;

caught an expression In her brow's undisturbed self-possession

Not

for I

Amid
As

the Court's scoffing and merriment

if from no pleasing experiment She rose, yet of pain not much heedful So long as the process was needful As if she had tried in a crucible, " To what " speeches like gold were reducilile,

And, finding the finest prove copper, Felt the smoke in her face was but proper; To know what she had not to trust to. Was worth all the ashes, and dust too. She Avent out 'n\id hooting and laughter Clement ]\Iarot stayed I followed after, And asked, as a grace, what it all meant
;
;

If she

wished not the rash deed's recallment?

I

For

"so

Human

am a poet spoke nature behooves that I know

I
:

"

it

"
!

She told me, " Too long had I heard Of the deed proved alone by the word For my love what I)e Lorge would not dare With my scorn what De Lorge could compare!
:

And the endless descriptions of death He would brave when my lip formed a
I

breath,

must reckon as braved, or, of course. Doubt his word and moreover, perforce, For such gifts as no lady could spurn. Must ofi'er my love in return.

When

looked on your

lion, it

brought
thought,

All the dangers at once to

my

Encountered by all sorts of men, Before he was lodged in his den

FRANCE.
From the poor slave wliose club or bare hands Dug the trap, set tlie snare on the sands, With no King and no Court to applaud. By no shame, should he shrink, overawed,
Yet to capture the creature made shift. That his rude boys might laugh at tlie gift,

337

To

the page

who

last leaped o'er the fence

pit, on no greater pretence Than to get back the bonne't he dropped. Lest his pay for a week should be stopped

Of the

So, wiser

judged
'

it

to

make

One

trial

what death

for

my

sake

'

Really meant, while the power was j^et mine, Tluiii to Avait until time should define

Such

Who
The

a phrase not so simply as I, took it to niean just ' to die.' blow a glove gives is but weak

Does the mark yet discolor But when the heart suffers

my

cheek

a blow,

Will the pain pass so soon, do you

know ? "

I looked, as

away she was sweeping,

:

And saw
As

a youth eagerly keeping close as he dared to the doorway a plebeian

No

doubt that a noble sliould more weigh

;

Tlis life tliaii befits

And
(I

yet, had our brute been Ncmean judge l)y a certain calm fervor

him the worst

get, first

He
If

Tlie

youth stepped with, forward

'd liave

to serve lier)

scarce thought
"

you did

turn

you
VII

earn

wliispered, "
!

Friend,

what you'd

22

338

NARRATIVE POEMS.
shortly after, she carried

And when,

Her shame from the Court, and they married, To that marriage some liappiness, maugre The voice of the court,I dared augur.
For De Lorge, he made women with men vie, Those in wonder and praise, these in envy And in short stood so plain a head taller How do you call her ? That he wooed and won*
;
.
.

The beauty, that rose in the sequel To the King's love, wlio loved her a

week well ;

And 't was noticed he never would honor De Lorge (who looked daggers upon her)
With
the easy commission of stretching His legs in the service, and fetching His wife, from her chamber, those straying

Sad gloves she was always mislaying. While the King took the closet to chat in But of course this adventure came pat in

And

never the King told the story. How bringing a glove brought such glory. But the wife smiled " His nerves are
firmer

grown
"

Mine he brings now and utters no murmur

Veniejiti occtcrrite

morbo
I

With which moral

drop

my

theorbo.

BOBEKT BROWNING.

FRAXCE.

339

LOUIS XV.
The King with all liis kingly train Had left his Pompadour behind, And forth he rode in Senart's wood
The
That day
royal beasts of chase to find. l)y chance the Alonareh mused,

And turning suddenly away, He struck alone into a path

That
far

from crowds and courtiers

lay.

He saw the pale green shadows jilay Upon the brown untrodden earth He saw the birds around him flit As if he were of peasant birth He saw the trees that know no king
; ;

But

He

hiiu wlio bears a woodland axe; thought not, but he looked about Like one who skill in thinking lacks.
close to

Then

him

a footstep

fell,

And

glad of human sound was he, For truth to say he found himself
weiglit from
wliii
li

lie

fain

would

flee.

But that which he would ne'er have guessed Before him now mf)st i^lainly came The man upon his weary back
;

coffin ])<)w of rudest frame.

"

Why, who

art tliou?" exclaimed the King,

I

"And wliat is (liat see thee bear "T am a lal)oi-cr in tbe wood, And 't is a coffin for Pierre.

?"

340

NARRATIVE POEMS.
;

You may have

But he

Close by the royal hunting-lodge often seen him toil

will never

And
The

I for

work again, him must dig the soil."

laborer ne'er
this

And

had seen the King, he thought was but a man,

pause,
:

Who
And
"I

made at first a moment's anew his talk began think I do remember now,
then

ply.

He had a dark and glancing eye, And I have seen his slender arm With wondrous blows the pick-axe
"

Pray
!

tell

Can thus have

"

me, friend, what accident killed our good Pierre

sir,

"

Oh nothing more than usual, He died of living upon air.

'T was hunger killed the poor good man,

Who

He could And feed

long on empty hopes relied not pay gabell and tax,

his children, so he died."

The man stopped

" It
is,

short,

and then went

;

on,

you know, a

common
is

Our

children's bread

thing eaten up

By

Courtiers, Mistresses,

The King looked hard upon

and King." the man,

And

afterwards the coffin eyed.

Then spurred to ask of Pompadour, How came it that the peasants died.
JOHN STERLING.

FRANCE.
nERV:fi KIEL.

341

Ox

the sea and at the

Hogue, sixteen hnndred

nhiety-two,

Did

tlie

English fight the French

woe to France

And

the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,

Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the
IJance,

With

the Euglish fleet in view.

'T was the squadron that escaped, with the victor

in full cliase
P'irst
;

and foremost
;

of the drove, in his great ship,

Damfreville
Close;

on him

fled, gi'cat

and small,
;

Twenty-two good

ships in all

And

they signalled to the place, " Help the winners of a race

!

Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick

or, (jui(-ker still,

Here's the P^nglish can and will

"
!

Thru
"

the

))iIots

of

the i)lacc
;

]tiit

out

biisk,

and
lik

IcajX'd

on lioard
ho]ie
"'

Why, what
tlieso to

or

clianci!

have

sliijts

pass?

lauglird (licy:
l(

Kocks
Shall

to stai-board, i-ocks
scaiTi'fl
till'

port, ail tin-

passage

and

scorc(l.

{''ofuiidable,'

here with her Iwchc-and-

ciglity guns,

342

NARRATIVE POEMS.

Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, Trust to enter where 't is ticklish for a craft of

And

twenty tons, with flow

't

at full beside ?

Now

is

slackest ebb of tide.

Reach the mooring ? Rather say, While rock stands, or water runs, Not a ship will leave the bay "
!

called a council straight Brief and bitter the debate.

Then was
Here
's

"

the English at our heels

in

would you have

them take
All that
's

tow
fleet,

left

us of the
;

linked together stern

?

and bow

For a prize

to

Plymouth Sound
!

Better run the ships aground " (Ended Damfreville his speech.)
"

Not

a minute more to wait Let the captains all and each Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach
! ! !

France must undergo her fate " " Give the word " But no such word Was ever spoke or heard For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck, amid
! :

all these,

captain? a lieutenant? third ?

a mate,

first,

second,

No

such

man

of mark,

and meet
!

With

his betters to

compete
sailor,

But a simple Breton

ville for

pressed by Tour-

the

fleet,

FRANCE.

34:">

poor coasting-pilot, he,

sickese.

Herve

Riel, the

Croi-

And "What mockery

cried
"
.

or malice have

we here?"

Herve

Riel.
?

Are you mad, you Malouins

fools, or
?

Are you cowards,

took the

rogues ? Talk to nie of rocks and shoals

soundings,
tell

me, who

On my

fingers every bank,

every shallow, every

swell,

'Twixt the offering here and Greve, where the

Are you V)ought

river disembogues ? for English gold? ? 's for lying

Is

it

love the

^lorn and eve, night and day.

Have I piloted your bay, Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of
dor.

Soli-

Burn the

fleet,

and ruin France

!

That were
i

worse than fifty Hogues Sirs, then know I s])eak the truth!
lieve

Sirsj be-

me, there

's

way

Only

let

mc
'

lead the line,

to steer,
'

Have the biggest ship

Get
tliis

Formidable

clear,

INIake tlic others follnw mine,

And

li;id

them, most and

well,

least,

by a passage

know
Right

to Solidorpast Greve,

And And if

there lay

them

safe

and sound;
ground,

Keel so much us

one

sliip misbt;liavc,

grati; (he

344

NARRATIVE POEMS.
I've

Why,
Not

nothing hut my cries Herve RieL

life

here's

my

head

"
!

a minute more to wait. " Steer us in, then, small and great Take the helm, lead the line, save the squad!

ron

"
!

cried its chief.

!

Captains, give the sailor place

He
Still

is

admiral, in brief.

the nortli wind, by God's grace. See the noble fellow's face. As the big ship, with a l^ound,

Keeps the passage,

sea's

clears the (nitry like a hound, as its inch of

way were the wide

profound

How
Not

See, safe throngli shoal and rock. they follow in a flock ;

a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,

to grief
!

Not a spar that comes The peril, see, is past

!

All are harbored to the last

And,

jVist

as Herve Riel hollas "

Anchor

"
!

sure as

fate.

Up

the English come,

too late
;

So the storm subsides to calm

They

see the green trees

wave
;

On

the heights o'eidooking Greve

Hearts that bl(>d are stanched with balm. " Just our rupture to enhance. Let the English rake the bay. Gnash their teoth, and glare askance

As they cannonade away

'Neiitli

rampired Solidor pleasant riding

on her

Kance!"

How

liope succeeds despair

on each captain's coun-

tenance
"

Out burst
This

all
is

with one accord,

paradise for hell let France's king.
!

Let France,

Thank

the

man
!

that did the thing

all

"
!

What

a shout, and Herve Kiel "

one word,

As he
Not

stepped in front once more

a

symptom

of surprise

Tn the frank blue Breton eyes,

Just the same

man

as before.

Tlien said Damfi-eville, " My friend, I must si)eak out at the end, Though I find the speaking hard ;

Praise

is

deeper than the

li])s

You have saved

\'oii

the king his ships; nmst iKinie your own icward.

Faitli,

Demand
Ask
to

our sun was near eclipse! whate'er you will,

still.
'

F'rance remains your debtor

lieart's

content,

and have! ov

my

name's not Damfreville."

Tlicn a

beam

of fun outltroke

On

the bearded

mouth

tliat s))oke.
lau,L;bi<l

As

the honest bcart

tlirough
:

Tbose frank eyes of lircton bbic " Since I needs must say my .say. Since on board the duty's done,

346

NARRATIVE POEMS.

And from Malo Roads

but a run ? Since 't is ask and have,

to Croisic Point,

what

is it

may

Since the otliers go ashore,

Come

A good whole holiday Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the " Belle Aurore That he asked, and that he got,nothing more.
!
!

Name and
Not

deed alike are lost

a pillar nor a post In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as

it befell

Not

a head in white and black

On
In

memory
All that

a single fishing-smack of the man but for

whom

had gone to

wrack
France saved from the England bore the bell. Paris rank on rank
;

fight

whence

Go

to

Search the heroes flung pell-mell On the Louvre, face and flank
;

You

shall

look
Riel.

long enough ere you come to

for worse,

Herv6
So, for better

and

Herv6
In

Riel, accept

my

verse

do thou once more Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore

my

verse,

Herv6

Riel,

ROBERT UROWNING.

FRANCE.

347

NAPOT.EOX AXD THE BRITISH SAILOR.

I

LOVE contemplating

apart
!

From all his homicidal glory The traits that soften to our heart
Napoleon's glory
'T was

when his banners at Boulogne Armed in our island every freeman,

His navy chanced to capture one Poor British seaman.

They

suffered

him

know

not

how
;

Unprisoned on the shore to roam

And

aye was bent his longing brow

On

England's home.
!

His eye, methinks

pursued the

flight

Of

Ijirds to

With

Britain lialf-way over ; envy thei/ could reach the white

cliffs of

Dear

Dover.

A
If

Than

stormy midnight watch, he thought, this sojourn would have been dearer, Ijut the storm his vessel brought

To England At
last, wlicii

nearer.

care liad banished sleep,

He

An
He

saw, one morning, dreaming, doting, em])ty hogshead from the deep
CoiUL*

shoreward

lloatiiig;

hid

it in

a cave, and wiought

The

livelong day laborious; lurking

348

NARRATIVE POEMS.
Until he launched a tiny boat

By mighty
Heaven help us

working.
!

't

was

Description wretched

a thing beyond such a wherry

Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond,

Or crossed

a ferry.

For, plougliing in the salt-sea field. It would have made the boldest shudder

Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled, No sail, no rudder.

Avoods he interlaced His sorry skilt" with wattled willows And thus equipped he would have passed
;

From neighboring

The foaming

billows,

But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, His little Argo sorely jeering Till tidings of him chanced to reach
;

^iSI^apoleon's

hearing.

With

folded arms Napoleon stood,

;

Serene alike in peace and danger

And, in his wonted attitude. Addressed the stranger

"

Rash man, that wouldst yon Channel pass

twigs and staves so rudely fashioned, with some sweet British lass heart TJiy ]\Iust be impassioned."
" I have " But

On

absent long from one another

I

no sweetheart," said the lad

Great was the longing that To see my mother."

had

FRANCE.
'

3-19

And
"

Ye

so thou shalt," Napoleon said, 've both my favor fairly won ;

A noble
He
He

mother must have bred So brave a son."

gave the tar a piece of gold,

flag of truce,

And, with a

commanded

should be shipped to England Old,

And
Our But

safely landed.

sailor oft could scarcely shift

To

find a dinner, plain and hearty. 7ieve7' changed the coin and gift

Of Bonaparte.
TUOJIAS CAMPBELL.

now
I
I

TIIEV

FKO.AI

BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS GHENT TO AIX.

;

"

SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris and he galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; " cried the watch as the gatel)olts (iood speed
!
!

undrew, " echoed tlir wall to us gall(iiiig tliiough. Speed Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest;
"

And

into the miduiglit

we galloped

abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace, Neck by neck, sti'ide by sti-ide, never ehaiiging our
])laee
I
;

turned

in

my

saddle ami
caeli

made
and

its giitlis ti^Iil,

Then shortened
Nor galloped

st iirii|i

set the i)i(ine ri<;lit,

l{('buekle<l the elieek-strap, ehaiiii'd

slacker the

bit,

less steadily

Koland

a whit.

350

NARRATIVE POEMS.
;

'T was a moonset at starting

but while we drew

near

crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom a great yellow star came out to see; At Diiffeld 't was morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln churcli-steeple we heard the
Lokererijtlie cocks

half -chime,

So Joris broke

silence with " Yet there

is

time "
!

At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun, against him the cattle stood black every one, To stare through the mist at us galloping past; And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last. With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some blulf river headland its spray;

And

And

his low

head and

crest, just

one sharp ear

his

bent back

For my

voice,

and the other pricked out on

track ;

one eye's black intelligence, ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance
;

And

And
His

the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and

anon
fierce lips

shook upward in galloping on.

By

" Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, Stay

spur

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault 's not in her We '11 remember at Aix,"- for one heard the quick
wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees.

And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank. As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

FRAXCE.

351

So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh 'Xeath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like
;
;

chaff
Till over And "

by Dalheui a dome-spire sprang white, " for Aix is in sight Gallop," gasped Joris,
'11

".

"

How

they roan

greet us

"
!

and

all in

moment
;

his

Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone And there was my Koland to bear the whole weight

Of the news which alone could save Aix from her

fate,

With

And
Then

his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.
I cast loose.
off

Shook
Called

both

my buff-coat, each my jack-boots, let go

holster let
belt

fall,

and

all,

Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, joattod his ear, my Roland his pet name, my horse without
peer,

Clapped

my

hands, laughed and sung, any noise, bad

or good. Till at length into

Aix Roland galloped and stood.

is,

And As I

all

remember

friends flocking round,

sate

wiih his head 'twixt

;

my

knees on the

groiiiid

And no \(>i(<: but was praising As I ])(iuiTd down his throat

wine,

this
(nir

Roland of mine, last measure of

Wiiich (the burgesses voterl by common consent) Was no inorc llian his dnc who brought good news from (jihent. KOhEKT IJKOWNINO

352

NARRATIVE POEMS.

MORT
So
all

D'ARTIIUR.

day long the noise of battle rolled

the mountains by the winter sea
;

Among

Until King Arthur's Table, man by man, Had fallen in Lyoness about their lord,
Kins: Arthur
:

then, because his

wound was

deep,

The bold

Sir Bedivere uplifted him, Sir Bedivere, the last of all his Knights,

And l)ore him to a chapel nigli the field, A broken chancel with a broken cross,
That stood on
a dark strait of barren land.

On one
Lay

side lay the Ocean,

and on one

a great water, and the

moon was

full.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Tjcdivere "The sequel of to-day unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep They sleep the men I loved. I think that we
:

Shall nevermore, at any future time. Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. about the gardens and the halls

Walking Of Camelot, as in the days that were. I perish by this people which I made, come again Thougli Mei'lin swarc that I should To rule once more but let what will be, l)e. I am so deeply smitten through the helm

That without help

cannot last

till

morn.

Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,, Which was my pride: for tliou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm

DRITATN.
rjnso

353

up from out the

l)osoin of tlio lake,

Clothed iu white samite, mystic, wonderful,

Ilohling the sword and how I rowed across And took it, and have worn it, like a king;

And, wheresoever

am sung

or told
:

In after-time, this also shall l)e known I5ut now delay not: take Excalibur,

And fling him far Waich what thou

To him
"It
is

into the middle

scest,

mere and lightly l)ring meword."

:

replied the bold Sir l>edivere:

not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus. Aidless, alone, and smitten through the helm.

little

Yet

thing may li;inn a woinidcd man; thy hest will all i>erform at full,
I see,

Watch what

and lightly bring thee word.".-

So saying, from the ruined shrine he stei)t in tlie moon athwart the place of tond)S, Wliere lay the mighty bones of ancient men, Old knights, and over tlicni the sea-wind sang Hakes of foam, Slirill, cliill, with lie, stei)ping

And

(low n

]iy zigzag paths,

Came on

and juts of poinled rock, the shining levels of llic lake.

In- foilli

There drew

tlu;
il,

And
And

o'er

him, diawing

brand Excalibur, the w inter moon,

r;in

JJrigldeninn' tbe skirls of a long eloiid,

.s|);iikled

forth/
:

keen

willi

frost agiiinst Ibe hilt

(li;iinon<l

l'"or ;ill

the

li;if|,

twinkled with

studs,

Myriads

of toiia/.-ligbts,

and j.ieinth-Wijrk
da'/./.lc<i

()f sidttlcsl

jewelry.

Tic ga/.cd so long

That both
VII

23

his ey<'S wvvc,

as be stood,

354

NARRATIVE POEMS.
:

This way and that dividing the swift mind, In act to throw but at tlie last it seemed
Better to leave Excalibur concealed

There in the many -knotted water-flags, That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. So strode he back slow to the wounded King.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere Hast thou performed my mission which I gave ? What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast heard ? "
:

"

And answer made

" I heard the ripple

the bold Sir Bedivere

washing

in the reeds,

And
"

the wild water lapping on the crag."

:

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name, Not rendering true answer, as beseemed

Thy

fealty,

nor like a noble knight

For surer sign had followed, either hand. Or voice, or else a motion of the mere.
This
is

a shameful thing for

I cliarge thee,

men

to

lie.

Yet now,

As thou
I

art lief

bade thee,

quickly go again. and dear, and do the thing watch, and lightly bring me word."

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere, Counting the dewy pebbles, fixed in thought; But when he saw the wonder of the hilt, How curiously and strangely chased, he smote
His palms together, and he cried aloud :r
"

And

if

indeed

I cast

the brand away,

Surely a precious thing, one woi'thy note,

BRITAIN.
W])ieli

355

Should thus be lost forever from the earth, might have pleased the eyes of many men. What good should follow this, if this were done? What harm, undone ? deep harm to disobey,
Seeing obedience
is

the bond of rule.

if

a king demand himself? unprofitable, against The King is sick, and knows not what he does.

Were An act

it

well to obey then,

What
And

record, or

what

relic of

my

lord

Should be

to after-time, l)ut empty breath rumoi's of a doubt? but were this kept.

Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, Some one might show it at a jousi of arms.

Wrought

Saying, 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, ])y the lonely maiden of the Lake.
.she

Nine years

wrought

it,

sitting in the deeps

hills.'

Upon

tlie

hidden bases of the

So might some old man speak in the after-time To all the p(^ople, wiiming reverence. But now nmcli honor and much fame were lost." So spake he, clouded
M'ith his

own

conceit,

And And
''

hid Excalilnir the second time, so strode back slow to the wounded King.

Thill spoke

What

is it

King Arthur, bi'eatliing heavily thou hast seen ? or what hast heard?"
:

Anil answer

made

tiu! ])ol(l

Sir rx'divere:

"T

hcaiil the wat(!r

Ami
"

lapping on the crag. the lung i'iii[)l(' washing in the reeds."

n-plied King Arthur, mncli in wrath: miserable and unkind, untrue,
I

To whom
All,

Woe Unknightly, traitor-hearted Authority forgets a dying king,

is

me

35(3

NARRATIVE POEM^.
bowed the
will. I see
liis eye thee what thou art,

Laid widowed of the power in

Tliat

For
In

thou, the latest-left of

all

my

knights.
liilt

whom

should meet the

offices of all,
;

for the precious Either from lust of gold, or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.

Thou wouldst betray me

Yet, for a man may And the third time

if

fail in

may

duty twice, prosper, get thee hence

thou spare to fling Excalibur, But, I will arise and slay thee Avitli my hands."

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged Among the bulrush-beds, and clutched the sword. And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand

Made

lightnings in the splendor of the moon,

flashing

And

round and round, and whirled

in

an

arch.

Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, Seen wliere the movhig isles of winter shock By night, with noises of the northern sea.

But

So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him Tliree times, and drew him under in the mere.
:

And

lightly

went the other

to the King.

Then spoke King Arthur, drawing

"

thicker breath
"

Now

see I
:

Speak out

by thine eyes that this is done. what is it tliou hast heard, or seen

BRITAIN.

357
:

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere " Sir King, I closed mine ej'clids, lest the gem Should blind my purpose, for I never saw,
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, Not though I live three lives of mortal men,
So great a miracle as j'onder
hilt.

Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him ; But when I looked again, Itehold an arm,
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him Three times, and drew him under in the mere."
Arthur, breathing hard: 't time that T were gone. is end draws nigh My Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,
"
;

And answer made King

And

bear

me

to the

margin
cold,

yet I fear
T shall die."

My

wound hath taken

and

So saying, from the pavement

I'c

half rose.

Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm, And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes As in picture. Ilim Sir IJedivere
;i

Remorsefully regarded through his tears. And would have spoken, but he found not wtrds Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee,
OY-r both his sliouM(>rs drew
tlie
th(!

languid hands.
place of toml)S.

And

rising l)ore

him through

But, as he walked. King Arthur panted li;ird. Like one that feels a nightmaic on his bed When all tli" house is nmte. So sighed Hie King,
)ni(k, quick Muttering and murmuring at his ear I fear it is too late, and I shall die." But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,
' (
!

358

NARRATIVE POEMS.

Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walked, Larger than human on the frozen hills.

He heard
Before.

the deep behind him, and a cry

Dry

And

own thought drove him like a goad. clashed his harness in the icy caves barren chasms, and all to left and right
His

The bare black cliff clanged round him, as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armM heels And on a sudden, lo the level lake, And the long glories of the winter moon.

Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern. Beneath them and descending they Avere ware
;

That

the decks were dense with stately forms, Black-stoled, Ijlack-hooded, like a dream, by these
all

Three Queens with crowns

rose

of gold,

and from them

cry that shivered to the tingling stars.

And, as it were one voice, an agony Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills All night in a waste land, where no one comes, Or hath come, since the making of the world.

Then murmured Arthur,

So
to

" Place

me in the barge

"
;

the barge

they

came.

There those three

Avept.

Queens

Put forth their hands, and took the King, and But she that rose the tallest of them all.

And And And

fairest, laid his

head upon her

lap,

loosed

the shattered casque, and

chafed his

hands,
called

him by

his

name, comiiUiining loud,

BRITAIN.

359

And And
And

dropping bitter tears against his brow

:

Striped with dark blood

colorless,

for all his face

was white

and

like the

withered moon
;

Smote by the
all his
;

Of onset That made his forehead like a rising snn dais- throne were parched with Iligli from the

fresh beam of the springing east greaves and cuisses dashed with drops and the light and Instrous curls

dust

Or, clotted into points and hanging loose. Mixed with the knightly growth that fringed his
lips.

So

like a shattered like tluit

column lay the King

Not

Arthur, who, with lance in rest,

From spur

to

plume a

star of tournament,

Camelot, and charged Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.

lists at

Shot tlirough the

cried the bold Sir Bedivere Lord Arthur, whither shall I go ? Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? For now I see the true old times are dead.
:

Then loudly
!

"

Ah

my

When
And

every morning brought a noble chance. every chance brouglit out a noble kniglit. Such times have been not since the light that led
Tlic lioly Elders witli tlie gift of mynli.
'l';ililc

But now the whole Kound

is

dissolved

Wliicli Wiis an image of the iiiiglity world; And I, the last, go forth com[)anionk'ss.

And

thu days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, .strangt; faces, other minds."

And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: "The old order changeth, yielding place to new,

360

NARRATIVE

P0E3IS.

And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself what comfort is in me ? I have lived my life, and that which I have done
:

May He
If

within himself make pure l)ut thou, thou shouldst never see my face again,
!

Pray

for

my

soul.

More things
of.

are

wrought by
let

prayer

Than

this

world dreams

Wherefore,

thy

voice

me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them
Rise like a fountain for
friend
?

is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seSst, if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island- valley of Avilion Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly but it lies

For so the Avhole round earth

Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea.

Where

I will heal

me

of

my

grievous Avound."

So said he, and the barge with oar and

sail

Moved from

the brink, like

some

full-breasted

swan, That, fluting a wild carol ere luir deatli, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood

EXGLAND.
With swarthy webs.
Long stood
till

361
Sir Bedivere

devolving many memories, Looked one black dot against the verge of daAvn, And on the mere the wailing died away. ALFKED, LOKU TEXNYSON.

the hull

GODIVA.

T toaited for the train at Coventry ; I huncf vnth grooms and j^orters on
To watch the three tall spires : and The citi/s ancient legend into this :

the hridge,

there

I sliaped

Not only we,

the latest seed of Time,

New

men, that in the flying of a wheel down the past not only we, that prate Cry Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well, And loathed to see them overtaxed ; but she
;

The woman

Did more, and underwent, and overcame, of a thousand summers l>ack,

:

Godiva, wife to that grim Earl who ruled In Coventry for when he laid a tax

Upon
Their

his town,
(

and

all

hildrcn, clamoring,

the mothers brought " If we pay, we starve

"
!

She sought her

strode

lord, iind

found

Iiini,

where he

A])out

th(! hall,

among

his flogs, alone.

His beard a foot before him, and his hair

yard Ix-hind.
liim,

She told
'

liiiu ol' llicir

tears.

And prayrd
" ^'oll

IT

they pay this tax they starve."

WIhtimI he stilled, rei)lyiiig, halt' aiiia/.ed, would lint let youi- little tini^ci' ;iclie For such as thrse/''' " jJut I would die," said

she.

302
lie laughed,

NARRATIVE

POEMSi.
:

Then
"

and swore by Peter and by Paul filliped at the diamond in her ear
;

Alas she said, you talk " But I me what it would is not do." prove And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand, He answered, " Ride you naked through the town, And I repeal it " and nodding, as in scorn.
O, ay, a3% ay,
! !

"

"

"

He

parted, with great strides among his dogs. So left alone, the passions of her mind. As winds from all the compass shift and blow, Made war upon each other for an hour.

won. She sent a herald forth. bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all The hard condition but that she would loose
Till pity

And

The people

From

therefore, as they loved her well. then till noon no foot should pace the street.
:

No

eye look down, she passing but that all Should keep within, door shut and window barred. Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt.
; ;

Earl's gift but ever at a breath She lingered, looking like a summer moon Half dipt in cloud anon she shook her head. And showered the rippled ringlets to her knee Unclad herself in haste adown the stair Stole on and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid From pillar unto pillar, until she reached
:

The grim

Tiie

gateway

there she found her palfrey trapt

In purple blazoned with armorial gold. Then she rode forth, clothed on ^yitll chastity The deep air listened round her as she rode.

And
The

all

little

the low wind hardly breathed for fear. wide-mouthed heads upon the spout

].Ai)\

(;(

)i)i\A

EXGLAND.
Had cunning eyes to see the barking cur Made her cheek flauic her palfrey's footfall
:
: :

363

shot

Light hon-ors through her pulses the blind walls "Were full of chinks and holes and overhead
;

but she Fantastic gables, crowding, stared Kot less through all bore up, till, last, she saw
:

The white-flowered elder-thicket from the field Gleam through the Gothic archways in the wall. Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity:

And
The

fatal

one low churl, compact of thankless earth, byword of all years to come,

Boring a little auger hole in fear, Peeped but his eyes, before they had their will, Were shrivelled into darkness in his head, And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait On noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused And she, that knew not, passed and all at once, With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon Was clashed and hammered from a hundred towers^ One after one but even then she gained Her bower whence reissumg, robed and crowned, To meet lier lord, she took the tax away, And built herself an everlasting name. ALFKKJ), T-OKD TEXNYSON.

THE
Whan
And

CANTEIJIirijy PIUiKniS.
I

FROM "THE CANTKU15LKY TALES

that Aprille witii
liise

I'KOLOGUE."
^

shoures soote
-

The droghte
batlii^d

of Mart h haiii

|K.M-c(>d

to the roote,
licour,

every veyne

in swicli
'

sweet.

such.

3G^

NARRATIVE POEMS.

Of which

Whan

vertiie engeudred is the dour; Zephirus eek with hijp swete breeth ^ Inspired hath in every holt and heeth

The tendre croppes, and the vonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronue,
foweles makeu melodve That slepen al the nAght with open eye, So priketh hem nature in hir corages,^ Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,

And smale

And
And

To feme halwes,^ kowthe

palmeres for to seken straunge strondes, ^ in sondry londes; specially, from every shires ende

Of Engelond, to Cannterbiiry they wende The hooly blisfnl martir^ for to seke, That hem hath hoi pen whan that they were
that seson on a day, In Sonthwerk at the Tabard as I lay,
Bifil that, in

seeke.

Eedy to wenden on my i>ilgrymage To Caunterbury with ful devout corage, At nyght were come into that hostelrj^e Wei nyne-and-twenty in a compaign^-e, Of sondry folk, by aventure y-falle In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were thei alle,
That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.

A
That

Knyght ther was, and that a worthy man, fro the tyme that he first bigan
out. he loved chivalrie.

To riden

Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisie, Ful Avorthj^ was he in his lordes werre, And therto hadde he riden, noman ferre,^ As wel in cristendom as in hethenesse,
*

wood. renowned.

their hearts;.

ancient saints.
farther.

"

Thomas-a-Becket.

EXGLAKD.
And
'.

365

eveie houoiued for his "worth vnesse.

i

'?ot

--?

And thougli that he were worthy, he was And of his port as lueeke as is a inayde. He nevere vet no vilevnye lie savde
^

wj'S,

Til al his lyf

lie

was a verray

unto no inauer wight. partit, geutil knyght.

With hym ther was his sone, a young Squier, A lovvere and a lustv bacheler,
\\'ilh

h)kkes crnlle- as thev were levd in liresse.

of age
lie

Of twenty veer
Df
liis

was

T gesse.

of eyene lengthe, An:l wondorly delyyere.' and of greet strengthe.

stature he

was

And

lie hadde hen sonitynie in chyyachie,"* In Fhiundres, in Artoys, and Pycardie, And born hym week as of so litel space,

Emhrouded
A
I

In hope to stonden in his lady grace. was he, as it A\('re a ineede

'^

fill

<f

fressh^ floures
wnjs,
oi-

whyte and
:'l

reede.

Syngynge he
Tie

floytynge,''

IIk*

day;

was as fres'sh as is the nionthe of ^May. Sliort was his gowne, Avith sleyes longe and wyde. "W'cl cowde he silte on hois, and faii-e ryde. He UondA songvs make and wel endite. " Juste and eek dauhce. and weel ]>iirtreye and
yvrile.

So hootc he

JDVcdr'. Hint l>y

nyghterlale

sleep no more than doolh a n.\ghlyngale; ('ujtcis he was, loyely and seryysahle,

He

.\nd carf^'
'

l)if<Mri

his fader at the (able.

milling unmannerly.
<Mnbiii(lorr<I.

i-uilcl.
ii

" iictivo.

niilil.iry cxpi'iIitioQ.
<>ii

'

"

iil;i\in)r
"

fluti;.

portriiv draw.

niirht-time.

'carved.

366

NARRATIVE POEMS.

Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, That of hire smylyng was ful symple and coy; Hire gretteste ooth ne was but by seint Loy ^ And she was cleped madame Eglentyne.
;

Fill

weel she soonge the service dyvyne, Entiined in hir nose ful semeely;

And Frenssh

she spak ful faire and fetisly,^ After the scole of Stratford-atte-Bowe, For Frenssh of Parys was to hire unknowe.

wel ytaught was she with alle, She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle, Ne wett hire fyngres in hire sauce deepe. Wel koude she carie a morsel and wel kepe, That no drope ne fille upon hire breste In curteisie was set ful muchel hir leste.^ Hire over-lippe wyped she so clene, That in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng^ sene Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte. Ful semely after hir mete she raughte,^
;

At mete

And sikerly she was of greet disport, And ful plesaunt, and amyable of port, And peyned hir ^ to countrefete cheere
'^

Of Court, and

to ben estatlich of manere,

And

But She was so charitable and so pitous. She wolde wepe if that she saugh a mous
Kuuglit in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde. Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde

to ben holden digne of reverence; for to speken of hire conscience,

With rosted flessh, or mylk and wastel-breed ^ But soore wepte she if any of hem were deed,
;

probably
pleasure.
surely.

St. Louis.

'

feat ly neatly.

' '

meat table.
reached.

*
^

* *

morsel.

took pains.

"

cake (gasteau) bread.

ENGLAND.
Or
if iiiou

3G7
^

smoot

it

with a yerde

smerte:
herte.

And

al

was conscience and tendre

semley hire wympul i>ynched Avas; Ilir nose ti'etys,^ hire eyen greye as glas,
Fill

Hir month fnl smal, and ther to softe and But sikerly she hadde a fair forlieed
;

reed,

It Avas

almoost a spanne brood,

trowe,

For hardily she was nat uudergrowe. Fnl fetys was hir cloke, as I was war; Of smal coral aboute hire arm she bar
al with greue; peire of bed^s gauded And ther-on heng a broch of gold fnl schene,
x\.

'

On which ther was first And after, Amor vincit

write a crowned A, omnia.

thre.

Another Nonne with hire hadde she. That was hire Chapeleyne, and Preestes

A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also That nn-to logyk hadde longe ygo.
he was nat right fat, I undertake, r>ut looked holwe, and ther to sol)rely; Full thredbare was his overeste courtepy,^

And And

locn6

was

his hors as

is

a rake,

For he hadde geten hyni yet no benefice, Xc was so worldly to have office; I'or liym was levere have at his beddes heed

Twenty bookrs,
Of
Ai-istolle

clad in l)lak or reed.

his ])Iii]osophie,
oi-

and

Than

I'obrs riche, or fillielc/'

gay sautrie.^

Tint al

be that ho

was
litel

a ])hilosopln'e,

Vcl hadde he but

1

gohl in cofre;
The
(;/fl/e.? * flddlo.

rod.

straight.

'

were

uppermost short cloak.

tlie Inrprer

beads.

psiiltery.

368

NARRATIVE
al that

POEMfi.
i

But

On bookes and And bisily gau

he mighte of his freendes hente his lernjnge he it spente,

for the soules preye

Of hem that gaf him wher with to scoleye,2 Of studie took he moost cure and moost heede, Noght o word spak he moore than was neede, And that was sevd in forme and reverence And short and qujk and ful of hy sentence. Sownynge in ^ moral vertu was his speche And gladly wokle he lerne, and gladly teche.
Sergeant of the Lawe, war ^ and wys, That often hadde ben at the Parvys,^

Ther Avas also

Discreet he

ful riche of excellence.

He semed
Justice he

of greet reverence; swich, hise wordes weren so wise.

ful often in Assise,

was and

was

patente, and by pleyn commissioun, For his science and for his heigh renoun.

By

Of fees and robes hadde he many oon So gret a purchasour ^ was nowher noon. Al vras fee symple to hym in effect, His purchasyng myghte nat ben infect.'^
;

Nowhere

so bisy a

man

as he ther nas,^

And

yet he semed bisier than he was.

And good man was ther of religioun, And was Povre Persoun ^ of a Toun
;

But

He
* '
''

riche he Avas of hooly thoght and werk; was also a lerned man, a clerk
' *

got.

study.

tending towards.
portico of St. Paul's, \vliere lawyers met. prosecutor.
lie

waiy prudent.
tainted.

" *

'

was was

not.

"

Poor parson.

ENGLAND.
That Cristas Gospel trewely wolde preche, Hise iarisshens devoutly Avolde he teche.
Jien.v<iue

3G9

he was, and wonder diligent,

;

And And

fill pacient he was y-preved ofte sithes.^ such Ful looth were hym to curse for his tythes, But rather wolde he geven,^ out of doute,

in adversitee

Unto
Of

his povre parisshens aboute.

his olfryng and eek of his substaunce. He koude in litel thyng have suftisannce.

Wyd was

lint he ne laf te

his parisshe, and houses fer a-sonder. ^ nat for reyn ne thonder,
in his parisshe

In siknesse nor in meschief to visite

The ferreste^
Up-on
his feet,

and

in his

muche and hand a staf.

lite ^

This noble ensample to his sheepe he gaf,'' That firste he wroghte, and afterward he taughte.

l)ettre preest, I

He Xe
He

waiteth after
niake<l

nowher noon no pompe and reverence,

throwe,
tliat

is

]\u\ <'i-istes loore,

him a spiced conscience, and his iVposlles twelve,

he folwed

tanmlile. bill first

it

hym

selve.

toold y<u sliorlly in a clause The staat, tharray, the nombic, and eek Die cause Why that assend)led was this compaignye
I

Now

have

In Southw(>rk at
Tiiat
liiglitc
is

tliis gcntil hostelrye, the Tabard, fastr by the Belle.

But MOW
IIiiw that
^^'ll('Il
I

tyme to yow for to telle we 1)avpii ns that ilkn'' nyght,

in

\\i'

were
"

that hostclric alygiit,

*

limits.

Kivc.
siii.ill.

'censed.

faitlicst

Kreat anil

gave.

same.

V 1124

370

NARRATIVE POEMS.
after wol
al
I telle

And And

of our viage,

the remenaimt of oiire pilgrimage.

But first, I pray yow of your curteisye, That ye narette it nat my vileinye/

Thogh that I pleynly speke in this mateere, To telle yow hir wordes and hir cheere
;

Ne thogh
For

speke hir

wordes proprely.
al so

this ye

kuowen

wel as

I,

Whoso shal telle a tale after a man, He moote reherce, as ny as evere he kan
Everich a word, if it be in his charge, Al speke he never so rudeliche2 or large ;3

Or ellis he moot telle his tale untrewe, Or feyne thyng, or fynde wordes newe.

He may nat spare al thogh he were his brother, He moot as wel seye o word as another. Crist spak hym self ful brode in hooly writ And wel ye woot no vileynye is it. Eek Plato seith, who so can hym rede,
"

The wordes moote be cosyn

I

to the dede."

Also prey yow to forgeve it me, Al have I nat set folk in hir degree

Heere

in this tale, as that they scholde stonde;

is

My

short ye may wel understonde. Greet chiere made oure host us everichon.

wit

And to the soper sette he us anon And served us with vitaille at the beste. us leste.^ gitrong was the wyn and wel to drynke withalle he was A semely man Oure Hoost
For
to

han been a marchal

in

an halle;

large
1

man

he was with eyen stepe,

it

that ye ascribe
free.

not to
*

my

ill-breeding.

*
'

rudely.
pleased.

germane.

EXGLAKD. A

371

fairer burgeys was tlier noon in Chepe: Boold of his speche, and wys and wel ytauglit, And of nianhod hym lakkede right naught. Eek therto he was right a myrie ^ man, And after soper pleyen he bygan,

And spak

of

myrthe amonges othere thinges,

;
:

Whan
And

that

we hadde maad our rekenynges

:

" Lo, lordynges, trewely seyde thus Ye ben to me right welcome hertely

For by my trouthe,

shal nat lye, so I saugh nat this yeer myrie a compaignye

if

that

Atones in this herberwe ^ as is now. ^ Fayn wolde I doon yow myrthe, wiste

how.

myrthe I am right now bythoght. To doon you ese, and it shal coste noght. Ye goon to Caunterbury, God you speede, The blisful martir quit^ yow youre meede ^ And wel I woot as ye goon by the weye Ye shapen yow ^ to talen and to pleye; For trewdly confort ne myrthe is noon

And

of a

'^

To

ride by the

And As I

therefore wol

weye doumb as the stoon; T maken you disi)ort, sevde erst, and doon vou som confort.

That ech of yow

to shorte

with oure weye,

In this viage shall telle tales tweye,'^

To (,'aunterburyward,

mean

it

so,

And homward
And which
That

he shal tejlen othere two,

bifalle.

Of aventures that whilom han

of

yow

that bereth
i<'ll<'lli

hym
*

best of alle,

is

to seyn, that
'

in this

caas

merry.
*

liiirborapo inn.
tell tales.

make.
'

reward.

purpo.se.

two.

872

NARRATIVE
^

POEMfi.

Tales of best sentence and most solaas,^ Shall have soper at oure aller cost,

Heere

in this place, svttvnge

bj this post,

Whan
And
I

that

for to

we come agajn fro Cauuteubury. make you the uioore mury,

wol my-selfe gladly with yow ryde, myn owene cost, and be youre gyde. And who so wole my juggement withseye ^ Shal paye al that we spenden by the weye. And if ye voiiche-sanf that it be so, Tel me anon, with-outen wordes mo. And I wol erly shape ^ me therfore." This thyng was graunted, and oure othes swore
Right at

With

ful glad herte, and preyden hym also That he would vouche-sauf for to do so, And that he wolde been our governour, And of oure tales juge and reportour,

And sette a soper at a certeyn pris And we wol reuled been ^ at his devys

We

In heigh and lough; and thus by oon assent been acorded to his juggement.

We

ther-up-on the wyn was fet anon dronken and to reste wente echon With-outen any lenger tary^nge. GEOFFREY CHAUCER.
;

And

sense.
^

'

solace

shape

my

affairs

mirth. prepare.

'

gainsay.

be ruled.

ENGLAXD,

373

LORD LOVEL.
Lord Lovel he stood at his
castle gate,

Combing; his milk-white steed;

When up came Lady Nancy

To wish her To wish her
"

Belle,

lover good speed, speed, lover good speed.

Where are
'*

yoii going.

Lord Lovel

'

she said,

Oh

where are you going?" said she;

"

I'm going, my Lady Nancy Ielle, Strange countries for to see, to see,

Strange countries for to see."

" you be back. Lord Lovi'l ? said she: "D! wlien will vou come back?'' said she; " In a year or two or three, at the most,

"When

will

'II

rctuiii
let

to

my
iii.\

I'll

urn to
iiol

fair Nanc\'-C3', fair Nancj'."

But

111'

li.id

been gone a year and a day,

SI range countries for to see.

When

lanuuisliing thoughts
i'.cllc

Xancy Lady Nancy

La<iy

B<'lle

came into his head, would go see, see. he would go see.

lie

So he rode, and he lodc, on

Till
.\n<l

liis milk-white steed, he came to L(n<lon town, llicrr he lic;iri| SI. I'nmias' Ik'IIs,
till'

Ami And

people

;i!l ;ill

iiinMriiiiig.
i

rouml. round,

the peopN'

iiKnirn iig round.

374
''

NARRATIVE POEMS.
is

Oh, what

"Oh! what
"

the matter," Lord Lovel he said, is the matter?" said he;

A
"

lord's lad}' is dead," a woman replied, And some call her Lady Nancy-cy, And some call her Lady Nancy."

So he ordered the grave to be opened wide, And the shroud lie turned down,

And

there he kissed her clay-cold lips.

Till the tears Till the tears

came came

trickling down, down, trickling down.

Lady Nancy she died as Lady Nancy

it might be to-day, Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow;

she died out of pure, pure grief, Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow, sorrow, Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.

Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras' church, Lord Lovel was laid in the choir; And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,

And And

out of her lover's a brier, brier, out of her lover's a brier.

They grew, and they grew, to the church

top,

steeple

then they cOuld grow no higher: So there they entwined in a true lover's knot,

And
For For

lovers true to admire-mire, all lovers true to admire.

all

ANONYMOUS.

EXGLAXD.

375

ROBIN HOOD AND ALLAN-A-DALE.

CoAiK, liston to nie, yon gallants so free, All yon that love mirth for to hear, And I will tell you of a bold outlaw,

That

lived in Nottinghamshire.

As Kobin Uood

in the forest stood, All under the greenwood tree, There he was aware of a brave young

man,

As

fine as fine

might

be,

The youngster wa? clad in In scarlet fine and gay;

scarlet-red,

And he did frisk And chanted a

it

over the plain,

roundelay.

As Robin Hood next morning stood Amongst the leaves so gay,

Thei-e did he espy the

same young man

the way.

Come drooping along

The
It

scarlet he

wore the day before

cast

was dean

away;

And

at every stej* he fetched a sigh,

"Alack and well-a-day!"

Then
stei)ped forth brave Little John, .Midge, the miller's son;

And

Which made the young man bend Whenas he see them come.

his bow,

376
"

NARRATIVE
off
!

P0EM1<!.

Stand

stand

off

"
!

the young

man

said,

your will with " You must come before our master straight, Under yon greenwood tree.''
is

"What

me?"

And when

he came bold Robin before, Robin asked him courteously, " O, hast thou any money to spare, For m A' merry men and me ? "

" I have
"

no money," the young man said, and a ring; And that I have kept these seven long years. To have at mv wedding.

But

five shillings

"Yesterday-

should have married a maid.

ta'en.

But

she

was from me

And

chosen to be an old knight's delight, Whereby my poor heart is slain."

is

"What
"

thy
tell

"

Come By the faith

man,
"

name?" then said Robin Hood, me without any fail."

of

my

body," then said the young

My name

it is

Allan-a-Dale."

"What
" Tn

wilt thou give me," said ready gold or fee.

deliver her unto thee?"

Robin Hood,

To

liel])

thee to thy true-love again,

And
" I "

have no money," then quoth the young man,

No

ready gold or

fee.

Ey GLAND.
But
I

377

will

swear upon a book

Thy

true servant for to be."

"How many
"

miles

is it

to thy true-love?

Come tell me without <>Tiile." By the faith of my body/' then

man,
''It is

said the

young

but

five little mile."

Then Kobin he hasted over the

did neither stint nor liu,* Until he came unto the church

plain,

He

Where Allan should keep

his wedding.

"What
" " I
I

hast thou here?" the bishop then said,

prithee

now

tell

unto me."

am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood, "And the best in the north country."

"

O, welcome, O, welcome," the bislio]* he said, " That music best ])leasetli me."

"

You
"

sh.-ill
till'

liMvc

no music,'' (pioth Kobin Hood, bridegroom

1

Till

biitlc Mild

see."

With

th;it ("inif in

Wliidi

was

botli
:i

wealthy knight, grave nnd old;

:i

And

;ifl('r

him

liiiikin
till'

lass,

l)iil

sliiiii'

like

glistei-jng gobl.

"This is not fit match," quoth H()l)in Hood, "That yoM do sicni to iiiMki- iiere;
;i

Stop nor stay.

378

NARRATIVE POEMS.

For since we are come into the church, The bride shall chuse her own dear."

Then Robin Hood put his horn to And blew blasts two and three;

his

mouth,

When four-and-twentj yeomen Came leaping over the lea.

And when

bold

they came into the churchyard. Marching all in a row, The very first man was Allan-a-Dale,

To

give bold Robin his bow.

" This is thy true-love,"

'*

Robin he

said,

Young Allan, as I hear say; And you shall be married at this same time,
Before we depart away."
" That shall not be," the bishop he cried,

''For thy word shall not stand; Thev shall be three times asked in the church, As the law is of our land."

Robin Hood pulled And put it upon

"

off

the bishop's coat,

Little

John;

body," then Robin said, By " This cloth doth make thee a man." the faith of

my

When
The

Little

John went

into the quire.

He

]eople began asked them seven times in the church Lest three times should not be enough.

to laugh;

ENGLAND.

379

"Who
And

gives

me

this

maid?"
"

said Little John,

;

Quoth Kobin Hood,

he
tliat talces

That do I her from Allan-a-Dale,

Full dearly he shall her buy."

And
And

then, having ended this

like a

merry wedding,
;

The bride looked

queen

so they returned to the merry greenwood, Amongst the leaves so green.

ANONYMOUS.

THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT.

GEORGE in. AND A DYING

WOMAN

IN WINDSOR FOREST.

Outstretched beneath the leafy shade Of Windsor forest's deepest glade,

A
Three

And

woman lay; children round her stood. there went up from the greenwood
dying
little

woful wail that day.

"O
"

mother!" was the mingled cry, mother, mother do not die,

I

leave us all alone." " babes " she tried to say, blessed My But the faint accents died away
1

And

In a low sobbing moan.

And And

then, life struggled hard with death,

fast

and strong
U])

slie

drew her breath,

And
With

she raised her head;

tliioiigh the dee[

And, peering

wood maze

a long, sliai-p, unearthly gaze, " Will she not come?" she said.

38i>

NARRATIVE POEMS.
Just then, the parting boughs between, A little maid's light form was seen,

And, following

All breathless with her speed; close, a man came on

to look upon),
led a panting steed.

(A portly man

Who
Or
"
I

" Mother! " the little

e'er she

maiden

cried,

reached the woman's side, xVnd kissed her clay-cold cheek, have not idled in the town.

But long went wandering up and down, The minister to seek.

"
I

They

told

me

here, they told

think they mocked

me there,me everywhere;
his home. bended knee come with me,

And

I found begged him on my To bring his book and Mother he would

I

And when

not come.
lay,

"

I told

him how you dying

And

could not go in peace away AYithout the minister; I begged him, for dear Christ his sake. But O, my heart was fit to break,

Mother! he would not

"
I

stir.

So, though

my tears were blinding me, ran back, fast as fast could be,
To come again
here

And

you; close by this squire

I

to

met,

Who

asked (so mild) what made

told

And when

him

true,

me

fret;

ENGLAND.
"'
'

381

go with you, child/ he said, to this dying bed,' Mother, he's here, hard bv." While thus the little maiden spoke,
I will

God sends me

The man, his baek against an oak. Looked on with glistening eye.

A statelier man, a statelier Kever on greensward paced.

So, while the little

The bridle on his neck hung free. With quivering Hank and trembling knee, Pressed close his bonny bay;
steed,
I rede,

Than those stood there that

day.

maiden spoke,

The man.

back ngainsl an oak. Looked on with glistening eye

his

And

lolded arms, and in his look

that, like a sermon-book,

Something

Preached,

"All

is

vanitv."

But when th( dying woman's face Turned toward him with a wishful
where she lay; And, kneeling down, bent ovei- her,
slei)ped to
'*

gaze,

He

Saying,

am
!

a minister,
let

My
And

sister

us pray "
!

well,

withouten book
ilic

<^r

stole,

((Jod's

words were printed on

his soul!)

(lying ear ii(! breathed, as 't were an angel's strain. The things that unto life pertain.
Iiilo

And

death's dark shadows clear.

382

NARRATIVE POEMS.
He
spoke of sinners' lost estate, In Christ renewed, regenerate, Of God's most blest decree, That not single soul should die

Who
"

turns repentant, with the crj Be merciful to me."

He

Endured but
Sure, in

spoke of trouble, pain, and toil, for a little while In patience, faith, and love,

God's

own good

time, to be

Exchanged for an eternity Of happiness above.

Then, as the spirit ebbed away.

He

raised his hands and eves to pray

That peaceful

And

then

pass; the orphans' sobs alone

it

might

Were

heard, and they knelt, every one. Close round on the green grass.

Such was the sight their wandering eyea Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise,
reined their coursers back. as Just they found the long astray, in the heat of chase that day. Who,

Who

Had wandered from

But each man reined
his

their track.

pawing

steed,

And lighted down, as if agreed, In silence at his side;

And
It
there, uncovered all, they stood,

was wholesome sight and good That day for mortal pride.
a

ENGLAND.
For
V\'as
.

383

of the noblest of the land

that deep-hushed, bareheaded band; And, central in the ring.

that dead pauper on the ground, Her ragged orphans clinging round, Knelt their anointed king.

By

ROBERT AND CAROLINE SOUTHEY.

THE REVENGE.
A BALLAD OP THE FLEET.
I.

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay, And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying
from far awnj
"
:

Spanish ships of war at sea

three
"
!

we have
:

sighted

fifty-

Then sware Lord Thomas Howard

But
no coward I cannot meet them here, for
;

" 'Fore

God

am

my

ships are out

And

of gear, the half

my men

are sick.

must

fly,

but

fol-

We

low quick. are six ships of the line " three ?

can

we

fight with

fifty-

IL

Then spake
\()U
lly

Sir

Richard Grenville
;

"I

know you aro

with them

no coward
tlif'iii

for a

moment

to

fight

But

again. 1 've ninety

men and more that

are lying sick

ashore.

384
I sliould

NARRATIVE POEMS.
count myself the coward
Inquisition dogs and
if I left

them,

my

Lord Howard,

To

these

the

devildoms of

Spain."
III.

So Lord Howard past away with

that day.
Till

five ships of

war

he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven

;

But

Sir

Richard hore in hand

all his

sick

men from

the land

Very

carefully

and slow,
below

Men of Bideford in Devon, And we laid them on the ballast down

For we brought them
all

aboard,

And
To

they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain,

th'e

thumbscrew and the

IV.

stake, for the glory of

the Lord.

He had
and

only a hundred seamen to work the ship

to fight,
till

And

he sailed away from Flores

the Spaniard

came

in sight,

With

his

huge

sea-castles

heaving upon the weather

bow.

we fight or shall we fly ? Good Sir Richard, tell us now. For to fight is but to die
!

" Shall

There

'11

be

And

Sir
lish

by the time this sun be set." Richard said again; *' We be all good Engmen.
left

little of

us

BXGLAND.
the devil,

385

Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of

For

never turned

my back upon Don

V.

or devil yet."

Sir Richard spoke

and he laughed, and we roared a

into the heart of

hurrah, and so

The

little

Revenge ran on sheer

the foe, "With her hundred lighters on deck, and her ninety
sick below
;

For half
left

of their fleet to the right

and half

to the

were seen.
little

And

the

Revenge ran on

thi-o'

the long sea

lane between.

Thousands Thousands

of their soldiers looked

down from

their

decks and laughed,

of their

seamen made mock at the mad

little ci'aft

Running on and

By

on, till delayed their momitaiu-like San I'liilip, that, of fifteen

Imndred

tons,

And

n]t-sliado\ving high tiers of gujis,

l)re;ini

above us with her yawning

sails,

Took the

from our

and we stayed.

vii.

And

while

now

tlie

great San Philip

fall

hung above us

like a cloud

Whence

tlie

thunderbolt will

Long and loud, Four galleons drew away

From

the Spanish

fleet

that day,

VII_25

nSO

NARRATIVE POEMS.
the larboard and two upon the star.

And two upon

board
lay,

And

the battle-thunder broke from

them

all.

VIII.

But anon the great San self and went

Having that within her
content
;

Philip, she bethought her-

womb

that had left her

ill

And

came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand. For a dozen times they came with their pikes and
the rest they

And

musqueteers. a dozen times

we shook 'em

off as

a dog that

shakes his ears

When

he leaps from the water

IX.

to the land.

And

the sun went down, and the stars came out far

over the

summer

sea,

'

.,,! All ~l

But never a moment ceased the

fifty-three.

fight of the one

and

Ship after ship, the whole night long, their highbuilt galleons came. Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her
battle-thunder and flame
;

Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame.

For some were sunk and many were shattered, and so could fight us no more God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before ?

EXGLAXD.
X.

387

For he
Tlio'

said "

Fight on

liis

vessel

was

all

on " but a wreck

fight
!

And

it

chanced that, when half of the short summer

night was gone,

With
But

a grisly

wound

to be drest

he had

left

the

deck. a bullet struck

denl}' dead,

him that was dressing

it

sud-

And
And

himself he was
the head.

wounded again
!

in the side

and

he said " Fight on

fight
XI.

on "
!

And
And

the night went down, and the sun smiled out far o^er the summer sea,

us

the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay all in a ring

;

round

again, for they feared could sting. So they watched what the end would be. And we had not fought them in vain,

But they dared not touch us

that

we

still

But

in perilous plight were we. Seeing forty of our poor hundred

were

slain,

And

half of the rest of us

maimed

for life

In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate

strife
;

And
And

tlie

sick

men down
cold.

in the

hold were most of

them stark and

all broken or bent, and llie was ;ill f)f it powder spent; And the masts and the rigging were lying over the

the pikes wore

side

But

Sir

Kichanl cried

in his

English pride,

388

NARRATIVE POEMS.
!

have fought such a fight for a day and a night As may never be fought again We have won great glory, my men
!

We

And
At

a day less or
die

more
?

sea or ashore,

We

does
"

it

matter when

Sink me the ship, Master her in twain

!

Gunner

sink

her, split

Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of

Spain

XII.

And the gunner said " Ay,

reply
"
:

ay," but the

seamen made

We

And

We
We
And

have children, we have wives, the Lord hath spared our lives. will make the Spaniard promise,
let

if

we

yield, to

us go

shall live to fight again

and

to strike another

blow."
the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to

the foe.
XIII.

And

the stately Spanish

men

to

their flagship bore

him

then.

Where

they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard

And

caught at last. they praised hira to his face with their courtly
fvjreign grace;
:

rose upon their decks, and he cried " I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true

But he

have only done

my

duty as a man

is

bound

to

do

ENGLAND.
With
a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die
fell
!

389
"

And

he

upon their decks, and he

XIV.

died.

And

they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true, And had liolden the power and glory of Spain so

cheap

That he dared her with one little ship and his English few Was he devil or man ? He was devil for aught they
;

knew, But they sank

deep,

his

body with honor down

into the

And

they manned the Revenge with a swarthier

alien crew.

And away

she sailed with her loss and longed for

;

her o\\n

When

wind from the lands they had ruined awoke from sleep. And the water Ijegan to heave and tlie weather to
a

moan.

And And
Till

or ever that evening ended a great gale blew. a wave like the wave that is raised by an earth-

it

([Uako grew, smote (III their Iiulls and

;iiid
tlieii'

th(;ir sails

and their

masts

lings.
fell

And And
To

the wlidle sea )iliinged aiwl tered navy of Spain,

on the shot-shat-

the

little

Revenge herself went down by the

ni;iin.
l,(tKI)

island crags

be lost evermore in the

AM'IU;i>,

'IIONNVSON.

390

NARRATIVE POEMS.
ENGLAND.
FROM "KING JOHN," ACT
V.
SC. 7.

This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,

Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them. Nought shall make
rue,

us

If

England

to itself do rest but true.

SHAKESPEARE.

JOCK JOHNSTONE THE TINKLER.

CAME ye ower by the Yoke-burn Ford, Or down the King's Road o' the clench?* Or saw ye a knight and a lady bright,
*'

O,

Wha
"
I

ha'e gane the gate they baith shall rue?

"

saw a knight nnd a lady bright Ride up the clench at the break of day; The knight upon a coal-black steed. And the dame on one of a silver-gray.

"

And

the lady's palfrey fiew the

first,
:

With many a clang of silver bell Swift as the raven's morning flight The two went scouring ower the
"

fell.

By this time they are man and wife, And standing in St. Mary's fane;
the lady in the grass green silk

And

maid you

will never see again."

* Dell.

SCOTLAXD.
" But I can
tell thee,

391

saucy wight,
shall

And

that the

runaway

prove,
love."

Revenge to a Douglas is as sweet As maiden charms or maiden's

" Since thou say'st that, ray Lord Douglas, Good faith some clinking there will be;

Beshrew my heart but and my sword, If 1 winna turn and ride with thee
!

"

They whipped out ower the Shepherd Clench, And doun the links o' the Corsecleuch Burn; And aye the Douglas swore by his sword To win his love, or ne'er return.
"

First fight your rival. Lord Douglas, And then brag after, if you may ;
is

For the Earl of Ross

as brave a lord

As
"

ever gave good

weapon sway.

But I for ae poor siller merk, Or thirteen pennies and a bawbee, Will tak in hand to light you baith. Or beat the winner, whiche'er it be."
The Douglas turiiod him on his steed, And 1 wat a loud laughter knicli he: " Of a' the fools 1 have ever met, Man, 1 ha'e never met ane like thee.
''Art thou akin to lord or knight. Or courtly scpiirc or wanior leal?" " I am a tinkler," (Hio" the wight, " But like erouncracking unco weel."
I

392

NARRATIVE POEMS.

they came to St. Mary's kirk, The chaplain shook for very fear; And aye he kissed the cross, and said, ''What deevil has sent that Douclas here! &'
"

When

He

neither values
all

Book nor ban,

But curses

And
"

without demur; cares nae mair for a holy man

I

Thau

do for a worthless cur."

Come here, thou bland and brittle priest, And tell to me without delay Where have you hid the lord of Ross And the lady that came at the break of day."
"

knight or lady, good Lord Douglas, Have I beheld since break of morn; And I never saw the lord of Ross Since the woful day that I was born."

No

Lord Douglas turned him round about.

And

Where he beheld

looked the Tinkler in the face; a lurking smile,

And
'^

a deevil of a dour grimace.

this,

thou Tinkler loun? Hast thou presumed to lie on me?" "Faith that I have!" the Tinkler said, " And a right good turn I have done to thee
"

How 's this, how 's

For the lord of Ross and thy own true-love, The beauteous Harriet of Thirlestane, Rade west away, ere the break of day; And you'll never see the dear maid again;

SCOTLAND.
" So
I

393

thought

it

best to bring

you here,

wrang scent, of my own accord; For had you met the Jolinstone clan, They wad ha'e made mince-meat of a
a

On

lord."

At

til is

the Douglas

was

so wroth

wist not what to say or do; Jiut he strak the Tinkler o'er the croun. Till the blood came dreeping ower his brow.
"

He

Beshrew my heart," quo' the Tinkler lad, "Thou knir'st thee most ungallantlye! If these are the manners of a lord. They are manners that winna gang doun wi'
me."

"

riold

up thy hand," the Douglas

I

cried,
!

" keep thy distance. Tinkler loun "That will not," the Tinkler said,

"And
"

Though doun

and

"
I

my marc

should

both

go

"I lunc armor on," ci-icd the Lord Douglas, U (Juirass and helm, as you nuiy see." The deil me care!" quo' the Tinkler lad; " shall have a skelp at them and thee."
i
1

"

You

" .And no remoi'sc

are not horsed," quo' the Lord Douglas, lliis wea]Kn brooks."
's

" Mine

a right good yaiid,"

a

(|iio'

llic Tiiikh'i-

lad,

"And

great deal belter nor she looks.

lord,

"So Hlanl lo thy weapons, thou haughty What have taken needs must give;
I
I

304

NARRATIVE POEMS.

Thou shalt never strike a tinkler again, For the hangest day thou hast to live."
Then
Till

to

it

they
fire

fell,

both sharp and

snell.

the

from both their

vt^eapons flew;

But the very first shock that they met with, The Douglas his rashness 'gan to rue.
For though he had on a sark
of mail,

With a good

wore he, bonnet on his head. Yet the blood ran trickling to his knee.
steel

And

a cuirass on his breast

The Douglas sat upright and firm. Aye as together their horses ran; But the Tinkler laid on like the very

deil,

Siccan strokes were never laid on by man.

"

Hold up thy hand, thou Tinkler

loun,"

Cried the poor priest with whining din; " If thou hurt the brave Lord James Douglas;

curse be on thee and

all

" thy kin

!

" 1 care

no more for Lord James Douglas Than Lord James Douglas cares for me; But I want to let his proud heart know
That a tinkler
's

man

as well as he."

So they fought on, and they fought on. Till good Lord Douglas' breath was gone; And the Tinkler bore him to the ground, With rush, with rattle, and with groan.

SCOTLAND.
"

395

proud Douglas, day should have lived to see! For sure my honor I have lost, And a leader again 1 can never be!
:
!

''

hon That

O bon
this

" cried the

"

But

tell

me

of thy kith

and

kin,

And where was bred thy weapon hand? For thou art the wale of tinkler louns That ever was born in fair Scotland."

"My name
"
1

's Jock Johnstone," quo' the wight; winna keep in my name frae thee; And here, tak thou thy sword again. And better friends we two shall be."

But the Douglas swore a solemn oath. That was a debt he could never owe; He would rather die at tlie back of the dike Than owe his sword to a man so low.
"

But

if

thou wilt ride under

my

banner,

And

bear

my

livery

and my name,

My

right-hand warrior thou shalt be And 1 '11 knight thee on the field of fame."

"Woe

worth thy wit, good Lord Douglas, 'd change my trade for thine; To think wiser would you be. and bcUcr Far
I

To

live a

journeyman

of mine,

"To

niond a kettle or a casque,

yettlin' pan,

Or clout a goodwifcs

Upon my life, good Lord Douglas, You 'd make a noble tinkler-man!

39G

NARRATIVE POEMS.
drammock twice Snnday morn,
a day,

" I would give yon a And snnkets on a

And yon
"

should be a rare adept In steel and copper, brass and horn

fight

you every day you rise, you can act the hero's part; Therefore, I pray you, think of this.
Till

I '11

And

lay

it

seriously to heart."

The Douglas writhed beneath the lash. Answering Avith an inward curse, Like salmon wriggling on a spear. That makes his deadly wound the worse.

But up there came two squires renowned; In search of Lord Douglas they came; And when they saw their master down, Their spirits mounted in a flame.

And

they flew upon the Tinkler wight, Like perfect tigers on their prey: But the Tinkler heaved his trusty sword.

And made him

"

ready for the fray.

Come one to one, ye coward knaves, Come hand to hand, and steed to steed;
would that ye were better men, work indeed!" For this is glorious ??

Before you could have counted twelve.

The Tinkler's wondrous chivalrye

Had both the squires upon the sward, And their horses galloping o'er the

lea.

SCOTLAND.
The Tinkler
tied them neck and heel, uiauv a biting jest gave he: O fie, for shame! " said the Tinkler lad; " Siccan fighters I never did see "

307

And

**

He

slit

one of their bridle reins,

feels!

O,

what disgrace the conquered

And

Till the

he skelpit the squires with that good tawse, blood ran off at baith their heels.
to laugh

The Douglas he was forced

Till

down

his cheek the sajt tear ran:

"

think the deevil be come here In the likeness of a tinkler man! "
to

Then he has

Lord Douglas gone.

And he raised him kindly by the hand, And set him on his gallant steed, And bore him away to Ilenderland
:

*'

Be not cast down, my Lord Douglas, Nor writhe beneath a Itroken bane;
incud (he part,

Vi}v the leech's ait will

And
''

j'our honor

lost will sjtring again.

'T is true,
I

Jock Johnstone

is

my name;

'm a right good tinkler, as you see; For I can crack a castiue betimes, Or clou one, as my need may be.
I

"Jock .Johnstone
For
I

is

my name,

't

is ti-ue,

lint noble hearts aie allied to

:iiii

me;
as thee.'*

llic

loid of

Annandale,
;is
nai'II

And

a knight and carl

S9S

NARRATIVE POEMS.
:

Then Douglas strained the hero's hand, And took from it his sword again
" Since thou art the lord of Annandale, Thou hast eased my heart of meikle pain.

might have known thy noble form In that disguise thou 'rt pleased to wear; All Scotland knows thy matchless arm,

" I

And England by

experience dear.

"We

have been foes as well as friends, jealous of each other's sway; But little can I comprehend Thy motive for these pranks to-day."

And

"

Sooth,
'T

my
I

good

lord, the truth to tell,

was

that stole

your love away,

;

And gave her to the lord of Ross An hour before the break of day
" For the lord of Ross
is

my

brother,

By

all I

the laws of chivalrye;

to

And
"

brought with me a thousand men

To guard him
But
T

my

ain countrye.

thought meet to stay behind, try ycmr lordship to waylay. Resolved to breed some noble sport,

And
By

leading you so far astray.

"Judging it better some lives to spare, Which fancy takes me now and then, And settle our quarrel hand to hand, Than each with our ten thousand men.

8C0TLAXD.
" God send you soou,

399
Douglas,
I

my Lord

To i>order fora^' sound and liaill But never strike a tinkler again,
If he be a

Johnstone of Anuandale."

JAMES HOGG.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

Cries,

CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, " Boatman, do not tarry!

I 'II

And

To row us
"

give thee a silver pound, o'er the ferry."

Now who

be ye, would cross Lochgyle,

This dark and stormy Avater?" " O, I 'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

And
"

this

Lord

Ullin's daughter.

And

fast before her father's

men

Three days we 've fled together, For should he find us in the glen. to'

My

blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us

ride;

Should they our steps discover. Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lovQr?"

Out spoke the

''I'll go,

hai-dy
diief,

my

Highland wight, I'm ready:

It

is

But

not for your silver bright; for vour winsome ladv:

400
"

NARRATIVE POEMS.
And by my word
I

tlie

bonny bird
:

In danger shall not tarry So, though the waves are raging white,
I
'11

row you

o'er the ferry."

By

this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking;
in the scowl of

And

heaven each face

Grew dark
But
still

as they were speaking.

as wilder grew the wind,

And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode arjned men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.
"

O, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather;
'11

meet the raging But not an angry

left a

of the skies, father."

The boat has

stormy land,

A stormy

sea before her,

When, The tempest gathered

O, too strong for

human hand,
o'er her.

And

still they rowed amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing: Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore, His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade. His child he did discover: One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover.

SCOTLAND.
"

401

Come back come back

!

" he cried in grief,

''Across this stormy

water:
cliief,

And

I '11

forgive your Ilighland

I

]My daughter
'T

()

my

dau<;hterl"

loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing; The waters wild went o'er his child,

was vain;

the

And

he

was

left

lamenting.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

M ARM ION AND DOUGLAS.

"

"<!

FROM

"

M ARM ION," CANTO

VI.

Not

far advanced

was morning day.

to ride;

When

]Marmiou did his troops array

To Surrey's camp

He had safe-conduct for his baud, Benealli lln' royal seal and hand,
a guide: The ancient Karl, with stately grace. Would Clara on lier ]aH'rey place,
An<l whispered in an undertone,

And Douglas gave

"Let llic hawk stooj), his prey is Mown." The trjiiii Irom out the castle drew,
Hut
.M.iniiioii

stojjped to bid adieu:

1

''Though " or ((tld

soiiicthiiig

might

il;iiii,"

he said,

i-cspect to
iiy

stranger guest.

your king's behest, \y\\\\c in Tantallon's towers I stayed, |*:irt we in friendship from your land.
Sent hither

And, noble
VII
'J<;

i:arl.

receive

my

hand."

402

NARRATIVE POEMS.

But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms and thus he spoke: " My manors, halls, and bowers shall still

Be open, at my sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer.

My

my king's alone, turret to foundation-stone, The hand of Douglas is his own;

From

castles are

And

never shall in friendly grasp

clasp."

The hand of such as Marmiou

Burned IMarmion's swarthy cheek

like fire,

And shook his very frame for ire. And " This to me! " he said, " An 't were not for thy hoary beard,

Such hand as Marmion's had not spared

To
And,

cleave the Douglas' head!

first,
I

tell thee,

haughty Peer,

He who

does England's message here. Although the meanest in her state.

May well, proud xVngus, be thy mate: And, Douglas, more 1 tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride, Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, And
I

(Nay never look upon your lord, lay your hands upon your sword,)
tell thee,
if
!

thou 'rt defied thou said'st I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here. Lowland or Highland, far or near. Lord Angus, thou hast lied " On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage

And

^^COTLAND.

403

O'ercarae the ashen hue of age: Fierce he broke forth,*' And dar'st thou then

To beard the lion The Doughis in

iu his den, his hall?

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go? No, by ^t. liride of Bothwell, no! Up drawbridge, grooms, what, Warder, ho! Let the poiUullis fall." Lord Marinion turned, well was his need!

And dashed the rowels in his steed; Like an arrow through the archwa3' sprung; The ponderous grate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room. The bars descending razed his plume.
steed along the drawbridge Just as it trembled on the rise;

The
Not

flies,

lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim; And when Lord Marniion roached his band.

He halts, and turns with clenched hand, And shout of loud defiance pours, And shook his gauntlet at the towers.
"

Horse horse
!

"
!

the

"
1

)(>nglas cried,

and chase "

!

"

his fury's pace: royal messenger he came. Though most unworthy of the name.

But soon he reined

Siiint Mary, mend my liery mood! Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, thought to slay him where he stood. 'T is pity of him too," he cried;
I

404

NARRATIVE POEMS.
"Bold can be speak, and
I

warrant

fairly ride: hiin a warrior tried."

With

this his

mandate he

recalls,

And

slowly seeks his castle halls.

SIR

WALTER

SCOTT.

FITZ-JAMES AND EODERICK DHU.

FROM
"

THE LADY OF THE LAKE," CANTO

""

V.

To match me with
Twice have
I
I

this

AM by promise man of pride:

tried

sought Clan- Alpine's glen

when I come again, come with banner, brand, and bow, As leader seeks his moi^tal foe. For lovelorn swain, in lady's bower.
In ])eace; but

Ne'er panted for the a^jpointed hour. As I, until before me stand

This rebel Chieftain and his band."

"

He whistled Have, then, thy wish And he was answered from the hill; Wild as the scream of the curlew.
''
!

shrill,

From

crag to crag the signal flew.

Instant, through copse and heath, arose Bonnets and spears and bended bows; On right, on left, above, below,

Sprung

From

at once the lurking foe; shingles gray their lances start,

uj)

The bracken bush sends forth the dart, The rushes and the willow-wand Are bristling into axe and brand. And every tuft of broom gives life

SCOTLAND.
To plaided warrior
ariiioil

405

for strife.

That \Aliistle garrisoued the gh'U At oiicc w itli full live Limdrod meu, As it lie vawiiiiiy; hill to heaven
I

subterranean host liad given. Watching their leader's beck and

will,

All silent there they stood, and still. Like the loose crags whose threatening Lay tottering o'er the hollow i)ass,

mass

As

an infant's touch could urge Their headlong passage down the verge,
if

With step and weapon forward

Ui)on the mountain-side
tliev

thing,
huny,-.

The Mountaineer cast glance

of pride

Along lienledi's living side, Then tixed his eye and sable brow
Full on Fit/>-James: "How say'st thou now? These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true;

And, Saxon, I

am

Kodei-ick

Dhu!"

Fif /--.lames

The

(o liis heart with smhleu start, He manned himself with dauntless air,

was brave;

though

life-blood thrilled

Keturned the Cliief his haughty stare, His back against a rock he bore.

And

"Come

(irmly i)laced liis foot before: nue, come all! this rock shall
liiiii

fly

T'^'om its

Sir j{o(!erick mai-ked,

IJespect

and in his eyes was mingled with snrjuise,

tV'el

base as soon as

1."

Aim! the stern jov which warriors II foeineii \\(irti!\ of their steel.
I

400

NARRATIVE POEMS.

Short space lie stood, then waved his hand: Down sunk the disappearing band;

Each warrior vanished where he stood, In broom or bracken, heath or wood: Sunk brand and spear, and bended bow, In osiers pale and coi)ses low
:

seemed as if their mother Earth ITad swallowed up her warlike birth. The wind's last breath had tossed in air Pennon and plaid and plumage fair,
It

The next but swept a lone

hillside.

Where heath and

The sun's

fern were waving wide;

last glance was glinted back. spear and glaive, from targe and jack, The next, all unreflected, shone

From

On bracken

green,

and cold gray

stone.

Thou art my guest -I pledged my word As far as Coilantogle ford: Nor would I call a clansman's brand For aid against one valiant hand,
;

Fitz-James looked round, yet scarce believed The witness that his sight received; Such apparition well might seem Delusion of a dreadful dream. Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, And to his look the Chief replied " Fear naught nay, that I need not say But doubt not aught from mine arraj'.

Though on our strife lay every vale Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. I only meant So move we on To sliow the.i'eed on which you leant,
;

SCOT LAND.
Deeming this path you might pursue Without a pass from Koderick Dhu." They moved; I said Fitz-James was brave,

407

As

ever knight that belted glaive;

Yet dare not say that now his blood Kept on its wont and tempered flood,
As, following lioderick's stride, he drew

That seeming lonesome pathway through,

AMiich yet, by fearful proof. Avas rife

With lances, that, to take his life, Waited but signal from a guide, So late dishonored and defied.
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round The vanished guardians of the ground, And still, from copse and heather deep, Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep,

And

in the plover's shrilly strain

The signal whistle heard again. Nor breathed he free till far behind The pass was left; for then they wind Along a wide and level green, ^Vhere neither tree nor tuft was seen, Nor rush nor bush of broom was near.

To hide a bonnet or
The Chief

a spear.

in silence strode before,

And

reached that torrent's sounding shore.

Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, From Vennachar in silver breaks, Swe('[)S through the jdaiu, and ceaseless mines

On

II(<Ii;istle

^Vll('l<'

Kome, the

the mouldering lines, ICmjircss of the world.

Of yore her eagle wings unfurled.

108

NARRATIVE POEMS.
here
liis

And

course the Chieftain stayed,

Threw down his target and his plaid, And to the Lowhind warrior said " Bold Saxon to his piomise just,
: !

Vieh-Alpine has discharged his trust. This murderous Chief, this ruthless man, This head of a rebellious clan,

Hath led thee safe through watch and ward, Far past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard. Now, man to man, and steel to steel,

Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel.

See, here, all vantageless I stand. Armed, like thyself, with single brand;

For

this is Coilantogie ford,

And thou must

keep thee with thy sword."

'*
:

I ne'er delaj'Cd, The Saxon paused When foeman bade me draw my blade; Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed thy death: Yet sure thy fair and generous faith.

And my

deep debt for life preserved, meed have vyell deserved Can naught but blood our feud atone?

better

Are there no means?" "No, Stranger, none;

And

hear,

to

fire

thy flagging zeal,

;

The Saxon cause rests on thy steel For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred Betv^een Die living and the dead:,

Who spills the foremost foeman's life. His party conquers in the strife.' " " Then, by my word," the Saxon said, " The riddle is aln^ady read. Seek yonder brake beneath the clilf,
'

SCOTLAND.
There
lies Ketl .^lurdock,

409
stiff.

stark and
to me.

Thus Fate Then yield

liath solved her pi'opheey,

to Fate,

and not

To James, at Stirling, let us go, When, if thou wilt be still his foe, Or if the King shall not agree To grant thee grace and favor free,
plight mine honor, oath, and word, That, to thy native strengths I'estored, With each advantage shalt thou stand,
I

That aids thee now

to

guard thy land."

Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye. " Soars thy presumption^ then, so high, Because a wretched kern ye slew,

Homage to name to Roderick Dhu? He yields not, he, to man nor fate! Thou add'st but fuel to my hate:
clansman's blood demands revenge. yet i)repared? P>y Heaven, I change My thought, and hold thy valor light As that of sofiie vain carpet knight,

My

Not

A\ho

ill

deserved

my

courteous care,

And whose

best boast is but to

wear

A
"
T

brai<l of his fair lady's hair."

thank thee, Roderick, for the word! my heart, it steels my sword; For r have sworn this braid 1o stain III llie best blood that wai-ms thy vein. Now. tiMice. farewell and mill, begone!
]t nerves
I

iio( 1h;it by lliee alone, I'roud Chief! can courfesy be shown; Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn,

Yel think

410
Start at

NARRATIVE POEMS.
mv
whistle clansmen stern.
this small

Of

horn one feeble blast

Would
But

fearful odds against thee cast. fear not doubt not which thou wilt-

We

try this quarrel hilt to hilt."

Then each at once his falchion drew. Each on the ground his scabbard threw, Each looked to sun and stream and plain, As what they ne'er might see again Then, foot and point and eye opposed.
;

In dubious strife they darkly closed. then with Roderick Dhu, field his targe he threw. Whose brazen studs and tough bull hide Had death so often dashed aside;
Ill

fared

it

That on the

For, trained abroad his arms to wield, Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield.

He
To

practised every pass and ward,

thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard;

While less expert, though stronger far, The Gael maintained unequal war. Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood: No stinted draught, no scanty tide, The gushing floods the tartans dyed.
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain.

And showered

his blows like wintry rain; And, as firm rock or castle-roof Against the winter shower is proof, The foe, invulnerable still,

Foiled his wild rage by steady skill;

Till, at

ad\'antage ta'en, his brand

SCOTLAND.
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, And, backwards borne upon the lea,

411

Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee. Now yield thee, or, bj Him who made The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!"
*'

Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy Let recreant yield, who fears to die." Like adder darting from his coil,
!

"

Like wolf that dashes through the toil. Like mountain-cat who guards her young, Full at Fitx-James's throat he sprung;

And

Received, but recked not of a wound, locked his arms his foeman round.

Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown!
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel Through bars of brass and triple steel They tug, they strain down, down they go. The Gael above, Fitz- James below. The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed. His knee was planted in his breast; His clotted locks he backward threw. Across his brow his hand he drew. From blood and mist to clear his sight. Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright! liut hate and fury ill sujtplied
!
I

Tlio

stream of
all

life's

exhausted

tide,

And
To

too late the atlvantage came. turti lie odds of deadly game;
I

For, while the dagger gleamed on high, Reeled soul imd sense, reeled brain and eye. Down came the blow but in the heath
I

The erring blade found bloodless sheath.

412

NARRATIVE

POEiMH.

The struggling foe may uow unclasp The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp; Unwonnded from the dreadful close, But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

He

Heaven for life. from Redeemed, unhoped, desperate strife; Next on his foe his look he cast,
faltered thanks to

Whose

every gasp appeared his last; In Roderick's gore he dipped the braid, "Poor Blanche! thy wrongs are dearly paid. Yet witli thy foe must die, or live.

The praise that faith and valor give." Witli that he blew a bugle note. Undid the collar from his throat,
TJnbonneted, and by the wave Sat down iiis l)row and hands to lave. Then faint afar are heard the feet
Tlie

Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet; sounds increase, and now are seen

Four mounted squires in Lincoln green; Two who bear lance, and two who lead,

By

loosened rein, a saddled steed

Each onward held

And by

his headlong course, Fitz-James reined up his horse,

With wonder viewed the bloody

''Exclaim You, Herbert and Luffness, alight. And bind the wounds of yonder knight; Let the gray ])alfrey bear his weight,

spot, not, gallants! question not,

We
And

destined for a fairer freight.

bring him on to Stirling straight;

I will before at better speed,

SCOTLAND.

413

To seek fresh horse aud fitting' weed. I must be bonne The sun rides high To see the aroher-ganie at noon; But lightly Uavard clears the lea. De Vaux aud Herries, follow ine." SIU WALTER SCOTT.
;

FITZ-JAMES AND ELLEN.

FROM
"

THE LADY OF THE LAKE," CANTO

was

VI.

FOOTSTEP struck her ear,

graceful Knight
near.

And Suowdoun's

She turned the hastier, lest again The prisoner should renew his strain.
"
"'

U welcome, brave Fitx-Janies! she How may an almost orphan maid

debt"
I

"

said;

l*ay the deep

^"

O, say not so!

To me no gratitude you owe. Not mine, alas the boon to give,

And
I

bid thv noble father live; can but be thy guide, sweet maid.
suit to aid.
he,
liis

With Scotland's King thy

No tyrant May lead

Come.

though
better
't

ire

aud pride
aside.

mood
is

lOllen,

<-ome;

more than time,

lie holds his court at iiHM'uing prime."

With beating heart and bos(m wrung. As to a brothcT-'s arm she clung.
(lently he dried the falling tear.

And
llei-

gently whisp('r<'d hojte and cheer;

faltering steps hall led, half stayed,
fair

Through gallery

and high arcade,

414

NARRATIVE POEMS.
touch, its wings of pride portal arch unfolded wide.
't

Till, at his

Within

was

brilliant all

and

light,

thronging scene of ligures bright; It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight,

As when the setting sun has given Ten thousand hues to summer even,

And from

their tissue fancy frames Aerial knights and fairy dames. Still by Fitz-James her footing stayed;

few faint steps she forward made.

raised, fearful roun<l the presence gazed
:

Then slow her drooping head she

And

For him she sought who OAvned this state, The dreaded prince whose will was fate!
She gazed on mnny a princely port Might well have ruled a royal court;

On many

a splendid garb she gazed,

Then turned bewildered and amazed, For all stood bare; and in the room Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. To him each lady's look was lent, On him each courtier's eye was bent. Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen

He

stood, in simple Lincoln green.

The centre of the glittering ring, And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King!

As wreath

of snow, on

mountain breast,
it rest,

Slides from the rock that gave

Poor Ellen glided from her stay. And at the Monarch's feet she lay;

SCOTLAND.
No word
0, not a

415

her choking voice commands: She showed the riug, she chisped her hands.

moment

could he brook,

The generous prince, that suppliant look! Gentlv he raised her, and the while Checked with a glance the circle's smile; Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed,

And bade

her terrors be dismissed:

''Yes. fair; tlie wandering poor Fitz-James The fealty of Scotland claims.

To him thy woes, thy wishes bring;

He

redeem his signet ring. Ask naught for Douglas; jester even His prince and he have .much forgiven Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, 1, from his rebel kinsmen, w'rong. We would not to the vulgar crowd Yield what they craved with clamor loud; Calmly we heard and judged his cause. Our council aided and our laws.
will
:

stanched thy father's death-feud stern,

With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn; And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own The friend and bulwark of our Throne. But, lovely intidel, how now? What clouds th^^ misbelieving brow? Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid; Thou must conrn-m this <loubting 'to nmid."
Then
foitli
liis

tlic

iioltlc

Douglas sjirung,

And on

neck his daughter hung. The Monarch dinnk, thai hap]y hour,

The sweetest,

holiest

draught of Power,

41G

NARRATIVE
it
.,

P0E3I&.

When

can sa} the godlike voice, sad Arise, Vii'tiie, and rejoice! Yet would not James the general eye
nature's raptures long should pr^'

On He

stepped between

"

^aj, Douglas, nay,

Steal not

my

proselyte

away

The riddle 't is my right to read. That brought this happy chance to s})eed. Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray In life's more low but happier way, 'T is under name which veils my power. Nor falsely veils, for Stirling's tower Of yore the name of Suowdouu claims. And Normans call me James Fitz-James. Thus watch I o'er insulted laws. Thus learn to right the injured cause." Then, in a tone apart and low, "Ah, little trait'ress! none must know What idle dream, what lighter thought.

vanity full dearly bought. Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew My spell -bound steps to Ben venue, In dangerous hour, and all but gave " life to mountain

What

Thy Monarch's Aloud he spoke,

That
little

"

Thou

still

glaive dost hold

!

Pledge of

What

talisman of gold. my faith, Fitz- James's ring; seeks fair Ellen of the King?'^

Full well the conscious maiden guessed, He probed the weakness of her breast;

But with that consciousness there came

lightening of her fears for Graeme,

SCOTLAND.
she deemed the monarch's ire Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire, Rebellious broadsword boldly drew; And, to her generous feeling true, 8he craved the grace of Roderick Dim.

417

And more

"Forbear thy suit; the King of kings Alone can stay life's parting wings.
I know his heart, I know his hand, Have shared his cheer, and proved

his brand.

Mv
To

fairest

earldom would

give

bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live!

No

to crave? other captive friend to save?" Blushing, she turned her from the King, And to the Douglas gave the ring,

Hast thou no other boon

As
The
"

if

suit that stained her

she wished her sire to speak glowing cheek.

Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force, stubborn justice holds her course. Malcolm, come forth! " And, at the word, Down knelt the Or;pme to Scotland's Lord, "For tliee, rash youth, no suj)])liant sues.

And

From

thee may Vengeance claim her dues, \Vho, nurtured underneath our smile, Hast ]iaid our care by treacherous wile,

And

sought, amid thy faithful clan,

refuge for an outlawed man. Dishonoring thus lliy loyal name,

Fetters and warder for the (li'a'inel"

His chain of gobl the King unsli-ung. The links o'ei- .Mnlcolm's neck he Hung, 'J'lieii gently drew the gliltei-ing band. And laid the clas[) on lOllen's hand. SIi: WALTEU SCOTT. VII 27

418

NARRATIVE POEMS.
MUCKLE-MOU'D MEG.

"

Oh, wha hae ye brought us liame now, my

brave lord,
Strappit flaught ower his braid saddle-

bow? Some bauld Border

reiver to feast at our board

I

An' herry our pantry,

trow.
:

He

's

buirdly an' stalwart in lith an' in limb

war The field was a saft enengli litter for him Ye needna hae brought him sae far; Then saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt
Gin ye were his master
in

again,

An'

when ye gae hunt

game."

again,

strike

higher

"

Hoot, whist ye,

kin.

my
o'

dame, for he comes

a lang pedigree;

o'

gude

An' boasts
This night he
within,

maun

share

o'

our gude cheer

He

's

gallant Wat Scott, heir Ha',

At morning's gray dawn he maun dee. o' proud Harden

Wha
But now he
is

ettled our lands clear to sweep; snug in auld Elibank's paw.

Though saddle
I
'11

An' shall swing frae our donjon keep. an' munt again, harness an' dimt
again,

ne'er

when
game."

hunt

again

strike

higher

SCOTLAND.
"Is
this

419

young Wat Scott?

craig.

an'

wad ye rax

his

When

Gae, gaur the loun

han'
'*
!

our daughter is fey for a man? many our muckle-mou'd Meg, Or we '11 ne'er get the jaud aff our

"

'Od, lioar our gudewife

she

wad

fain save your

life:

Wat
IJut

Scott, will ve
set

Meg's muckle mou

agrue,

marry or hang?" young Wat's heart

swore to the woodie he 'd gang. Ne'er saddle nor uiunt again, harness nor dunt
again.

Wha

Wat

ne'er shall

hunt again, ne'er see his hame.

in

Syne mncklo-mou'd Meg pressed

side.

close to his

An' bliukit
bride, lie
"

fu' sleely

Hut aye as Wat glowered on

shook

his

and kind; braw proffered

wind.

like a leaf in the

l)ride or a

The
Till

" gallows; a rope or a wife! morning dawned sunny and clear:

life,

W;it boldly strode forward to part wi' his

he saw Meggy shedding a tear; TlicM saddle an' mnnt again, harness an' dunt

Fain wad
Meg's

again. nt hunt again, fain

wad he hame.
gibbet

tear

toudied
higli

frowned An' slowly

bis

bosom tlie

Wat

strode to his

doom;

420

NARRATIVE POEMS.

He

gae a glance round wi' a tear in his eye, Meg shone like a star through the gloom. She rushed to his arms; they were wed on the
spot,

An' lo'ed ither muckle and laug. Nae bauld border laird had a wife like Wat Scott 'T was better to marry than hang. So saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, Elibank hunt again, Wat 's snug at hame. JxVMES BALLANTINE.
:

THE HEART OF THE BRUCE.

It was upon an April morn.

We

While yet the frost lay hoar, heard Lord James's bugle-horn

Sound by

the rocky shore.

Then down we went, a hundred knights,

All in our dark array,

And

flung our

armor

in the ships

That rode with in the bay.

We

spoke not as the shore grew

in silence back,

less,

But gazed

Where

The foam behind our

the long billows swept track.

away

And

aye the pur^jle hues decayed Upon the fading hill. And but one heart in all that ship

Was

tranquil, cold,

and

still.

SCOTLAXD.
The good Lord Douglas paced the deck, Aud O, his face was wan Unlike the flush it used to wear
!

421

When
"'

in the battle-van.

Come
Sir

hither,

Simon
is

come hither, of the Lee;

my

trusty knight,

There

a freit lies near

my

soul

I fain Avould toll to thee.

"

Thou know'st the Avords King Robert spoke Upon his dying day:
he bade take his noble heart carry
lav
it

How

And

it

far

away;

"And

in the holv soil

Where once

the Saviour trod.

Since he might not bear the blessed Cross, Nor strike one blow fur God.
"

Last night as
I

in

my

bed

lay,

dreamed a dreary dream: Methought I saw a Pilgrim stand

In the moonlight's quivering beam,
"

His robe was of the azure dye. Snow-white his scattered hairs.
even
siicji

And
"

a cross he bore

As good
'

vSaint

Andrew

bears.

^\'lly
'

go vc

I'ortli.

Lord Jnmcs.' he said,

With spear and jjcltcd brand? Why do you lake its dearest jdedge

From

this

our Scottish land?

422
"
'

NARRATIVE POEMS.
The sultry breeze
of Galilee

Creeps through its groves of palm, The olives on the Holy Mount

Stand glittering in the calm.

"
'

not there that Scotland's heart Shall rest, hy God's decree.

But

't

is

Till the great angel calls the

dead

To
"
'

rise

from earth and sea!

Lord James of Douglas, mark my rede! That heart shall pass once more
fiery fight against the foe,

In

As
"
'

it

was wont

of yore.

it shall pass, beneath the Cross, save King Robert's vow; But other hands shall bear it back, Not, James of Douglas, thou!
'

And And

"

Now, by thy knightly faith, I pray, Sir Simon of the Lee, For truer friend had never man Than thou hast been to me,

" Tf ne'er 'T is

upon the Holy Land mine in life to tread.

Bear thou to Scotland's kindly earth The relics of her dead."

The tear was in Sir Simon's eye As he wrung the warrior's hand,
" Betide
1
'11

mo weal, betide woe, hold by thy command.

me

SCOTLAND.
"

423

Lord James, once more to ride, Nor force of man, nor craft of fiend, Shall cleave me from tbv side!"

But

if

in battle-fi'ont,

'T is ours

And

are we sailed and ave we sailed Across the weary sea, Until one morn the coast of Spain Rose grimly on our lee.
as we rounded to the port, lieneath the watch-tower's wall. We heard the clash of the atabals.

And

And
"

the trumpet's Avavering

call.

sounds yon Eastern music here So wantonly and long, And ^\hose the crowd of armed men That round yon standard throng?"
"

Why

The Moors haye come from Africa To spoil and waste and slay,
of Castile

And King Alonzo

Must
"

fight with them to-day."

it

Now shame
'
I

were," cried good Lord James,

Shall never be said of

me

That

and mine have turned aside

the Cross in jeopardie!

From
" riave

down, have d(nvn,

let

my merry men
h>()se

all,

Have down unto

the |ilain;
liin

We

'11

the Scoltish
fields of

Within the

Spain!"

424
"

NARRATIVE POEMS.
Now welcome
Tlioii

to me, noble lord,

and

tliy

stalwart power;

Dear

is

the sight of a Christian knight,

Who
"
Is

comes

in such

an hour!

it for bond or faith jou come, Or yet for golden fee? Or bring ye France's lilies here, Or the flower of Burgnndie?"

"

greet thee well, thou valiant king. Thee and thy belted peers, Sir James of Douglas am I called.

God

And
"

these are Scottish spears.

fight for

We

do not

bond or

plight,

Nor 3'et for golden fee; But for the sake of our Blessed Lord, Who died upon the tree.
"

We

bring our great King Robert's heart Across the weltering wave.
grave.

To lay it in the holy soil Hard by the Saviour's

"

True pilgrims we, by land or sea. Where danger bars the way And therefore are we here, Lord King,
;

To

ride with thee this day

"
!

The King has bent

his stately head, the tears were in his eyno, " God's blessing on thee, noble knight.

And
For

this brave

thought of thine!

SCOTLAXD.
''I

425

know

thy iiaiue full well, Lord James;

I be,

And honored may

That those who fought beside the Bruce JShould tii-ht this day for me!
"

Take thou the leading of the van, And charge the Moors amain;
is

There
In

not such a lance as thine

the host of Spain!"

all

Tlie

Douglas turned towards us then, O, but his glance was high! "There is not one of all my men

But

is

as bold as

I.

" There

is

not one of

all

my

But bears as true a si)ear, Then onward, Scottish gentlemen, And think King Robert 's here! "
'tr>

knights

The trumiets blew, the

cross-bolts flew,

Tiic .in-ows flashed like flame.

As

and spur in Against Ihe foe we came.

sj)ur in side

rest,

And many
^^'e^t

a bearded Saracen down, both horse and man; For through their ranks we rode like corn, So furiously we ran
!

But

ill

Iteliiinl

our

patli lliey closed,

let

Thongli fain (o

us Ihi'ough,

426

NARRATIVE POEMS.

For they were forty thousand men, And we were wondrous few.

We

might not see a hmce's length, So dense was their array,

But the long fell sweep of the Scottish blade Still held them hard at bay.
"

Make in make in " Lord Douglas " Make in, my brethren dear
!
! !

cried

Sir William of St. Clair

We mav
But

not leave

is down; him here "

!

thicker, thicker

grew the swarm.

the press,
again.

And sharper shot the rain, And the horses reared amid
But they would not charge
"

Now
"

Jesu help thee," said Lord James,

St. Clair
!

Thou kind and true

if I
'11

An'
I

not bring thee otf, " die beside thee there

may

Then So

in his stirrups
lion-like

up he stood, and bold.

And

held the precious heart aloft, All in its case of gold.

far ahead.

He flung it from him, And never spake he

But

As

more, '' Pass thou first, thou dauntless heart, " thou were wont of 3'ore!

SCOTLAND.
The roar

427

And

heavier

of fire rose fiercer yet, still the stour,

Till the spears of

Spain came shivering

in,

And swept

awa}' the Moor.

"Now
Thev

praised te God, the day

ttv,

o"er flood

and

fell,

is

won!

Why
"

dost thou draw the rein so hard. Good knight, that fought so well?"

O, ride ye on, Lord King!" he said, " And leave the dead to me,

For I must keep the dreariest watch That ever I shall dree!
" There

lies,

above his master's heart,

The Douglas, stark and grim; And woe is me 1 should be here, Not side bv side with him
!

" The world grows cold, my And thin my lyart hair,

arm

is old.

And

all

that

loved best on earth

Is stretched before

me

there.

"

Both well banks, that bloom so bright

May! The heaviest cloud that ever blew

Is l)()uiid for

iJencath Ihc sun of

yon this day.

Ihou mavst
in ])ain.

"And

Scotland

veil

thv head

In sorrow and

428

NARRATIVE POEMS.

The sorest stroke upon thy brow Hath falleu this day in Spain!
"

We We

'11 '11

bear them back unto our ship, bear them o'er the sea,

And

lay them in the hallowed earth Within our own countrie.

"

be thou strong of heart, Lord King, For this I tell thee sure, The sod that drank the Douglas' blood
Shall never bear the

And

Moor

>'

The King he

lighted from his horse,

He flung his brand awav, And took the Douglas by the

So stately as he
lay.

hand,

"God
I

give thee rest, thou valiant soul!

That fought so well for Spain; 'd rather half my land were gone, So thou wert here again "
!

We bore

the good Lord

James away,

And the priceless heart we bore, And heavily we steered our ship
Towards the Scottish
shore.

No welcome

greeted our return,

as death

Nor clang of martial tread, But all were dumb and hushed
Before the mighty dead.

SCOTLAND.

429

We
And

laid our chief in

Douglas Kiik,

The heart

in fair Melrose;

woful men were we that day, God grant their souls repose!

WILLIAM Kl^MUNDSTOUNK AYTOUN.

BARCLAY OF URY.
Up By
the streets of Aberdeen, the kirk and colh^ge green,
laird of TTry;

Rode the

Close behind him. close beside,

Foul of mouth and

Pressed the

evil-eved,
in

mob

fury.

Flouted

Iiiiu

the drunken churl

Jeered at liim the serving-girl, Prompt to please her master;

And
Fed

aii<l

the begging carlin, late clothed at Ury's gate,

Cursed him as he passed her.

Yet with calm and stately mien Uj) the streets of Aberdeen

Came he slowly riding; And lo all he saw and heard

Answering not with bitter word, Turning not f<u- chiding.

Came

lro<i|

witli

broadswords swinging,

Bits and bridles sliaiply ringing,

Loose and free and froward:

430

NARRATIVE POEMS.
Quoth the foremost, Ride him down Push him ijrick him through the town Drive the Quaker coward "
''
!
! !
!

But from out the thickening crowd Cried a sudden voice and loud Ho! a Barclay!" ''Barclay!
:

And Saw

the old

man

at his side

a comrade, battle-tried,

Scarred and sunburned darkly;

Who, with ready weapon

:

bare.

Fronting to the troopers there, Cried aloud " God save us Call ye coward him who stood
!

Ankle-deep in Lutzen's blood, With the brave Gustavus?"

"

Nay,
''

do not need thy sword,

lord;

Comrade mine," said Ury's Put it up, I pray thee.

Passive to his holy will, Trust I in my Master still,

Even though he slay me.

"

Pledges of thy love and faith. Proved on manj^ a field of death, Not by me are needed."

Marvelled much that henchman bold.

That his

laird, so stout of old,

Now

so meekly pleaded.
's

"Woe
And

the day," he sadly said,

head,

With a slowly shaking

a look of pity;

SCOTLAND.
" Urv's houest lord reviled, Mock of knave aud sport of child,

431

In
"

liis

own good

city

Si)eak the word, and, master mine,

Tilly's line,

As we charged on

And

his

Walloon

lancers,
'11

Smiting tlirough their midst, we Civil look and decent speech

teach

To

these boyish prancers

"
!

" Marvel not,

mine ancient friend, Like beginning, like the end!"

Qnoth the laird of Ury; " Is the sinful servant more

Than his gracious Lord who bore Bonds and stripes in Jewry?
" Give

me

joy that in his

name

I can bear with ])atient frame,

While
Shall

All these vain ones olTer; for them he suffered long.

I

answer wrong with wrong,

Scoffing with the scotfer?

"
FTappicir,

with loss of

all,

Iluntcd, outlawed, held in thrall, AA'ilh few fi-icnds lo greet me,

Than when reeve and squire were seen Kiding out from Aberdeen \\ iili bared heads to meet me;
" ^^'hen each goodwife, o'er and o'er, Blessed me as 1 i)assed her dooi"; Aud the snooded daughter,

432

NARRATIVE POEM^.
Through her casement glancing down. Smiled on him who bore renown

From
"

red fields of slaughter.

Hard to feel the stranger's scoff, Hard the old friends' falling otf, Hard to learn forgiving; But the Lord his own rewards,

And

his love with theirs accords

Warm

and fresh and

living.

"Through this dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light Up the blackness streaking; Knowing God's own time is best, In a patient hope I rest
For the
So the
full

day-breaking!"

laird of

Ury

said,

Turning slow his horse's head Towards the Tolbooth })rison, Where, through iron gates, he heard

Poor disciples of the Word Preach of Christ arisen!

Not in vain, confessor old. Unto us the tale is told Of thy day of trial Evei'y age on him who strays From its broad and beaten ways Pours its seven-fold vial.
!

Happy he whose inward

ear

Angel comfortings can hear, O'er the rabble's laughter;

AMERICA.
And, while hatred's fagots burn, Glimpses throiigii the smoke discern, Of the good hereafter.

433

Knowing

this,

that never yet

Share of trulli was vainly set In the M'orld's wide fallow; After hands shall sow the seed, After hands from hill and mead

Reap the harvests

yellow.

Thus, with somewhat of the seer, Must the moral pioneer From the future borrow, Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, And, on midnight's sky of rain. Paint the golden morrow

JOHN (iREENLEAF

WIIITTIER.

THE FIGHT OF THE "ARMSTRONG"

PRIVATEER.
Tkll the
story to your sons

Of the gallant days

When
From

of yore, the brig of seven guns Fought the fleet of seven score,
till

the set of sun

SepteMil)(!r nigiit

morn, throngli
tlioiisaiul,
uiiil

the long
Lhc ninety

Ninety men

ngiiiiist

two

won

the light In the harl)or of Fayal the Azore.

Three lofty Rrilisli .ships came a-sailiiig (o Fayal: One was a line-of-battle ship, and two were frigates
tall;

434

NARRATIVE
men
are,

POEMf<.

Nelson's valiant

of war, brave as Britons ever

Manned

the gnns they served so well at Aboukir and Trafalgar. Lord Dundonald and his fleet at Jamaica far away Waited eager for their coming, fretted sore at their
delay.

There was loot for British valor on the Mississippi

coast

In the beauty and the booty that the Creole

boast
;

cities

There were rebel knaves

Home

to swing, there were prisoners to bring in fetters to old England for the glory of the

King

At

the setting of the sun and the ebbing of the

tide

Came

the great ships one by one, witli their portals

And
And

their

opened wide, cannon frowning down on the

the

castle

and

town
;

Came

the privateer that lay close inside the eighteen-gun Carnation, and the Rota,
forty- four.

And And

the

triple-decked
;

Plantagenet

an admiral's

pennon bore

the privateer grew smaller as tlieir topmasts tovrered taller,

And

she bent her springs and anchored by the castle on the shore.

AMERICA.
Spake the noble Portuguese no fear
;

435
:

to the stranger

"Have
is

They

are neutral waters these, and sacred here

fifty

your ship

As

if

stout armadas stood to shelter

you from

F'or the

harm, honor of the Briton will defend you from

his arm."

But

tlie

privateersman
faith
is

said,

"

Well we know the

Englishmen,

And
Come

their

written red in the Dartmoor

slaughter pen. what fortune

God may

send,

we

will fight

them

to the end.

And

the mercy of the sharks

may

spare us then."

" Seize the pirate

lish

where she
:

lies

"
!

cried the

Eng-

admiral
"

"If the Portuguese protect her,

!

all

the worse for

And

Portugal ff)ur launches at his bidding leaped impatient

for the fray.

Speeding slioreward where the Armstrong, grim and dark and ready, lay. Twice she hailed and gave them warning; but the

On

menace scorning. in s[l('n(lid silence, till a cable's came they away length Then the Yankee pivot spoke; Pico's thousand echoes woke
feeble

And

four baflled, beaten launches drifted helpless on the bay.

436

NAFFATIVE POEMS.
the wrath of Lloyd arose
till

Then

the lion roared

And

again, he called out all his launches

and he called
"
!

five

hundred men

And

he gave the word "

No

quarter

and he sent

them forth to smite. Heaven help the foe before him when the Briton comes in might Heaven helped the little Armstrong in her hour of
!

bitter

need

God Almighty nerved arm of Reid.

the heart and guided well the

Launches to port and starboard, launches forward and aft, Fourteen launches together striking the little craft. They hacked at the boarding-nettings, they swarmed above the rail But the Long Tom roared from his pivot and the
;

grape-shot fell like hail Pike and pistol and cutlass, and hearts that knew not fear,
:

Bulwarks

of

brawn and

mettle, guarded the priva-

teer.

And

ever where fight was fiercest, the form of Reid was seen ;
his quick

Ever wliere foes drew nearest,

between.

sword

fell

Once in tlie deadly strife The boarders' leader pressed Forward of all the rest
Challenging
life for life
;

But

ere their Ijlades

had crossed,

AMERICA.

437

A (lying sailor
His pistol to
"

tossed

IJeid,

and

cried,

Now
the

riddle the lubber's hide

"
!

But
.\iid

privateersman
aside,

laughed, and

flung

the

weapon

he drove his blade to the

hilt,

and the foeinan

gasped and

died.

Then
But

the boarders took to their launches laden with

little

hurt and dead, with glory burdened, and out of the

battle fled.

Now

the tide

was

at flood again,

and the night was

with her odds of

almost done,

When
And
And

the sloop-of-war

came

u[)

two
her,

to one,
fire
;

she o])ened

but the Armstrong answered

gun

for gun,

the gay Carnation wilted in half an hour of sun.

Then

the

Armstrong, looking mighty seventy-four,

triple tier of cannon,
tlic

seaward, saw the

With her
^\iid tlie

drawing slowly to

shore.
"
:

dauntless ca|)tain said

Take our W(Hnided

and our dead.

Bear them
tenderly to land, for the Armstrong's
o'er
;

days are

But no

foe shall tread

it

wave

her deck, and no flag above

To

the

sliip

that saved our honor

we

will

give a

shipman's grave."

438

NARRATIVE POEMS.

So they did as he commanded, and they bore their mates to land With the figurehead of Armstrong and the good sword in his hand. Then they turned the Long Tom downward, and they pierced lier oaken side, And they clieered her, and they blessed her, and
they sunk her in the
tide.

Tell the story to your sons, When the haughty stranger boasts

How

Of his mighty ships and guns And the nmster of his hosts. the word of God was witnessed in the gallant
days of yore the twenty fled from one ere the rising of
the sun. In the harbor of Fayal the Azore
!

When

JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE.

DRIFTED OUT TO SEA.

Two
little

ones,

grown
sea,

tired of play,

Roamed by

the

one summer day,

Watching the great waves come and go, Prattling, as children will, you know. Of dolls and marbles, kites and strings ;
Sometimes hinting at graver things.

At

last they spied

within their reach

;

An

old boat cast upon the beach

Helter-skelter, with

merry

din,
in,

Over

its sides

they scrambled

AMERICA.
Ben, with his tangled, nut-brown hair, Bess, with her sweet face flushed and fair.
Rolling in from the briny deep, Nearer, nearer, the great waves creep,

439

Higher, higher, upon the sands. Reaching out with their giant hands,

Grasping the boat in boisterous Tossing it up and out to sea.

glee,

The sun went down, 'mid clouds

;

of gold and cold with footsteps damp Night came, the hours dawned slowly by crept Day
; ;

And now

A A

across the sunny sky black cloud stretches far away,

And

shuts the golden gates of day.

storm comes on, with flash and roar. While all the sky is shrouded o'er; The great waves, rolling from the west, Bring night and darkness on their breast.
the boat though driving storm. Protected by God's powerful arm.
Still floats

The home-bound

vessel,

"

Sea-bird," lies
:

In ready trim, 'twixt sea and skies Her captain paces, restless now, A troubled hjok upon his brow, While all his nerves with terror thrill,

The shadow

of

some coming

ill.

The mate comes uji to where he stands, And grasps his arm with eager hands.
"

A boat has just swept past," says he, 'Bearing two children out to sea;

440
'T
is

NARRATIVE POEMS.
dangerous

now

to

put about,

Yet they cannot be saved without."

"

Nouglit but their safety will

"
!

suffice

They must be saved

"

By By lips
'11

the captain cries. every thought that 's just and right,
I

hoped

to kiss to-night,
life,

peril vessel,

and men.

And God

will not forsake us then."

With anxious faces, one and all, Each man responded to the call And when at last, through diiving storm. They lifted up each little form, The captain started, Math a groan " My God is good, they are my own "
;
: !

liUSA HAKTAVICIC TH0EPE

INDEX: AUTHORS AND TITLES.

INDEX

OF AUTHORS AND
TITLES.

nativity, etc., of Anilwrs and the AmeriAineiivcDi pociicul works, sec (Jcneral Index of Authors, lo/u/zic -V.

For occupation,
publishtrs

ran

of

ALDKICH, THOMAS BAILKY.

Guilielmus Hex Tfnii}son

page. 53
H;3

ARNOLD, MATTHEW.
Memorial
X'erscs

72

AYTOUX. ^^TL].1AM EDMO.NtSTOUNK.

Broken Pitcher,
IJeart of
tlie

Tlie

Bruce, The

325 420

nAf.LAXTJXK, JAMES.
.Muekle-:\roir(l :Mog

418

BARHAM, RICIIABD HARRIS (Thomas InnnhUhy,

Esq.) City Bells
(

Lay

of St. Aloy's)

147

BARXES.

WTT>LTA:\r. Casllr Ruins, The

B.

21.3

BEXTOX, MYRON
Mowers, The

240

l^OKER,
I'riiice

OEOROE HENRY.
A.leh
.*^nS

BOXE.R, .JOHN

HEXRY.
94

Roc's Cottage at Eordliani

BOWEX. SIR CHAIU-ES.

Fall of Troy,

The

rAitin of Virgil)

2G1

BROOKS, CHAREES TIMOTHY.

Xoblenian and the Pensioner, The (Ocrman of
Pfeffel).

303

BROWXE. FRANCES.
"

"
olrl

0,

til"

pleasant days of

206

448

444

AUTHORS AND

TITLES.
page. 40 69 200
187

BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT.

George Sand
Portrait of Word.sworth, On a That England (Aurora Lcujh) View across the Roman Canipagna,

BROWNING, ROBERT.
Glove, The Herve Riel

332 341
108 349 70 58

House

How they brought the Good News Lost Leader, The Memorabilia
BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN.
Hurricane, Thei

151

BURNS, ROBERT.
Bard's Epitaph,

113

BYRON, GEORGE NOEL GORDON, LORD.

Coliseum, The (Vhilde Harold) Childe Harold Orient, The The Bride of Ahydos) Pantheon, The {Childe Harold) Rhine, The Childe Harold) Saint Peter's at Rome (Childe Harold) Tlfomas Moore, To
178
9 104 181

Napoleon

169 180 57

CAMPBELL. THOMAS.
Lord Ullin's Daughter Napoleon and tlie British Sailor
390 347

CHAUCER. GEOFFREY.
Canterbury Pilgrims, The (The Canterbury Tales).. 363

CLEVELAND, JOHN.
Memory
of

Ben Jonson, To the

46

CLOUGH. ARTHUR HUGH.

Gondola, The
191

COLERIDGE. HARTLEY.
Shakespeare
52

CORNWELL, HENRY' SYLVESTER.

Sunset City. The
158

COSTELLO, LOUISE STUART. Mary Stuart. To (Freneh of De Rousard)

DAVIDSON, JOHN.
London
230

AUTHORS AND
DAMKS, SIR JOHN.
Spring, To the
J)A^',

TITLES.

445
I'agk.

{Uy vines

of Aslrijsa)

THOMAS FLEMING.
The
153
J

Coasters,

DOI5SON,

[HENRY AUSTIN.
107
EL\\
''

Luiigfflluw

DOWUEN,

Leonardo's

ARD. Monna

Lisa

"

152

DRYDEN, JOHN.
Under
tlie

Portrait of John Milton

54

DUNBAR, PAUL LAWllENCE.

Harriot Beeciier Stowe
105

ELLIOTT, EBENEZEE.
Burns
63

FAIRFAX, EDWARD.
Erniinia

and

tlie

Wounded Tancred

(Italian

of

Tassv)

319

FERGUSON. SIR SAMUEL.

Forging of the Anchor, The
234

FIELD. :MICHAEL.
Burial of Robert Browning. The 80

GILDEH. RTCTTARD WATSON.

Life-Mask of Lincoln. On the (Five Books of Song)
.

20

GOLDSMITH. OLIVER.
Deserted ViHage. The

Enghind

The Traveller)
in

214 100

GOSSE.
Hans

EDMUND
Chri.sti:in

February

[WILLIAM]. Rome
Ainh-rscn

IS.j

43

GREENE. ALBERT GORTON.

Baron's Last Banquet, The

300

rLVLLEGK, FITZ-GREENE.
.Tnseph

Fvodman Drake Weeiiawken iind tlie New York Bay (Fanny)

S.

01

244

HARRISON.

FRANCES

(Srranvs).

riiAleau Papinenu

253

IIARTE. [FHANriSl BRET.

Dickens in

Camp

80

446

AUTHORS AND
Hammer

TITLES.
page.
.
.

HERBERT, W.
Thor recovers his
(Icelandic of Scemwid)

284

HERRICK. ROBERT.
Ben Jonson, Ode to Deliglit in Disorder
47 135

HEY\YOOD, THOMAS.
Hierarchy of Angels
53

HOGG. JAMES.
Jock Johnstone the Tinkler
390

HOLMES. OLIVER WENDELL.

Daniel Webster
20

HOUGHTON. RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES, LORD.

Thackeray, To
83

HUGO, VICTOR MARIE.

Napoleon
GloA'e
(

Translation)

HUNT, LEIGH.
and the Lions, The

Mahmond
Nile,

The
a little Music-Box

330 305 100

13!)

On Hearing
JAPP.
Shelley

ALEXANDER HAY

{H. A. Page). 58

JOHNSON. DR. SAMUEL.

Charles XII. (Vanity of Shakespeare

Human

Wishes)

7 51

JONSON. BEN.
Freedom
in

Dress (Epicccne; or the

Fiilcnt

Wonia^i)

131

Memory

of Shakespeare, Portrait of Shakespeare,

To the On the

48 48

KEATS. JOHN.
Benjamin Robert Haydon, To Grecian Urn, Ode on a
00 130

KIPLING, RUDYARD.
Christmas
in India

101

LANDOR, WALTER SAVAGE.

Art Criticism Macnnlny as Poet Robert Browning
110
01
Sfl

LANG, ANDREW.
Scythe Song
248

AUTHORS A2W
LANIER, SIDNEY.
Song
of tlio Chattahoochee

TITLES.

447
page. 242

LAZAItUS, EiMMA.
Chopiu
114

LEWIS,

MATTHEW GREGORY

(Monk

Leicis)

Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogine

321

LONGFELLOW, HENRY
Carillon

\Y ADS WORTH. 1G6 104 174 295

Hawtiiorne Old Bridge at Florence, The

Skeleton in Armor, The

LOWEIvL. JA-^IES RUSSELL.

Ahraliam Lincoln
Henrj' Wadsworth Longfellow, To In a Copy of Omar Kliayyam Lowell on Himself (A Fahle for Critics) Wasliington

32 106
3'J

100
L'5

William Lloyd Garrison

22

MACKAIL, JOHN WILLIAM. Etruscan King, An

149

MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD.

Horatius at the Bridge
2G.5

ISfAHONY.
Bolls
(if

FRAXriS SYLVESTER
Shandon, The

[Father Prout).
143

MIIvTON, JOHN. Adam and Eve

Paradise Lost) Epitaph on Shnkospoaro Lord -General '^romwcll, To the

(

124
iil

MTSTR.-\L. FRl^Dl^KTC. Ballad of Guibour, The (Preston's Translation)

327

MONTREUIL. MATHIEU DE.

Madame
"

de Sevigne, To

40
"

MOORE, THOMAS.
"

O, brfatlic not his

name
"'

fi

Those evening Im'IIs Vale of Cashmere, The

141
(Tli>'

LUjht of the llnrcm)

105

MOLLTON, LOUISE CHANDLER.

La us Veneris
138

O'BRIEN, FITZ-JA.MES.
Jiano

120

448
Bust

AUTHORS AND
of Dante,

TITLES.
fagk. 41

PARSONS, THOMAS WILLIAM.

On
a

PFEFFEL, GOTTLIEB CONRAD.

Nobleman and the Pensioner, The {Brooks' Translation )

303

PHELPS, CHARLES HENRY.

Henry Ward Bcecher
24

POE,

EDGAR ALLAN.
The
The Course
Time)
141

Bells,

POLLOK, ROBERT.
Byron
(

of

59

POPE, ALEXANDER.
Poet's Friend,
Toilet,

The The {Rape of the Lock)

1P2 135

PRAED, WINTHROP MACKWORTH.

Camp-Bell
56

PRESTON. HARRIET WATERS.

Ballad of Guibour, The (Provencal of Mistral)
327

PROCTOR, EDNA DEAN.

Brooklyn Bridge, The
247

QUEVEDO Y VILLEGAS, FRANCISCO

Rome, To {Wiffen's Translation)

DE.
177

READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN.

Drifting
195

JEFFREY. ROCHE, JAMES " "

of Fight '&'
tlio

Armstrong

Privateer, The

433

ROGERS, SAMUEL.
Naples {Italy) Venice {Italy)
194 189

RONSARD, PIERRE DE.

Mary
Stuart,-

To

Costcllo's Translation)

ROYDEN, MATTHEW.
Sir Philip Sidney {Elegy on a Friend's Passion)

45

S.EMUND, SIGFUSSON. Thor recovers his Hammer

Carlyle and Emerson

{Herbert's Translation)

284

SCHUYLER, MONTGOMERY.
97

AUTHORS AND
SCOTT. SIR WALTl^R.

TITLES.

'U9
page. 413 404 201 401 20S
.

Fitz-James and Ellen {Lady of the Lake) Fitz-JaniC8 and Roderick Dhu {Lady of the Lake) Knight, The Mannion Marniion and Douglas {Marmion) Melrose Abbey {Lay of the Last Minstrel) Old Time Christmas, An {Marmion)
(

.'

210

SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM.
Cleopatra {Antoni/ and Cleopatra)

England King John Seven Ages of Man (As You Like

{ )

It)

127 390 120

SIIARR, WILLIAM.

White Peacock, The {Sospiri

di

Roma)

17o

SHELLEY. PERCY BYSSHE.

lanthe. Sleeping, To {Queen Mai) Ozymandias of Eg\'pt Venice \iew from the Euganean Hills)
{

129 101 192

SHENSTOXE, WILLIAM.
Village Schoolmistress, The (The fichoolmistress)
.

231

SIMMONS, BARTHOLOMEW.
Memory
of

Thomas Hood, To
(

the

C2

SOT'THEY. CAROLINE

ANNE BOWLES.
l^S

Cuckoo Cl(K-k. The The Birthday) Greenwood Shrift, The

379

SOUTHEY, ROBERT.
Cataract of Lodore, The

Greenwood

Slirift,

The

170 379

STI^DMAN.

EDMUND CLARENCE.
131

Cousin Lucrece

Hand of Lincoln, The Hawthorne

STEIN. EVALEEN.
In Mexico {One

30 103

Way

to the

Woods)

257

STERLING. JOHN.
Louis

XV

330
I'aiiilili

STOWE. HARRIET BEKCTIER.

Day
ill

Ihc

T)..ri:i.
151 1.

182

STRi;i:'l'.

Sen liT,

ALKIiKI) The
tlie

LINGS.
210

STRONG. WILLIAM.
Krilhiof at

Court of Angantyr [Swedish of Tvgner). 289

VI 129

450

AUTHORS AND

TITLES.
page.
1)6

SWINBURNE. ALGERNON CHARLES.

Deaths of Cariyle and Eliot, On the Dickens

Monument

On the Walter Savage Lander, In Memory of

erected to Mazzini,

82 13 75

SYMONDS, JOHN ADDINGTON.

Venice
188

TASSO, TORQUATO.
Enninia
and
the

Wounded

Tancred

{Fairfax's

Translation)

319

TAYLOR, TOM.
Abraham Lincoln
TEGNfiR, ESAIAS.
Frithiof at the Cotirt of Angantvr {Strong's Trans289 "........ lation)

25

TENNYSON. ALFRED LORD.

Albert, Prince Consort of England

Godiva Mort D'Arthur

Revenge, The Victor Hugo, To
Virgil,

To

34 3^1 352 383 41 37

THOREAU, HENRY DAVID.

Mist

Smoke

153 150

THORPE. ROSE HARTWICK.

Drifted out to Sea

438

rUCKERMAN, HENRY THEODORE.

Newport-Beach
239

HENRY'. VENABLE, WILLIAM Welcome to " Boz," A {Saga of

Poems)

the Oaks and Other

77

VIRGIL PUBLIUS VERGILIUS MARO.

Fall of Troy, The {Bowen's Translation)

261

WATSON, WILLIAM.
Musarum Lachrymre " Wordsworth's Grave," From
WHIT:\rAN,
Still

84 74

Day

in Autunni,

SARAH HELEN POWER. A

157

AUTHORS AND
WHITMAN, WALT.
JNLuuialiiitta
(

TITLES.

451
page. 245

Myself tionfj of Myself " O Captain luy Captain " *' Out I'roin behind tiii.s mask" (Wound-Dresser)
)
!

..

102 28 100

WlIlTTlKli, JOPIX GEEENLEAF. Barclay of Ury

429
G4 92 IIG

Burns
Fitz-Greene Hallcck

Prayer of

Ajj^assiz,

The
B.

WJFFEN, BENJAMIN
To Rome
(SpanisJi of

De Quevedo)

177

WILLIS,

NATHANIEL PARKER.
315
(Christopher Sorth).
15G

Leper, The

WILSON, JOHN
VVOOLSEY,
Emerson

Evening Cloud, The

SARAH CHAUNCEY

(Susan CooUdge)

97

WORDSWORTH. WILLIAM.
Departure of Sir Walter Scott, On the
Milton,
61

54 229 Sonnet Earth has not anything 55 Sonnet. The 55 Walton's Book of Lives (Ecclesiastical Sonnets) ....
"
"
:

To

ANONy:Mors.
Anne Hathaway Georee Washington
Lord Ivovel Robin Hood and Allan-a-Dale
110
15
.373

375

WORLD'S BEST POETRY

NOTICE OF COPYRIGHTS.

American poems
of copyright
.are

in this

volume within the

tlie

used by

legal protection courteous permission of the

in the following list or

owners, either
the authors or

tlie

publishers

named

tlioir

representatives in the

who

r(>serve all their rights.

subsequent one, So far as practicable, permission

has been secured also for poems out of copyright.

Publishers of
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THE WORLD'S BEST POETRY.

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"

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Jjisarvs: W. D. Uou-rlU: "The Two Wives;" Emiiin " " .Jonathan to John," The Present "Gifts;" .7. It. Loin'U: E. C. Stcdnuin: Proctor: "Heroes;" Crisis ;" Vv'/;/') J>. "Cavalry Song," " Kearnv at Seven Pines;" H. "Thnroil: "A Cry to Arms," "Ode;" J. G. Wliitticr: fSarbara Frietchio," "Brown of Ossawattomie," "Centennial Hymn," " Laus Deo," "Our "Disarmament," "John C. Fremont," " Li State." State," "The Reformer;" Forrciifhc Wilhoii:

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I.

viii

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"

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Ride."

The Macmillan Company, New Yorlc G. E. Wixxlbvrnj: " At Gibraltar."

Messrs. G. P. PLTT>fAM's

Sons. J. O'Conor: "The General's

C.

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:

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American poems

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;
;

THE STUDY OF POETRY.

r.V

FRANCIS HOVEY STODDARD,

to Bacon, de-

Clevcr men of action, according

spise
studies,

ignorant

men

too

much admire

'' Yet," he them, wise men make use of them. " thev teach not their own use, but that savs, there is a wisdom without them and above them These are the words of a wiu ly observation."

man who had

been tauglit by years of studiousIt does not ness the emptiness of mere study. teach its own usefulness, and gives its most imj)ortant k'sson if tlirougb it we k^arn that beyond
lies a

dom won by
is

region from which observation.

mav come
This,

a truer wisall
is

when

said,

the one great defect of any system of study, in that it teaches not its own use. No amount of

study of the ]rinciples of l>arter will make a man (5ne (-in study ]>aiiiiiiiu and a great merchant.
learn all tln' characteristics and methods and schools of the art and yet not be able to pnint a

No amount of study of jmetry will make pictuic. So the crafty men of action "cona man a ])oet.
temn studies," and the wis(! men who us(^ them " look beyond them for their value. iCnglish literatui-e," said a

noted professor not long ago, cannot be taught"; and certain it is that even with the most advanced analytical text book one cannot
get a tinal satisfiution Iroiii "doing a sum" in JOnglisli literal ur<' as one would work a pi-oblem
ix

'"

TEE .STUDY OF POETRY.

AYhen applied to the higher arts, and true as one can mal^e it, leaves study, deep one tiie surer that there is a wisdom beyond, which Cometh not by study alone.
in arithmetic.

Least of all can the deepest things in poetry be learned by mere study. Poetry deals with feeling, which study excludes. Study, indeed, seems
to belong exclusively to the prose habit; it seems to be of the intellect and not of the emotions; to

be of the mind and not of the

spirit.

We

cannot

write a text-book in poetry, nor can we ever in a text-book written in prose put all the secret of poetry. Beyond the text-book always lies the

higher wisdom born of that which Bacon called observation, which most of us now call insight,
that immediate apprehension of the highest relations which comes as a revelation in our inspired

moments.
In spite of
article to
all this

important function, and

Poetry
is

the study of poetry has an it is the purpose of this

show how to use it most effectively. one of the most difficult of all arts to study, so difficult that it has had few text-books
and no complete exposition.

The inquirer searching for help will find only a few hand-books, the most useful of which are these: Gummere "Be:

" " " ginnings of Poetry and Hand-book of Poetry Schipper: '^Metrik"; Lanier: ''Science of Eng;

Verse"; Guest: "English Rhythms"; Sted" The Nature and Elements of Poetry." Excellent as these are, he may lament when he has read them that he has found the history of poetic forms, and the technique of poetic method, where
lish

man

THE STUDY OF POETRY.

xi

he hoped to fmd the secret of poetry. He will be likely to get as luiuh help from writings on poetry
that are not text-books, such as Matthew Arnold's

On Translating Uonier," Last ^Vords Essays on Translating Homer," Celtic Poetry," " Hitroduetion to the I'oetry of Wordsworth," and the Introduction to Humphry Ward's English " Poets " Emerson's Essays The Poet " and " " Wordsworth's InPoetry and Imagination
:

"

"

*'

''

troduction to the ''Lyrical Ballads"; Poe's striking little essays on the art of poetry; Aristotle's ''Rhetoric"; Macaulav's "Essay on Milton''; Lowell's " Essay on Dryden " and passages
;

Milton, from Dryden, from Coleridge and from many another. Eor one who has not known and
of

illuminative

comment

from

Pope, from

read

studv

much poetry the best introduction to mav well be the pleasurable reading

its

of

some, or of all, of these works, though remembering that such reading is not study, but only the

reviewing of records of work done by others, useful mainly as a preparation for the real study
AN'hich is to follow.

Erom
likely

all

these works the student will not be

of poetry

to get a definition

which

will

satisfy him.
})oeti'y is

One may say indeed with truth that

such expression as parallels the real and the ideal by means of some rhythmic form. IJut this is not a complete delinition. is not l*oetry
to

with a

with a measuring line or sounded The student must feel at'iei- its iiluiiiiiK't. limits as these authors h;i\-e done, and liiid for
lie
l)(nii(i('(|

himself

its

satisfactions.

One can

feel

more

of

xii
its

THE .STUDY OF POETRY.

power than the mind can
define; for definitions

are prose-forms of mind action, wliile poetry in its higher manifestations is pure emotion, out-

passing prose limits. Yet one can linow poetry if he cannot completely define it. The one essen-

element which distinguishes it from prose is rhythm. In its primal expressions this is mainly a rhythm of stresses and sounds of accents and
tial

measures, of alliterations and rhymes. Poetry began when man, swaying his body, first sang or

moaned to give expression to his joy or sorrow. Its earliest forms are the songs which accompany
the sim})lest emotions, ^'\'hen rowers were in a boat the swinging oars became rhythmic, and the oarsman's chant naturally followed. When the

savage overcame his enemy, he danced his war

dance, and sang his war song around his campfire at night, tone and words and gestures all fitting into

harmony with

the

movement

of his body.

So came the chants and songs of work and of triumph. For the dead warrior the moan of lamentation fitted itself to the slower moving to and In fro of the mourner, and hence came the elegy.
its first

action, half music,

expression this was but inarticulate, half dumbly voicing the emotion
it

through the senses;

ear and

had

little

representation of
grief.

rhythms were all for the meaning beyond the crude some simple human desire and
its
it

It

became poetry when

put a

thrill of exulta-

tion in work, of delight in victory, or of grief at loss by death, into some rhythmic form tangible to the senses. There grew up thereafter a body of

THE STUDY OF POETRY.

rhytliiiiic

xiii

forms

Hues, stanzas,

verbal liarmonies.

aoccuts, rhythms, These forms are the outward

dress of poetry, and may rightly be the first subWe i>roperly give the ject of the student's study. name of poetry to verses such as Southey's " Lo" " Bells," or Lanier's dore," Poe's

Song

of the

Chattahoochee,'' which do little more than sing to our ears the harmonies of sound, the ultimate rhvthms of nature. Yet it is not merelv the brook or the bell or the river, that we hear in the poem, but the echoing of that large liarmony of nature
of wliich the

sound of the brook or the

bell is

only

the single strain. Through the jiarticular it suggests the universal, as does all poetry, leading

through nature up to something greater, far beyond. This rhvthm is best studied in ])oems that were written to be sung or chanted. If one could
read Greek, or Anglo-Saxon, or Old High German,
or the lOuglish of Chaucer's day, he could quickly train his ear to be independent of the handbooks

on versification, by reading aloud, or listening as one read aloud, the Odyssey/' oi* the " Beowulf," " or the or the Canterbury Nibelungen liied Tales." These would be better for this i)ur])ose than any modern verses, lor the reason liial lliey were inten<led to he sung or chanted, and so all
'

*'

'*

the

ihylhms are

real to the senses.

Since the bar-

language bars out for most of us this older verse, we can read the early balhuls, (he lyrics of the Eli/abethan time, when as yet verses sjH)ke
lier of

mainly to
tha."

llic

<';ii-.

sim|)l('r <yie,

such as

or some modern poems of the " '* I^n aiigclino or " Hiawa-

xiv

TEE STUDY OF POETRY.

Such poetry, which is mainiy to delight and charm the ear, is really a primal form of verse and we may properly call it the poetry of the
Senses.
lish

In studying

it

Lanier's " Science of Eng-

Verse" is a delightful companion, and many minor hand-books besides those named above, such as are found in most schools, and some of the shorter accounts of versification such as are found in works on rhetoric, will give assistance. Yet the pathway to the mastery of the problems of metre is for each student to tread alone. The
best plan
is

to read aloud a considerable quan-

Then the technical language of the books tity. will lose its terrors and the simplicity of construcIf the tion of good poetry will become apparent.
student will read so
of this poetry that his senses become responsive to its music, he will no longer need a hand-book. For this purpose let

much

him read such poems as can be sung, chanted, or spoken to the ear; such as Macaulay's "Lays of Ancient Rome," Scott's " Marmion,'' Browning's " " " Pied Piper and How They Brought the Good
Charge of the Light BriNews," Tennyson's gade." Let him read mainly for the senses rather than for the mind, getting the reward in the
quickening of life through the throbbing rhythms; then the metrical system of poetry will become as real to him as the rhythmic movements of the planets are to an astronomer. There is no other
"

way

to get a feeling for tbe pulsations of poetry than througli this intimate acquaiut:!nce. \VithouL this, months of reading of amphibrachs and trochees and dact3ds will not avail. The poem

THE STVny OF POETRY.

should be read alond as

xv

much

as possible to

make

the swing of its verses perfectly clear. When it sings to us as we read, it has begun to teach the

message of

its

rhythms.

far the text-books have been pleasant companions, even when unable to give as much aid to

Thus

the student as he could wish; but the fact will come to him at length that there is something
to consider.
tiie baud-books permit him These books deal with the forms, and most of them with the forms only. They

more

in

poetry than

analyze the methods, work out the metre, show how the parts are woven together, explain how the chords produce the harmonies. But just in
proj)ortiou as the student becomes learned in these rhythms, and can distinguish minute or subtle

variations of metrical structure, does he realize

that this study teaches not its own use and that there is something beyond which must be won by
his

own

observation.

lie finds in his search for

rhythmical perfection that there are i)oems which

make

little api)eal to his senses,

whose

linos

do

not sing themselves through his day-dreams, which yet affect his imagination even more powerfully

than

he musical strains thrilled his senses.

He
its

finds lliat there is

much more
In

iii

jtoelry

than

rhymes and

jingles, that there is a

its

than that of the senses.

foi-ms poetiy
is

rhythm greater more complex

tiie

rhythm of thought, leading

which prose may describe, but which poetry alone can recreate. There is such J thing as a jti-ose thought and such u lliing The one liives with e.xact as a [j(etic thonghl
1

mind

find i-ela<ions

xvi

THE STUDY OF POETRY.

it exists,

ness the fact as

ly,

clearly, honestly, direct-

and for

all

completed and tangible things

is the natural medium of expression. The other parallels the actual with a suggestion of an ideal rhythmically consonant with the motive under-

lying the fact. Justice, for example, deals in prose fashion with a crime and awards the punishgests such recompense as
life is

ment which the law allows; poetic justice sugwould come of itself in a community ]>erfectly organized. The prose of
best one can in the world as
life is

honest living, a wortliv endeavor to do the it is; the poetry of the feeling for, and the striving after, the

life into harmony with a nobler So we living. rightly give the name of poetry to such veise as Goldsmith's *' Deserted Village," Johnson's " London," Gray's " Elegy," Wordsworth's " Excursion," Milton's " Paradise Lost," Chaucer's " Knight's Tale," Browning's " Ring and the IJook," T(mny sou's " In Memoriam," which do not much stir our senses. They parallel the real with the ideal, suggesting the eternal rhythms of

bringing of this

infinite mind as the poetry of the senses suggests the eternal rhythms of omnipotent nature. This poetry of the Intellect is the second great

division of the i>oetic realm. Beyond it lies still for there are another; spiritual harmonies which

the mind alone cannot compass, and which the senses alone cannot interpret. The hand-books

harmonies, and do not go of lyric and classifications academic beyond their of pentameters, hexaepic, and their catalogues the student can for meters, or alexandrines. But

know

little of s|)i ritual

THE STUDY OF POETRY.

xvii

himself pusli his obscrvatiou beyond, uud come to the poetry of the liigher imagiuatiou, where he can be forgetful of the mere form and disdainful
of the merely lo^nieal relations, where his spirit can as it were see face to face the truth beyond

the seeming.

This

ought to come

the poetry of the spirit, as a revelation to the searcher.

is

and

He

^lay first find it in some pure lyric such as Shel" ley's Skylark." or in some mystical fantasy " LaUa Kookh " or such as :\Ioore's Coleridge's " Christabel," or in some story of human abnega" Enoch xVrden," or some tion such as Tennyson's

wail of a soul in iain, as in Shelley's Adonais," or in some outburst of exultant gi'ief such as Whitman's "Captain, My Captain," or in some
revelation of the unseen potencies close about us, " as in Browning's Saul," or in some vision of of our this the mystery earthly struggle such as

"

''Childe Koland to the

in

Dark Tower Came," or

a never
stilled

some answer

of the spirit to

question such as tions of limiioitality."

Wordsworth's "Ode:

Intimait

When
its

he thus finds
use.

he
his

has come to poetry in

functions of
"
]>o('liy in

highest

In

"Alexander's Feast" Dryden hints at two great

the lines:

He

raised a mortal to tlie skies,

She drew an angel down."

poetry is to parallel the actual with the ideal, to cast upon an earthly landscajte someIhing of a heavenly glow, to interjjret earthly things in terms of the spirit. The poetry of the

The

oitice of

Senses
thought

lifts

of

a mortal to the skies, thinking the one higher than itself as tlie poet

xviii

THE STUDY OF POETRY.

muses, singiug the songs of an angelic choir in harmony with the rhythm of the verse. The
poetry of the Spirit brings
gels
tlie

message of the anlife.

down

to

men and makes

the harmonies they

speak the music of this earthly

The highest type of poetry lends itself perfectly In class work it to earnest and profound study.
is

and
it

usually better to study poets as well as poems, to study thoroughly a few works of a great

Poetry is essentially a synthetic art; unites the wandering desires of our hearts and spirits to make one single and enduring immaster.

Poetry speaks also the mood, the asof its author; so piration, that the great poet is the one who brings us most
pression.

and the deepest intent

directly to understand its art. For most student classes it is best to take a single poet for interpretation, and to study in succession a small num-

ber
at

saj' six

to ten

of his works, nmkiug one, or

most two or

ences for each week.

three, the subject of tlie conferThe choice of author will

be dependent on many considerations and cannot here be positively advised, but one will not

go astray in choosing Wordsworth, Tennyson, Browning, Longfellow, or Whittier, or three of them, for a season's work. Intelligent direction
is of great assistance in making the study definite and i)rogressive. Choose first of all the poems which seem to have influenced men, for to move men is the final test of poetry. If there is no class, and no leader, let the student make his choice by a preliminary examination. Let him read rajjidly^ and for the single impression, the

TEE S^TVDY OF POETRY.

poems
of
^Vords^\oltll

xix

whose

titles

seem most

familiar to him as he scans them over; such as " '* Yarrow Unvisited," " SoliTinteiii Abbe.v," " " We are Seven/' " The Lucy," tary Keaper,"

Intimations of Immortality," " She was a Phantom of Delijiht,'' and a few of the lyrical ballads; '' Lockslev Hall," then let him read Tennvson's

and a few of him read the Browning's i)oems; " " Abt Vogler," The Grammarian's FuSaul," (Miilde Roland to the Dark Tower Came," neral," Pil)I)a Passes," one or two dramas, and a few of " Men and Wothe brief poems in the volume men." Then let liim make his own list for study, taking those jmems which have most stirred him, those which he remembers vividly after his reading, those which have become a part of himself. If the student makes his choice frankly and sin-

"

Maud,"

'

The

Idylls of the King-,"

let
''

shorter
'*

''

making it, begun his study. him frame for himself oi* get from his leader, if he has one, a list of the (piestions which each jioem is to answer for him. If the work be
cerely,

he has, in

Then

let

ward
'

really jioetry, its study ought to give a help tothe solution of the first great problems
:

^^'ilat

is

j)oetry?" and ''What

of
\^'e

is

its

revelation

our senses, our hearts, and our have a right to ask of each poem three (piestions: "How does it charm our sento

the

life

souls?"

ses? "; "

How

clearer for

newal

of

it make the meaning of things ''How does it bring to us a reus?"; life?" The first (piestion is better

does

filled for private

study than for class investiga-

in tion, the senses being delicate organs and shy

XX
company.

THE STUDY OF POETRY.

Let the minute matters of form and

structure be gone over at home. Let the student v\ork out the metre, the typical line, and the variations by which the poet gets his effects, the metaphors, the alliterations, the consonant and

vowel harmonies.

It

will

aid

if

this

work

be-

made

as definite and as exact as an investigation in a scientific laboratory. But all this should be

the student's

divisions of the

home work. In the class the large poem should be sympathetically

shown, so that each student will comprehend the poem as a whole as the poet must have conceived Then as some one reads aloud the lines the it. music of the rhythms will come by assimilation rather than by analysis. Poeti-y parallels the real with the ideal to make a harmony before undreamed of. So in the lines sound re-echoes sound, and a subtle music but half perceived
sings itself out of the

moving

notes.

music bears is the second from ])rose in that it diflers Poetry question. lifts the thought so that its highest relations and suggestions are made known. We have a right therefore to parallel the prose sight with the poetic visions and to find in what the one transcends
this

What burden

the other.

are studying the " Idyls of the King," for instance, we may fitly ask what was the story as the poet took it, and into what has
If

we

he transformed

it

for

us.

This study

of

the

thought of the poem is an excellent subject for The questions should be made deficlass work.
nite

and so grouped that sections of the class can

choose one or another phase of the problem; the

THE ^TUDY OF POETRY.

conferences

xxi

should

be

so

directed

that a

few

clearly worked-out and thoroughly nuitied poetic thoughts will be left in the niiud of each student.

things practice may titly supplement i)reIn a reading circle of which one of the editors of this series was a uuMuber the poems of
all

In

cept.

Tennyson were studied by a method

closely re-

sembling that advocated in this article. As a suggestion the topics and questions for one of
the

poems are here

acted as leader.

tory of the poem read aloud by one of the members of the class. Then the tojiics given below Avere discussed as

One of the members given. brief essay reciting the hiswas read. The entire poem was

turn by groups of students v\ho had In given especial attention to one of the topics. the discussions the entire class joined, and at the
presented
in

a very brief summing up by the leader gathered up he threads of thought.

close
I

'*

Toi>ic:

" Locksley llall" and J^oeksley Hall

Sixty Years After."

" LocksLocksley Hall "; Hall Years Clara Vere ley Sixty After"; "Lady dc Vere"; " Sir Clalahad."

Re(piir;d Keadings:

"

Suggested IJeadings
(>arlier i)oem,
in
''

In

<-onncction
"

with
"

(he

connection
(f

Ulysses with the

"

and

The Two Voices ";

poem,
Mau<l,"
Ilall.ini

later

"

.Mcnutir

Tennyson," by Lord

Tenny-

son.

III

Snggeslioiis for Sliidy: (A) he ]o<'m.

I

The

jdiysical basis

Shidy Ihc
('((r?

iiM'lic.

Why

calh-d Tiochaic (>c(aiM(his

In

wiiat

wav

iloes

mclie

reseniblo

xxii

THE 8TUDY OF POETRY.

in

' differ from Lowell's Present " Swinburne's of Crisis," Triumph Time/' " Browning's "There's a woman like a dewdrop i' "The Blot the Scutcheon''), and Mrs. (from " " Browning's Ehyme of the Duchess May ? is Why this metre peculiarly adapted to the sentiment of " Locksley Hall " ? How does the metre differ in effect from that of Mrs, Julia Ward

and

wbat way

Howe's
ant's
" "

"

Battle
"

Hymn

The Death
?

" of the Republic and Bry" of the Flowers and Tennyson's Is the effect of the

May Queen

rhythm

opti-

mistic as opposed to the pessimism of the " Triumph of Time," and why? Why are the lines of
this
is

poem

so easily carried in the

memory?

What

there in the use of the words which gives such sweetness to the verses as one reads them aloud.

Has the poem for you a music of its own which haunts you like a remembered vision? Find out, if you can, something of the secret of this music. (B) The intellectual interest of the poem. (1) Consider the meaning of difficult passages, such as " Fairy tales of science." Explain the
meaning of stanzas containing the following quo" " Cursed be tations " Smote the chord of self " " That a sorrow's crown of sorsocial wants row "; " But the jingling of the guinea"; " Slow" " Knowledge comes, ly comes a hungry people but wisdom lingers."
:

long an interval elapsed between the above two poems? Does any the writing in or trend of thought indicate the change style The earlier poem was and is imof time? lapse
(2)

How
of

inensely popular.
less

Why? Why

is

the later one

popular?

THE STUDY OF POETRY,

(3)

xxiii

What
'

is

what manner
tinued in

is it

the story in the poem, and in told? How is the story con-

" ? Was Loeksley Sixty Years After Hall an inland or a seashore residence, and why?

the poems.
self

Describe the surroundings from suggestions in Sum up what the hero tells of him-

and

his

love-story.

What
side

suggestions are
of of

there
i:ditli?

regarding
Ts

the

characters

Amy

and
as

the emotional

the hero

What fiuely balanced as the intellectual side? lijiht is thrown on the character of his love by his outbursts against Amy? Would it be fair to judge of Amy and her husband by what he says
of

them

in his first

that he judged

anguish? Does he ever admit them harshly? If so, do you

agree with him altogether? Was it well for Amy When obedience to parento marry as she did? tal wishes and love are in conflict, which should
be

followed?

Did

the

hero's

come true?
(4)

Whose

love do

prophecies was the think you

evil

greatest. Amy's, or his, or the S(iuire's?

How
it

does Tennyson

all

through the poem

make
(C)

of the poem. has this jioem inlluenced you? For many persons, Tennyson, out of a simple love-story, has made a pr()i)Iiecy of ideal love. Has he for

a parable of human life? The emotional influence

How

vou?

For mauv

iersons
stoi-y

Tcnnvsou made

])oetry

out of this simple

when he

i.aralh'lfd

ihe

tale of earthly passion wilh a vision of comi>leter of this life, so vivid that the pain and tragedy the us but for be i)rei)aration present life come to for the belter life to come, as the poet sings to us

that

xxiv
"

THE ^TUDY OF POETRY.

Through the ages one increasing purpose runs And the thoughts of men are widened with the process
of the suns."

Has he
I)oetry ?

to

you

in like

manner through

his

poem

given a truer conception of the nature and use of

Systematic study such as that suggested above will help in answering the questions, " What charm has this i)oem for us? " and " How does it put a deeper meaning into the events it records?''

But it is difficult to frame formal questions the answers to which will show how a poem quickens life. The influence of a poem is so much a matter of temperament and of emotion, both of the author and of the reader, that one has to feel its power rather than to work it out logically. Poetry passes beyond prose in that it quickens life by moving us to feel its nobler emotions. It will

teach

its

own

and the student who gets

lesson to the appreciative reader, fully into sympathy

with a great poem will have his whole life made Class work, done sympathetically and brighter.
sincerely, will aid in finding the truest interpretations. Yet studies teach not their own use.

The higher blessings come

little

to us

unbidden

if

we

as

children hope for them. We shall find the highest uses of poetry in remembering alwajs

that

it

may

at its best

come
"

to us as an
light

Angel of

Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night."

TABLE OF CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY
"

The Study

of Poetry."
PAGE

By Francis

Jlovetj

Stoddard
:

ix

POEMS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT

Patriotism

<

Freedom

Ill

War
Peace

179

423

INDEX: Authors and

Titles

461

XXV
VIII

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

POEMS OF NATIONAL
I.

SPIRIT.

PATRIOTISM.

WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE?

What
Not
coustitutes a state?
liigh-iaised battlement or labored

mound,

Tliirk wall or

moated

j^ate;

Not

cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; Not bays and broad-armed ports,

Where, lauj^liing at the storm, rich navies ride; Not starred and span;led courts,

Where lowbrowed baseness wafts perfume

pride.

to

No: men, high-minded men. With powers as far above dull brutes endued

As
liut

In forest, brake, or den. beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude, Men who their duties know,

know
tain,

their rights, and,

knowing, dare main-

i'r<'vent

the long-aimed blow,

Ami

cnish

th(^

tyrant while tlH\v rend

a

th(>

chain;

These constitute a Slate;

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

And

sovereign law, that State's collected will, O'er thrones and globes elate

crowning good, repressing ill. Smit by her sacred frown, The fiend, Dissension, like a vapor sinks; And e'en the all-dazzling crown Hides his faint rajs, and at her bidding shrinks. Such was this heaven-loved isle. Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore! No more shall freedom smile? Shall Britons languish, and be men no more?
Sits empress,

Since

all

must

life resign,

Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave

And

'T is folly to decline. steal inglorious to the silent grave.

SIE

WILLIAM JONES.

BREATHES THERE THE MAN?

FROM
"

THK LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL," CANTO VL

soul so dead

Breathes there the man with

Who never to himself hath said. This is my own, my native land

Whose heart has ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand?
such there breathe, go, mark him well For him no minstrel raptures swell
If
;

High though

his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim.

Despite those

titles,

power, and

pelf,

PATFIOTLSM.
The wretch, concentred
all

in self,

Living, shall forfeit fair renown.

And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhouored, and unsung.
SIR

WALTEK

SCOTT.

MY COUNTRY.
is a laud, of every laud the pride. Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside. Where brighter suns dispense serener light,

There

And

milder moons imparadise the 'night; land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth

The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores. Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,

Nor breathes

the spirit of a purer air. In every clime, the magnet of his soul, Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole; For in this land of Heaven's peculiar race.

The heritage of nature's noblest grace,

There
is

a spot of earth supremely blest,

dearer, sweeter sjjot than all the rest, Where man, creation's t3rant, casts aside

His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride. While in his softened looks benignly blend The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend. Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Sti-('w

with fresh liowers the nai-row way of

life:

In Ihe clear iieaven of her delightful eye

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.
;

An

angel-guard of love and graces lie Aronnd her knees domestic duties meet,

And
"

fireside pleasures

gambol at ber

feet.

Wbere

found ? Art thou a man?

sball "

that land, tbat spot of earth be

patriot?

look

around;
!

O, thou shalt find, howe'er thj footsteps roam, That land iJiij country, and that spot thij home

Man, through all ages of revolving time. Unchanging man, in every varying clime.
his own land of ever}' land the pride, Beloved by Heaven o'er the world beside; His home the spot of earth supremely blest,

Deems

dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

FATHER AND MOTHER TONGUE.

Our Father Land! and wouldst thou know

Why we
It is that

should

call

it

Father Land?

Adam

here below

Was made
And

of earth by Nature's hand; he our father, made of earth. Hath peopled earth on every hand ;

And we, in memory of his birth. Do call our country Father Land.
At
first, in

No sound
But
^^

Eden's bowers, they say, of speech had Adam caught,

a bird
for
all

Iiistled like
't

day,

And maybe

was

want

of thought:

But Nature, with

resistless laws,

Made Adam soon surpass

the birds;

PATRIOTISM.
She gave him h)vely Eve because If he 'd a wife they must have words.

And
B}'

so the native land,

hold,

proudly mine; The language, as the tale hath told, Was given in the female line.

male descent

is

And

thus

we

see

We name
sprung;

on either hand our blessings whence

they 've

We call our country Father Land, We call our language Mother Tongue.
SAMUKL LOVER.

EAST, WEST, II0:ME'S BEST.

FKOM "the traveller."

As some

lone miser visiting his store,

licuds at his treasure, couuls, recounts it o'er; Hoards after hoards his rising i*ai)tures fill.

Yet

still

Thus

to

he sighs, for hoards are wanting my breast alternate passions rise,

still:

I'leased with each

good that heaven to

man

sup-

Yet

plies: oft a sigh prevails,

and sorrows

fall.

To

see the
oft
I

sum

of

human

bliss so small;

And

wish, amidst the scene to find

at

Some s])ot to real haj)piness consigned, Where my worn soul, each wandering hope
rest,

May

gather bliss to see

my

fellows blest.

Uut where

to find that hajipiest spot below,

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
all

^^PIRIT.

Who

of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own, Extols the treasures of his stormy seas.

can direct, when The shuddering tenant

pretend to know?

And

The naked negro, planting

Basks

his long nights of revelry and ease; at the line.

Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, in the glare, or stems the tepid wave. And thanks his gods for all the good the}' gave. Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam. His first, best country, ever is at home.

And And

yet, perhaps, if countries

we compare, estimate the blessings which they share.

flatter, still shall

Though patriots

wisdom
,

find

An
As To

equal portion dealt to all mankind different good, by art or nature given.
different nations,

makes

their blessings even.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

GIFTS.
"

O World-God,
cried.

give

me Wealth

" the Egyptian

His prajer was granted. High as heaven behold Palace and Pyramid; the brimming tide Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold. Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet, World-circling traffic roared through mart and
street.

His priests were gods, his spice-balmed kings

shrined

en-

Set death at naught in rock-ribbed charnels deep.

PATRIOTISM,
Seek Pharaoh's race to-day, and ye shall find Rust and the moth, silence an<l dusty sleep.

" cried the Greek. World-God, give me Beauty His prayer was granted. All the earth became Plastic and vocal to his seuse; each peak, Each grove, each stream, quick with Promethean "

tiame.

Peopled the world

Avith

imaged grace and

light.

The lyre was his, and his the breathing might Of the immortal marble, his the play Of diamond-pointed thought and golden tongue. Go seek the sunshine race. Ye find to-day A broken column and a lute unstrung.
"

World-God, give me Power!'' the

cried.

Roman

His prayer was granted.

chained

The vast world was

captive to the chariot of his pride.

The blood of myriad provinces was drained To feed that fierce, insatiable red heart Invulnerably bulwarked every part W\\\\ serried legions and with close-meshed Code. Within, the burrowing worm had gnawed its home A i-ooll<^ss ruin stands where once abode The imperial race of everlasting Rome.

"O
ITis

God-head, give
jtrayer

me Truth!" the Hebrew was granted. He became the

cried.

slave

Of the

and wide, Cursed, hated, spurned, and scourged with none

Idea, a pilgrim far
to save.

10

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

The Pharaohs knew him, and when Greece beheld, His wisdom wore the hoary crown of Eld, Beauty he hath forsworn, and wealth and power. Seek him to-day, and find in every land. No fire consumes him, neither floods devour; Immortal through the lamp within his hand.

EMMA LAZARUS.

ENGLAND.
FROM
"

THE TIMEPIECE
all

"
:

"

THE TASK," UK.

II.

England^ with

thy faults, I love thee still, My country! and, while yet a nook is left Where English minds and manners may be found,
Shall be constrained to love thee.

Though thy

clime

Be fickle, and thy year most part deformed With dripping rains, or withered b}- a frost,
I

would not yet exchange thy sullen

fields
all

skies,

And
With

without a flower, for warmer France her vines; nor for Ausonia's groves

Of golden fruitage and her myrtle bowers. To shake thy senate, and from height sublime Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire Upon thy foes, was never meant my task But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake Thy joys and sorrows with as true a heart
:

As any thunderer there. And I can feel follies too; and with a just disdain Frown at effeminates whose very looks
Thy
Keflect dishonor on the land I love.

HoW;

in the

name

of soldiership

and

sense,

PATRIOTISM.
Should Eiiglaud smooth
jn'ospei*,

11 such things, as

wliou

And

tender as a

girl, all

essenced o'er

AVith odors, and as [)rofligate as sweet, .Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath.

And

love

when they should

fight,

when

such as

these

Presume to lay their hand ui)on the ark Of her magnificent and awful cause? Time was when it was ])raise and boast enough In every clime, and travel where we might, That we were born her children. Praise enough To fill the and)ition of a private man, That Chatham's language was his mother tongue,

And

Wolfe's great

name compatriot with

his

own.

WILLIAM COWrKK.

RULE, BRITANNIA.
FKOM "ALFKKD," ACT
IT.

SC. 5.

When

I>ritain first, at Heaven's comnuind, Arose from out the azure main. This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung the strain:

Rule, Britannia, rule the ivaves! Fiyr BritouH never irill be slaves.

The nations not so blest as thee Must in theii- turns to tyrants

fall; free,

Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and The dread and envy of them all. Rule^ Britannia! etc.

12
Still

POEM.S OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke As the loud blasts that tear the skies
Serve but to root thy native oak. Rule, Britannia! etc.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame, And work their woe but thy renown.

Rule, Britannia!

etc.

To thee belongs the rural reign Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
;

All thine shall be the subject main, And every shore it circles thine.

Rule, Britannia! etc.

The Muses,
Blest
Isle!

still

with Freedom found,

Shall to thy

happy coast repair;

with matchless beauty crowned,

And manly

hearts to guard the fair. Rule, Britannia, rule the ivaves! For Britons never will he slaves.

JAMES THOMSON.

THE BOWMAN'S SONG.

FROM
'"''the

white COMPANY.^^

What

of the

bow?

The bow was made in England Of true wood, of yew wood, The wood of English bows;

PATRIOTISM.
So men who are free Love the old yew-tree And the hind where the yew-tree grows.

13

What

of the cord?
in

The cord was made

Enghmd:
love;

rough cord, a tough cord,

A
And

cord that

bowmen

So we

'11

drain our jacks

To

the English flax

the land where the

hemp

w^as wove.

What

of the shaft?
in

The shaft was cut

England:
;

long shaft, a strong shaft, Barbed and trim and true

So we

'11

drink

all

together

To

And

the gray goose feather. the land where the gray goose flew.
of the

What

men?

The men w^ere bred in England: The bowman the yeoman The lads of dale and fell. Uerc 's to you and to you To the hearts that are true And the land where the true hearts dwell. SIR A. CONAN DOYLE.

TUK KOAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND.

WiiKN mighty roast
f)()l,

beef

was

the lOnglishman'a

II

<'nu<)l)l('(l

our hearts, and eurichOd our blood j

14

POEMS OF NATIONAL
soldiers were brave,

SPIRIT.

Our

and our courtiers were

good.

And

0, the Roast Beef of old England, 0, the old English Roast Beef!

But since we have learned from effeminate France To eat their ragouts, as well as to dance,

We

are fed up with nothing but vain complaisance.

0, the Roast Beef, etc.

HENRY riELDING.

Our

And

fathers of old were robust, stout, and strong, kept ojien house with good cheer all day long,
their

Which made
song.

plump tenants

rejoice in this

0, the Roast Beef, etc.

When
Ere

coffee

good Queen Elizabeth sat on the throne, and tea, and such slip-slops, were
in terror, if e'en she did frown.

known. The world was

0, the Roast Beef, etc.

In those days, if fleets did presume on the main. They seldom or never returned back again As witness the vaunting Armada of Spain. 0, the Roast Beef, etc.
;

O, then

we had stomachs
;

to eat

and

to fight,

And when wrongs were

right

cooking, to set ourselves

PATRIOTISM.
But

15

now
uight;

we 're

hum
?

could,

but

good

And
The
last

0, the Roast Beef of old England, O, the old English Roast Beef!
four stanzas added by KICIIAKD

LOVERIDGE.

THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND.

Daddy Neptune, one
If

day, to

Freedom did

sav,

ever
I

The spot

upon dry laud, should hit on would be little Britain!

"

lived

Says Freedom,

Why,

that

's

my own

island "
!

O, it's a snug

little

island!

right

little,

tight little island!

Search the globe round, none can be found

So hapi)y as

this little island.

Julius Ca?sar, the IJoinan, ^\ lio yielded to no man. Came by water, he couldn't come by land

And Dane,
And
all

Pict, and Saxon, their their backs on.

homes turned

for the sake of our island.

O, what a snug little island! They'd all have a touch at the island! Some were shot dead, some of them fled, And some stayed to live on the island.

Then

a very "

great war-man, called Billy the Norit,

man,
Cried.
It
l)ial
i)e
1

iicxcr liked

my

land.

would

much more handy

to leave this Nor-

mandy,

10

P0E3LS OF NATIONAL .SPIRIT.

And

on your beautiful island." " 'T is a snug little island; Says he, Sha'n't us go visit the island? " Hop, skip, and jump, there he was plump. And he kicked up a dust in the island.
live

But party deceit helped the Normans to beat Of traitors they managed to buy land; By Dane, Saxon, or Pict, Britons ne'er had been
;

licked,

Had

they stuck to the king of their island. Poor Harold, the king of our island
!

He
That

lost
's

both his

all

and his island very true what more could he do?

life
:

Like a Briton he died for his island!

The Spanish armada

set out to

invade

a,

'T will sure, if they ever come nigh land. They couldn't do less than tuck up Queen Bess,

And

take their full swing on the island.

the poor queen of the island!

The Dons came to plunder the island; But snug in her hive the queen was alive, And " buzz " was the word of the island.
V

These proud puffed-up cakes thpught to make ducks and drakes Of our wealth but they hardly could spy laud. When our Drake had the luck to make their pride duck
;

And

stoop to the lads of the island! O, for the ships of the island!

The good wooden walls

of the island;

o
z

o
^ <
r

>

w^ =^ n

Z w w D

PATRIOTISM.
Devil or Don,
let

17
;

And

see

how

them come on they 'd come off the island

Since Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept

time,

In each saying. " This shall be my land "; Should the ''Army of En<^land," or all it could
bring, land,
\^'e 'd

show 'em some play

for the island.

fight for our right to the island; give them enough of the island; Invaders should just bite once at the dust,

We'd We'd

But not a

bit

more

of the island.

THOMAS

DIBDH?".

THE JACOBITE ON TOWER

HILL.

He tripped up the steps with a bow and a smile, Offering snuff to the chaplain the while, A rose at his button-hole that afternoon

'T

was the tenth was June.

of the

month, and the month

it

Then shrugging

his shoulders, he looked at the

man
With the mask and the axe, and a murmuring ran Through the crowd, who below, were all pushing
to see

The gaoler kneel down, and receiving

his fee.

He looked And took

"
I

siuilT

at the mob. as they roared, witli a stare, again with a cynical air.

To the

'm hap])y to give but a moment's delight (lower of nn* country agog for a sight.'*

vm 2

18

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
block,

SPIRIT.

Then he looked at the

cravat

and with scented

Dusted room for his neck, gajiy doffing his hat, Kissed his hand to a lady, bent low to the crowd, Then smiling, turned round to the headsman and
bowed,

"God
And
"

save King

James!" he

cried bravely

and

shrill.

the cry reached the houses at foot of the hill, My friend with the axe, a voire service,'- he said
;

And ran

his white

thumb

'long the edge of the

blade.

When

the multitude hissed he stood firm as a rock

laid

Then kneeling,
block
;

down

his

gay head on the

He

kissed a white rose,

life

With the

of the bravest of

't was red any that bled. GEORGE WALTER THORNBURY.

in

moment

GOD SAVE THE KING.

God save our gracious king! Long live our noble king! God save the king! Send him victorious,

Happy and

glorious.

Long to reign over us God save the king!

Lord our God, arise!

Scatter his enemies,

And make them

fall

PATRIOTISM.
Confonud
Frustrate
their polities, tlieir knavisli tricks
fix,

19

Ou him our hopes we God save us all

!

Thy

choicest gifts in store

liiiii
!)('

On

i)]eased to

pour;

Jjong niav he rei.yn. Ma.v he defend our laws,

And

To sing with heart and God save the king

!

ever give us cause, voice

UENKV CAREY

VF.TKRAN AND RE(^KUIT.

llio lilled

the crvslal goblet

"

With golden-beaded wine: Come, comrades, now, I bid ye To the true love of mine
' '
!

''

Her forehead 's j)ure and holy, Uer hair is tangled gold, Her heart to me so tender, To others' love is cold.

"So drain your glasses empty And fill me another yet;

Two glasses at least for the dearest And sweetest girl, Lisette."
rose a grizzled sei-geant My true htNc give thee. Three true lo\('s blent in one love,

Up

"

soldier's trinity.

20

POEMS OF NATIONAL
"

SPIRIT.

Here 's to the flag we follow, Here 's to the land we serve,
here 's to holy honor That doth the two preserve."

And

Then rose they up around him.

And raised their eyes above, And drank in solemn silence

Unto the sergeant's love. EDWARD WENTWORTH HAZEWELL.

THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS;* OR, THE BRITISH SOLDIER IN CHINA.

["Some Seiks, and a private of the Buffs, having remained behind with the grog-carts, fell into the hands of
the Chinese.

On the next day they were brought before the autliorities and ordered to perform Kotou. Tlie Seiks obeyed, but Moyse, the English soldier, declared he would
not prostrate himself before any Cliinaman alive, and was immediately knocked upon the head, and his body tlirown

upon a dunghill."
Times.
'\

China

Correspondent of the London

Last night, among

his fellow roughs,

He

jested, quaffed, and swore; drunken private of the Buffs,

never looked before. To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, He stands in Elgin's place,

Who

Ambassador from

Britain's crown.

And

type

of all

her race.

Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught,

Bewildered, and alone,

* The " Buffs
"

are the Ea^t

Kent Regiment.

PATRIOTISM.

21

He

heart, with English instinct fraught, yet can call his own.

Ay, tear his body limb from limb, Bring cord or axe or flame. He only knows that not through him Shall England come to shame.

Far Kentish

hop-fields round him seemed, Like dreams, to come and go Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed.
;

One sheet of living snow; The smoke above his father's door In gray soft eddyings hung; Must he then watch it rise no more, Doomed by himself so young?
with strength like steel Yes, honor calls He i)ut the vision by;
I

Let dusky Indians whine and kneel. An English lad must die. And Ihus, with eyes that would not shrink, With knee to man unbent,
Unfaltering on its dreadful brink, To his red grave he went.

Vain mightiest fleets of iron framed. Vain tliose all-shattering guns. Unless proiul lOngland keej) untamed The strong heart of her sons; So let his name through Europe ring,

A man of mean estate. Who died, as firm as Sparta

's

king,

Because his soul was great. SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE.

22

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

THE TURK IN ARMENIA.

FROM
''

THE PURPLE EAST/^

What

profits it, O England, to prevail In camp and mart and council, and bestrew

With

argosies tliy oceans, and renew

AVitli tribute levied

on each golden gale

Thj treasuries, if thou canst hear the wail Of women martyred by the turbaned crew, Whose tenderest mercy was the sword that slew, And lift no hand to wield the purging flail?

We

deemed of old thou

held'st a charge

from

Him

Who

To smite

watches girdled by his seraphim, the wronger with thy destined rod. Wait'st thou his sign? Enough, the unanswered
cry

Of virgin souls for vengeance, and on high The gathering blackness of the frown of God
WILLIAM

WATSOJS".

AVE IMPERATRIX.
Set
in this

stormy Northern

sea,

Queen of these restless fields of tide, England! what shall men say of thee, Before whose feet the worlds divide?
The
earth, a brittle globe of glass, Lies in the hollow of thy hand.
its

And through

heart of crystal pass,

Like shadows through a twilight land,

WILLIAM WATSON

PATRIOTISM.
The sj)ears of crinisou-suited war, The long white-crested waves of fight, And all the deadly fires which are The torches of the lords of Night.

23

The yellow leopards, strained and lean, The treacherous Russian knows so well, With gaping blackened jaws are seen To leap through hail of screaming shell. The strong sea-lion of England's wars Hath left his sapphire cave of sea, To battle with the storm that mars The star of England's chivalry. The brazen-throated clarion blows

And

Across the Pathan's reedy fen. the high steeps of Indian snows

Shake to the tread of armed men.

And many an Afghan

chief,

who

lies

Beneath his cool pomegranate-trees, Clutches his sword in fierce surmise When on the mountain-side he sees

The fleet-foot Marri scout, who comes To tell how he hath heard afar The measured roll of English drums lieat at the gates of Kandahar.
For southern wind anil east wind meet Where, girt and crowned by sword and

fire.

24

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

England with bare and bloody feet Climbs the steep road of wide empire.

lonely

Himalayan

height,

Gray

pillar of the

Indian sky,
fight

Where saw'st thou last in clanging Our winged dogs of Victory?

The almond groves

of Samarcand, where red lilies blow. Bokhara, And Oxus, by whose yellow sand The grave white-turbaned merchants go;

And on from
Whence

thence to Ispahan,

The gilded garden

of the sun. the long dusty caravan Brings cedar and vermilion;

And

that dread city of Cabool Set at the mountain's scarped feet, Whose marble tanks are ever full

With water

for the

noonday

heat,

Where through

the narrow straight Bazaar maid Circasian Is led, a present from the Czar Unto some old and bearded khan,

little

Here have our wild war-eagles flown, And flapped wide wings in fiery fight; But the sad dove, that sjts alone In England she hath no delight.

PATRIOTISM.
In vain the laughing girl will lean To greet her love with love-lit eyes: Down in some treacherous black ravine, Clutching his
flag,

2t

the dead boy

lies.

And many

a moon and sun will see The lingering wistful children wait To climb ui)on their father's knee;

And

in

each house

made

desolate
J

Pale women who have lost their lord Will kiss the relics of the slain

Some tarnished

some sword epaulette

Poor toys to soothe such anguished pain.

For not in quiet English fields Are these, our brothers, lain to

rest,

Where we might deck With all the flowers

their broken shields

the dead love best.

For some are by the Delhi walls. And many in the Afghan land. And many where the Ganges falls Til rough seven mouths of shifting sand.

And some in Russian waters lie. And others in the seas which are
The i>ortals to the East, or by The wind-swept heights of Trafalgar.

wandering graves!

restless sleep!

silence of the sunless day!

26

POEMS OF NATIONAL
O
!

SPIRIT.

still ravine! O stormy deep! Give up your prey Give up your prey

And

those whose

wounds are never

is

healed,

never won, Cromwell's England! must thou yield For every inch of ground a son?
race

Whose weary

Go! crown with thorns thy gold-crowned head, Change thy glad song to song of pain Wind and wild wave have got thy dead, And will not yield them back again.
;

Wave and

wild wind and foreign shore Possess the flower of English land Lips that thy lips shall kiss no more, Hands that shall never clasp thy hand.
profit now that we have bound The whole round world with nets of

What
If

gold.

hidden in our heart

is

found

The care that groweth never old ?

What

profit that our galleys ride. Pine-forest like, on every main? Ruin and wreck are at our side.

Grim warders

of the

House

of pain.

Where are the brave, the strong, the Where is our English chivalry? Wild grasses are their burial-sheet.

fleet?

And

sobbing waves their threnody.

PATRIOTISM.

27

loved ones lying far away,

What word

of love can

dead

lips

send?

Is (his the

wasted dust! O senseless clay! end? is this the end?

Peace, jteace! we wrong the noble dead To vex their solemn slumber so;

Though

childless,

Up

the steep road

and with thorn-crowned head, must England go.

Yet when

this fiery

web

is

spun,
far

Her watchmen shall descry from The young Ke[)ublic like a sun

Rise from these crimson seas of war.

OSCAR WILDE.

AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.

All hail thou Our Fathers'
;

noble laud, native soil

O, stretch thy mighty hand,

(ligaiilic

grow

II

by

toil,

O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore!

For thou with magic might Canst reach to where the light Of rhcebus travels bright The world o'er
!

The genius

of our clinic

From

his pine-embattled steep

Khali hail the guest sublime; While the Tritons of the deep

28

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

With

their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim.

Then

let

the world combine,

O'er the

main our naval

!

line

Like the Milkj' Way shall shine Bright in flame

Though ages long have passed

Since our Fathers left their home, Their pilot in the blast, O'er untravelled seas to roam, Yet lives the blood of England in our veins! And shall we not proclaim

That blood of honest fame Which no tyranny can tame

By

its

chains?

While the language free and bold Which the Bard of Avon sung, In which our Milton told

How
When

the vault of heaven rung

Satan, blasted, fell with his host; While this, with reverence meet,

Ten thousand echoes

greet,

From rock to rock repeat Round our coast;

While the manners, while the arts, That mould a nation's soul. Still cling around our hearts, Between let Ocean roll,

Our

joint

communion breaking with

still

the sun:

Yet

from either beach

PATRIOTISM.
The voice of blood shall reach, More audible than speech,
'^

29

We

are One."

WASHIKGTOX ALLSTOX.

HANDS ALL KOUND.

First drink a health, this solemn night,

That man

health to England, every guest: 's the best cosmopolite

loves his native country best. for ever live
life

Who

May Freedom's oak

With stronger
That man
's

from day to day:

the best Conservative

Who
God

lops the
all

moulded branch away.

round!
I

Hands

the tyrant's hope confound To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends, And the great name of England, round and round.

health to Europe's honest

men

Heaven guard them from her tyrants' jails! From wronged Poerio's noisome den. From iron limbs and tortured nails!

We

Tlie

curse the crimes of southern kings, Russian whips and Austrian rods:
likewise have our evil things,

We

Too much we make our ledgers, gods. Yet hands all round!

Ood the tyrant's cause confound To Europe's better health we drink, my friends, And the great name of England, round and round!
!

30

POEMS OF NATIONAL
What
Yet

SPIRIT.

Whom
tell

health to France, if France be she, martial progress only charms?

her

better to be free

Than vanquish all the world in arms. Her frantic city's flashing heats But fire, to blast the hopes of men.

Why

You

change the fools, you

titles of
'11

your streets?
all

want them
!

again.

Hands

all

round

God To France,

the tyrant's cause confound the wiser France, we drink, my friends,

!

And

the great

name

of England,

round and round.

Gigantic daughter of the West, We drink to thee across the flood!

We know

thee and we love thee best; For art thou not of British blood?

Should war's mad blast again be blown, Permit not thou the tyrant powers To fight thy mother here alone. But let thy broadsides roar with ours. Hands all round God the tyrant's cause confound To our great kinsman of the West, my friends. And the great name of England, round and round.
!

Oh

rise,

When war

our strong Atlantic sons. against our freedom springs!

Oh, speak to Europe through your guns! They can be understood by kings. You must not mix our Queen with those

That wish

to keep their people fools

PATRIOThSM.
Our freedom's
She
foeinen are her foes;
all

31

coini)relien(ls the race she rules.

Hands

round

To

the tyrant's cause confound our jj;roat kinsnuui in the >A'est, my friends,
!

God

And

the great cause of Freedom,

round and round.

ALFKKD, LOKD TKNNYSON.

RECESSIONAL.
God
of our fathers, kuiOwu of old,

Lord of our far-flung battle line, Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine, Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest

we

forget,

lest

we

forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies, The captains and the kings depart:
Still

stands thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord God of Hosts, be with us

Lest

we

forget,

yet,

lest

we

forget!

Far-called, our navies melt

r)n

away; dune and headland sinks the Lol all our jtomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge
of the nations, spare us yet,
forget,

fire.

Lest we
If,

lest

we

forget!

drunk

^^"\\i\

power, we loose not thee in awe, have that tongues

witit siglit of

32

POEMS OF NATIONAL
Or
lesser breeds

SPIRIT.

Such boasting as the Gentiles use

without the law, Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest

we forget, lest we

forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust. And guarding calls not thee to guard,

For frantic boasts and foolish word, Thy mercy on thy people. Lord
!

'Amen,

RUDYARD KIPLING.

ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES.

She stands, a thousand-wintered tree. By countless morns impearled; Her broad roots coil beneath the sea.
Her branches sweep the world Her seeds, by careless winds conveyed.
;

With

Clothe the remotest strand forests from her scatterings made, New nations fostered in her shade.

And

linking land with land.

ye by wandering tempest sown 'Neath every alien star. Forget not whence the breath was blown

That wafted you afar! For ye are still her ancient seed

On younger

soil let fall

PATRIOTISM.
Children of Biitain's island-breed, To whom the Mother in her need

33

Perchance

may one day

call.

WILLIAM WATSON.

SCOTLAND.
FROM
"

THE LAY OF THE LAST MIXSTREL, CANTO VL

Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child

I

Land of brown heath and shaggj wood. Land of the mountain and the flood. Land of my sires what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band
!

That knits me to thy rugged strand? Still, as I view each well-known scene. Think what is now, and what hath been.
Seems, as to me, of all bereft. Sole friends thy woods and streams were left; And thus I love them better still,

Even

in

extremity of

ill.

By Yarrow's stream still Though none should guide

Still feel the

let

me

my

stray. feeble way;

breeze

down

p]ttrick break.

Although
Still lay

it

chilled

my

my withered cheek; head by Teviot stone,

Though there, forgotten and alone, The bard may draw his parting groan.
VIII

SIR

WALTER

SCOTT.

34

POEMS OF NATIONAL

l^PIIUT.

THE BAKD.
A
riNDARIC
ODE.

"Ruin

seize thee, ruthless King! Confusion on thy banners wait; Tho' fanned by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state, Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,

Nor e'en thy virtues. Tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,

From Cambria's

curse,

from Cambria's

tears

"
!

Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay, As down the steej) of Snowdon's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array.
Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance: *' To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couched his
quiv'ring lance.

On

a rock, whose haughty brow

flood,

Frowns

o'er cold Conway's foaming Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood: (Loose his beard, and hoary hair

And

Streamed, like a meteor, to tlie troubled air) with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. " Hark how each giant oak, and desert cave, Siolis to the torrent's awful voice beneath
!

PATRIOTISM.
O'er thee,

35

their hundred arms tliey wave, on in hoarser murmurs breathe; thee Revenge Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,
I

O King

To high-born IIoeFs
''

harj),

or soft Llewellyn's lay.

Cold is Cadwallo's tongue. That hushed the stormy main Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed Mountains, ye moui-n in vain Modrcd, whose magic song Made huge IMinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head.
:

On

drear}' Arvon's shore they

lie,

Smeared with

gore,

and

ghastlj' pale;

Far, far aloof th' alfrighted ravens sail; The famished eagle screams, and i)asses by. Dear lost comjtanions of my tuneful art.

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drojts that warm my heart, Ye died amidst vour dving countrv's cries No more 1 weep. They do not sleep.
.

On yonder
see

cliffs,

a grisly band,

them

sit,

AvengiMs of

they linger yet. llicir native land:

With me

in

And weave
line,

dreadful harmony they join, with bloody hands the tissues of thy

II.

Weave the \\ai-]>, and weave the woof, The win<ling sheet of Ivlward's race. (live amjde loom, and verge enough The characters of hell lo ti-ace. Mark the year, and mark the night,

"

36

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

When

Severn shall re-echo with affright

of death, thro' Berkeley's roof that

The shrieks
ring,

Shrieks of an agonizing king! She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate.

From

thee be born,
of

who

o'er

The scourge
wait
!

Heaven.

What

thy country hangs Terrors round him

Amazement

And

in his van, with Flight combined, Sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind.

"Mighty

victor,

mighty lord!

Low on his funeral couch he lies! No pitying heart, no eye, afford

tear to grace his obsequies. Is the sable warrior fled ?

Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. The swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were Gone to salute the rising morn.

born,

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows. While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the proAV, and Pleasure at the helm
;

Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, his evening That, hushed in grim repose, expects
prey.

" Fill high the sparkling bowl. The rich repast prepare,

Reft of a crown, he yet Close by the regal chair

may

share the feast

PATRIOTISM.
Fell Tliirfst

37

and Famine scowl

baleful smile u}on their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray,

Lance to
Long-

lance,

and horse
havoc,

to horse?

years

of

urged

their

destined

course.

And through

the kindred squadrons mow their wav. Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed, Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame,

And

spare the meek usurper's holy head. Above, below, the rose of snow, Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:

The bristled Hoar in infant-gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade.

Now,

brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, Stam]) we our vengeance deep, and ratify his

doom.
III.

Edward, lo to sudden fate (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) Half of thy heart we consecrate. (The web is wove. The work is done.)
!

"

Stav, oh stav! nor thus forlorn Leave me unblessed, un])itied, here to mourn In yon bright track, that tires the western skies, They melt, they vanisli from my eyes, liut oh what sole^iin scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll?
:
I

Visions of glory, spare

my

aching sight!

Ye

unbitiii ages,

crowd not on

my

soul!

38

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

No more

our long-lost Arthur we bewail.

!

All hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, hail

many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old
In bearded majesty, appear. In the midst a form divine! Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line:

" Girt with

Her

awe-commanding face, Attempered sweet to virgin-grace. What strings symphonious tremble in the air. What strains of vocal transport round her play!

lion-port, her

Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; Thev breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings. Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colored
wings.
"

The verse adorn again. Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth severe by fairy fiction In buskined measure move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain,

drest.

With Horror, tyrant

of the throbbing breast.

voice, as of the cherub-choir.

Gales from blooming Eden bear; And distant warblings lessen on

my

ear.

That

lost in

long futurity expire.

think'st ihou yon sanguine

Fond impious man,

cloud.

Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of

day?

PATRIOT WM.
To-moiTOw he repairs the goldeu
flood.

And warms
Euoii<>h for

the nations with redoubled ray.

me; with joy I see The different doom our fates assign. Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care, To triumph, and to die, are mine." He spoke and headlong from the mountain's

Deep

heiglit in the roaring tide

he plunged to endless

night.

THOMAS GRAY.

MY HEART'S
My My
heart
's 's

IN

THE HIGHLANDS.
my
heart
is

not here; the Highlands a-ehasing deer; ' Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe. My heart 's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
in the

Highlands,

heart

in the

Fai-ewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,

The birthplace of valor, the country of worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands forever I love.
Farewell
to
;

the

mountains high covered with

snow

Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;

Faii'wcll Id the forests

Farewell

to the torrents
's

and wild-hanging woods; and loud-])<)nring floods.

(he Highlands, my heart is not here; in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; ^ly lieart Cliasing (he wild deer, and following the roe.
Iicait
in
's

My

My

licint 's in

(he

Highlands wlicrcvcr

go.

KOUKIIT JlUUNS.

40

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT,

HEATHER ALE: A GALLOWAY LEGEND.

From
the bonny bells of heather They brewed a drink long-syne,

Was sweeter far than honey, Was stronger far than wine.
They brewed
it

And

lay in a blessed

and they drank swound

it,

For days and days together

In the dwellings underground.

There rose a king in Scotland,

A fell man to his foes, He smote the Picts in battle. He hunted them like roes.
Over miles of the red mountain He hunted as thev fled,

And

strewed the dwarfish bodies

Of the dying and the dead.

Summer came

in the country,

Red was the heather bell; But the manner of the brewing

Was

none

alive to tell.

In graves that were like children's On many a mountain head, The Brewsters of the Heather

Lay numbered with the dead.

The king in the red moorland Rode on a summer's day
;

PATRIOTLSM.
And
the bees

41
the curlews

hummed, and

Cried beside the way.

The king rode, and was angry; Black was his brow and pale, To rule in a land of heather

And

lack the Heather Ale.

It fortuned that his vassals,

Kiding free on the

heatli,

Came on a stone that was fallen And vermin hid beneath.

Rudely plucked from their hiding, Never a word they spoke A son and his aged father

Last of the dwarfish

folk.

The king sat high on

his charger,

He looked on the little men; And the dwarfish and swarthy

Looked at the king again. Down by the shore he had them

couple

And

there on the giddy brink

" I will give you life, ye vermin, For the secret of the drink."

There stood the son and father

And they looked high and low; The lioather was red around them, The sea rumbled below. And up and spoke the father. Shrill was his voice to hear; " T have a word in i)rivate, A word for the royal ear.

42

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
" Life is dear to the aged,
I

SPIRIT.

And honor a would gladly

little
sell

thing; the secret,"

Quoth the Pict to the King. His voice was small as a sparrow's, And shrill and wonderful clear:
"
I

Avould gladly sell

my

secret,

Only
"

my

son
a

1 fear.

For

life is

little

matter,

And death is nought to the young; And I dare not sell mj- honor Under the eye of my son.
Take him,

And And it
That

cast
's

king, and bind him. him far in the deep;

I will tell

the secret

have sworn to keep."

They took the son and bound him. Neck and heels in a thong, And a lad took him and swung him, And flung him far and strong, And the sea swallowed his body.

And

Like that of a child of ten there on the cliflf stood the father, Last of the dwarfish men.
;

"

True as the word

Onlj'

told vou

my

son

feared;

For I doubt the sapling courage That goes without the beard. But now in vain is the torture,
Fire shall never avail
:

PATRIOTISM.
Here dies in mv bosom The secret of Heather Ale."
KOBEUT
LOL'IS

43

STLV'EXSOX.

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.

[James Graham, Marquis of Montrose, was executed in Edinburgh, May 21, 1650. for an atteni2)t to overthrow the Commonwealth and restore Charles II. J

Comb
I

hither,

Evan Cameron!
beliind

Come, stand

my

knee

hear the river roaring down Toward the wintrv sea. There 's shonting on tlie mountain-side,

There 's war witliin the blast Old faces look ui)on me, Old forms go trooping past. I hear the pibroch Availing

And my dim

Amidst the din of tight. spirit wakes again

Ujion the verge of night.

'T

that led the Highland host Through wild Lochaber's snows.

T

was

What
To
I 've

time the jdaided clans came

battle with Montrose.

down

told thee how the Southrons fell Beneath the broad claymore, And how wo smote the Camjibell clan

Hy Inverlochy's
I

shoie.

'vo told

thee

how we swept Dundee,

the Lindsays' pride;

And tamed

44

POEMS OF NATIONAL
But never have

SPIRIT.

How

I told thee yet the great Marquis died.

A
I

traitor sold

him

to his foes;
!

deed of deathless shame

charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet With one of Assynt's nameside,

Be it upon the mountain's Or yet within the glen,

Stand he in martial gear alone, Or backed by armed men Face him as thou wouldst face the man

Who
And

Remember

wronged thy sire's renown; of what blood thou art,

strike the caitiff

down

They brought him to the Watergate, Hard bound with hempen span,

As though they

held a lion there,

And

not a 'fenceless man.

They set him high upon a cart The hangman rode below They drew his hands behind his back.

And

bared his noble brow.

Then, as a hound is slipped from leash. They cheered the common throng.

And blew the note with yell and And bade him pass along.
It

shout.

would have made a brave man's Grow sad and sick that day, To watch the keen, malignant eyes Bent down on that array.

heart

PATNT0TI8M.
There stood the Whig west-country lords In balcony and bow There sat their gaunt and withered dames,
;

45

And their daughters all a-row. And every open window Was full as full might be
With black-robed Covenanting
That goodly sport to see
!

carles,

But when he came, though pale and wan. He looked so great and high, So noble was his manlv front, So calm his steadfast eye The rabble rout forbore to shout.
;

And

each

man

For well they knew the

held his breath, hero's soul

Was face to face with death. And then a mournful shudder

Through
all

And some

that

the people crept. came to scoff' at him

Now

turned aside and wept.

But onward

always onward,

and in gloom. The dreary pageant labored,

In silence
Till it

Then

first

reached the house of doom. a woman's voice was hoard

hiss arose

In jeer and laughter loud,

And an angry cry and a From the heart of the

tossing crowd:

Then, as the Grfeme looked upward. He saw the ugly smile

Of Iiiiii who sold his king for gold The master-fiend Argyle!

46

POEMS OF NATIONAL
The Marquis gazed a moment,

SPIRIT.

And nothing
But the cheek

And

did he say, of Argyle grew ghastly pale. he turned his eyes away.

The painted harlot by his side. She shook through every limb. For a roar like thunder swept the street. And hands were clenched at him And a Saxon soldier cried aloud, " Back, coward, from thy place For seven long years thou hast not dared To look him in the face."
;
!

Had I And

been there with sword in hand.

streets

fifty Camerons by, That day through high Dunedin's

Had

pealed the slogan-cry.

Not all their troops of trampling liorse, Nor might of mailed men Not all the rebels in the south Had borne us backward then Once more his foot on Highland heath

Had
Or

trod as free as

air.

I, and all who bore my name. Been laid around him there
!

might not be. They placed him next Within the solemn hall. Where once the Scottish kings were throned Amidst their nobles all. But there was dust of vulgar feet
It

On tlint polluted floor. And ])erjured traitors filled

Where good men

the place

sate before.

PATRIOTISM.
With savage glee came \Varristou To read the inurderous doom
;

47

And

then uprose the great Montrose In the middle of the room:

"

Now, by my faith as belted knight And by the name 1 bear,

by the bright St. Andrew's cross That waves above us there-

And

Yea, by a greater, mightier oath And O that such should bel

By
I

that dark stream Of royal blood

lies

That

'twixt you and

me

have not sought in battle-field A wreath of such renown. Nor dared I hope on my dying day

To win the martyr's crown!

" There
is

a chamber far

away

Where

me But Than bv mv father's grave. For truth and right, 'gainst treason's might, This hand has always striven.
And
ye raise it up for a witness still In the eye of earth and heaven.
nail

sleep the good and brave, a better i)lace ye have named for

Then

riive

every town a limb

my head on yonder tower

And
T

Clod who made shall gather Ihem go from you to IlimI"

Tlic

morning dawned full dai-kly. The rain came (lashing down,

48

POEMS OF NATIONAL
And
Lit

SPIRIT.

the jagged streak of the levin bolt up the gloomy town.

The thunder crashed across the heaven, The fatal hour was come; Yet aye broke in, with muffled beat, The 'larum of the drum. There was madness on the earth below

And anger in the sky, And young and old, and rich and Came forth to see him die.

poor,

Ah God

that ghastly gibbet

't is

How

dismal

to see

The great tall spectral skeleton. The ladder and the tree
!

Hark hark
!

the clash of arms, The bells begin to toll,

!

it is

"He
One

is coming! he is coming! God's mercy on his soul "

last long peal of thunder,

The clouds are cleared away. And the glorious sun once more looks down Amidst the dazzling day.
"

coming! he is coming! Like a bridegroom from his room Came the hero from his prison To the scaffold and the doom. There was glory on his forehead. There was lustre in his eye. And he never walked to battle More proudly than to die. There was color in his visage, Though the cheeks of all were wan;
is

He

"

PATlilOTIHJI.

49

And

they niai'vcUed as they saw him pass,

That great and goodly man!

He mounted np the And he tinned him

But they dared not

scaffold, to the crowd;

trust the people,

So he might not speak aloud. But he looked upon the heavens, And they were clear and blue,

And

in the liquid ether

:

The eye of God shone through Yet a black and murky battlement

Lay resting on the

hill,

As though
All else

the thunder slept within,

was calm and

still.

The grim Geneva ministers With anxious scowl drew near,

As you have seen the ravens flock Around the dying deer. He would not deign them word nor
But alone he bent the knee;

sign,

And

veiled his face for Christ's dear grace

Beneath the gallows-tree. Then, radiant and serene, he

rose,

And

cast his cloak

away;

For he had ta'en his latest look Of earth and sun and day.

beam of light fell o'er him, Like a glory round the shriven,

VIII

50

POEMS OF NATIONAL
And
As

SPIRIT.

he climbed the lofty ladder it were the path to heaven.

flash

Then came a

from out the cloud,

And a stunning thunder-roll; And no man dared to look aloft,

Fear was on every soul. There was another heavy sound, A hush, and then a groan;

And

The work

darkness swept across the sky, of death was done

!

WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN.

BORDER BALLAD.
March^ march, Ettrick and Teviotdale! Why the de'il dinna ye march forward March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale
!

in

order?

All the Blue Bonnets are over the Border

Many

a banner spread Flutters above your head. a crest that is famous in story

Many

Mount and make

ready, then,

Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the queen and our old Scottish glory.

Come from
ing;

the hills where your hirscls are graz-

Come from the glen of the buck and tlie roe Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.
;
;

Trumpets are sounding;

War-steeds are bounding;

PATRIOTISM.
Stand to vour arms, and march
Enj^land shall
in

51

good order,

manv a dav

Tell of the bloody fray,

When

the Blue Bonnets

came over the Border. SIR WALTKU SCOTT.

THE EXILE'S SONG.

On why
I !

left I
1

my hame?

^Vhy did

Oh why Where my

cross the deep? left 1 the land

forefathers sleep?

I sigh for Scotia's shore.

And
But
I

gaze across the sea,

canna get a blink

O' m}' ain countrie.

The palm-tree wavetli

high,

myrtle springs; And, to the Indian maid,

And

fair the

The bulbul sweetly sings. But I dinna see the broom

Wi'
0'
its

tassels

on the

lee,

Xor hear

my

the lintie's sang ain countrie.

Oh here no Sabbath bell Awakes the Sabbath morn, Nor song of reapers heard
!

Amonji '>^ the vcllow corn: For the tyrant's voice is here

And

the wail of slaverie;

POEM^ OF XATIOXAL SPIRIT. Bqt me sun of fireedooi ^iaes Is Hx am covBTTii?.

Tbere
"s

a kope for ^verr

fo' eT<ery

wt>e,

Amd A lain
But

p&io. tie first jot? o* our^eairt

a^i^ia.

Coiae nere? lack

Tke 's a Tzac^ wpo^ jbe deep. And a jdt& aQ^:s5 the sea
:

To

tfeeir

arn ewir

THE lEISHMAX.
TSE Sa^a^
T"
r'
_

iOr::s

n natlTr

^OTC

^Tid? tie

so3 and chiH the air;

r_ _
-

-^^7 Erai's s>ss adsre

irkich Batnre

Tbeir

isi-e

foinmd so

faar.

What

noc-i ggfltt ts a sfeore > ?wet

As S^LaasoB reat of pastw^al Baim? Or wfeo a tncmd or fyt eaii aseet

So
g5=^BS as

an Irs^isiaB?

-srr is
>"
-;

s"zl]

his gni'ie

^--ejsTs
1

a deed of harm.
be daxed

^\r~^> *iili Bobfer pride ;

lie

He

^kST

h^Tt ir:a'T
I
:

ITc'Te

St to

than to plan :

He ieariT ^sras fc!s pr:r rew^ard. And si*ay^ it lile aa Iri^maB.

PATRIOTL^M.
If strange or poor, for vod he And guide to where you safe
'11

53
pay,
be;
stay,

may

you 're his guest, while e'er you His cottage holds a jubilee. His inmost soul he will unlock.
If

And

if

he

may your

secrets scan,

Your confidence he scorns to mock. Fur faithful is an Irishman.

By honor bound in woe or weal, Whate 'er she bids he dares to do

Try him with bribes Prove him in fii'e
'11

they won't prevail ^you find him true.

;

He

seeks not safety, let his post

it

Be where

ought in danger's van;

And
It

if

the field of

fame be

lost.

won't be bv an Irishman,
loved land

Erin

Be thou more

from age to age. great, more famed, and

I

free.

May i>eace be thine, or shouldst thou wage Defensive war. cheap victory.
Mav
iilentv

bloom

in everv field

gentle breezes softlv fan, Au-1 cheerful smiles serenely gild

Which

The home of everv Irishman.

JAMES
oiu;

5i

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

TURLOUGH MacSWEENEY.
A
health to you, Piper,.

And your

pipes silver-tongued, clear and

sweet in their crooning!

Full of the music tliey gathered at morn On 3'onr high heather hills from the lark on the

wing,

From the blackbird From the little

at eve on the blossoming thorn, green linnet whose plaining

And

they sing, the joy and the hope in the heart of the
Spring,
O, Turlough

MacSweeney!

Play us our Eire's most sorrowful songs. As she sits b}' her reeds near the wash of the
wave.

That the coldest may

wrongs,

thrill at the

count of her

That the sword may

flash forth

from the scab-

And

bard to save, the wide land awake at the wrath of the

brave,

O, Turlough

MacSweeney!

Play as the bards plaj^ed in days long ago. When O'Donnell, arrayed for the foray or feast, With your kinsmen from Bannat and Fannat and
Doe,

With piping and harping, and

blessing of priest,

PATRIOTISM.
Rode out
in the blaze of the

55

suu from the East,

O, Turlough MacSweeueyl

Play as they i)layed in that rapturous hour When the clans heard in gladness his voung
call

fierv

Who

And sped
Then on

burst from the gloom of the Sassenach tower, to the welcome in dear Donegal,
to his hailing as chieftain of all

O, Turlough MacSweene}'

Play as they played, when, a trumpet of war. His voice for the rally, i)ealed up to the blue. And the kerns from the hills and the glens and the
scaur

Marched after the banner Led into the fray by a piper

O, Turlough

of conquering
like you,

Hugh

MacSweeney!

And

surely no note of such music shall fail, Wherever the speech of our Eire is heard. To foster the hope of the passionate Gael,

To fan the old hatred, relentless when stirred. To strengthen our souls for the strife to be dared,
O, Turlough

MacSweeney!
and
.sircrt in

Maij

ijoiir

pipes, sihcr-tonguccl, clear

tltcir

croon in f/.

Keep

the

magic they captured at dawning and

even

From

the hlaclchird at home,

and the lark on

its

journey,

5G

POEIiLS

OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

From

the thrush on its spray, and the Utile green

linnet.

health to you, Piper!

ANNA MACMANUS

{Ethna Carhery).

A SPINNING SONG.
My
love to fight the

Saxon

goes,

And

bravely sliiues his sword of steel; heron's feather decks his brows,
a spur on either heel is blacker than the sloe,
;

And

His steed

And fleeter than the falling Amid the surging ranks he '11 And shout for joy of war.
Twinkle, twinkle, pretty spindle; wool drift and dwindle.

star;

go
let

the white

Oh we weave
!

damask doublet

for

my

love's

coat of steel.

Hark

the timid, turning treadle crooning soft,

old-fashioned ditties

To the

low, slow wheel.

murmur

of the

brown round

My love is My love

pledged to Ireland's fight;

would

die for Ireland's weal,

To win her back her ancient right, And make her foemen reel. Oh close I '11 clns]) him to my breast When homeward from the war he comes; The fires shall light the mountain's crest. The valley peal with drums.
!

PATRIOTIFiM.
Twinkle, twinkle, pretty spindle; wool drift and dwindle.
let

57-

the white

Oh we weave
:

a damask doublet for

my

love's

coat of steel.

Hark! the

timid, turning treadle crooning soft

old-fashioned ditties

To

the low, slow

murmur

of the

brown round

wheel.

JOHN FRANCIS O'UONNELL.

THE WEARING OF THE GREEN.*

you hear the news that 's round? goin' The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep; his colors
dear, an' did
;

Paddy

can't be seen

For
1

tliere

's

a cruel law agin' the wearin' of the

green.

met with Napper Tandy, and he tuk me by the

hand. he said,
's

And
She

"

How

's

poor ould Ireland, and how

does she stand? "

was

the most distressful country that ever yet seen

:

They are hangin' men and women there for wearin' of

the green.

An'

if

the color

we must wear
street
'

is

England's cruel

red,
* Variation of

an old

fn Dion Boucicault's play

Tlie

song of about 1798. Shan Van Voght."

Sung

58

P0E2hS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget the blood that they have shed. Then pull the shamrock from your hat and east it on the sod,

And

never fear, 't will take root there, though under foot 't is trod. When law can stop the blades of grass from growin'

And when
Then

as they grow. the leaves in summer-time their color

dare not show.

I will

change the color, too,

;

wear

in

my

caubeen

But

till

in' of

that day, please God, 1 the green.

'11

stick to wear-

But

if

at last our color should be torn

from

Ire-

land's heart.

Her sons with shame and sorrow from

:

the dear

old isle will part I 've heard a whisper of a land that lies beyond

the sea.

Where

rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom's day. Erin, must we leave you, driven by a tyrant's
blessin'

hand? Must we ask a mother's and distant land'?

from a strange
never-

Where

the cruel cross of England shall

seen,
'11

more be

And

where, please (lod, we wearin' of the green.

live

and

die still

PATRIOTISM.

59

MY NATIVE LAND.
It chanoed to nie ui)ou a time to sail Across the Southern ocean to and fro; And, hniding at fair isles, by stream and vale

And months

Of sensuous blessing did we ofttinies go. of dreamy joys, like joys in sleep, Or like a clear, calm stream o'er mossy stone. Unnoted passed our hearts with voiceless sweep, And left us yearning still for lands unknown.
one,

And when we found

for

't is

soon to tind

In thousan<l-isIed Cathay another isle, For one short noon its treasures filled the mind.

And then again we yearned, and ceased And so it was from isle to isle we passed,
And when

to smile.

Like wanton bees or boys on flowers or lips; that all was tasted, then at last
thirsted
still

We
I

for draughts instead of sips.

is

learned from this there

no Southern land

Can

till

with love the hearts of Northern men.

Sick minds need change; but, stand

when

in health they

'Neath foreign skies, their love Hies

home

agen.

And thus with me it was: the yearning turned From laden airs of cinnamon awiiy. And stretched far westward, while the full heart
burned
With, love for Irelaiul, looking on Cathay!

My lirst deai- love, all dearer for thy grief My land, that has no pecM- in all the sea

GO

POEMS OF NATIONAL
If first to

SPIRIT.

For verdure,

vale, or river, flower or leaf,

first
;

no

man

else, thou 'rt first to me.

New

loves ma}^

come with

Is deepest yet, Like that kind face and breast where

duties, the mother's breath and smiles

I

but the

was nursed

Is

my

poor land, the Niobe of isles. JOHN BOYLE o'kEILLY.

BLESS THE DEAR OLD VERDANT LAND.

Bless the dear old verdant land Brother, wert thou born of it?
!

As thy shadow

life

doth stand

Twining round its rosy band. Did an Irish mother's hand Guide thee in the morn of it? Did a father's first command Teach thee love or scorn of it?

Thou who Thou

Dost thou

tread'st its fertile breast, feel a glow for it?

of all its

charms possest.

Living on its first and best. Art thou but a thankless guest

Or a
If

traitor foe for

it,

thou lovest, Where's the test? Wilt thou strike a blow for it?

Has

the past no goading sting That can make thee rouse for it? Does thy land's reviving spring, Full of buds and blossoming,

PATRIOTISM.
Fail to

Gl

make thy cold heart cling. &> Breathiug lover's vows for it?
it.

With the circling ocean's ring Thou wert made a spouse for

Hast thou kept as thou shouldst keep

Thy

affections

warm

for

it,

Letting no cold feeling creep Like an ice-breath o'er the deep,

Freezing to a stony sleep Hopes the heart would form for

it,

Glories that like rainbows peep Through the darkening storm for it?

Son of this down-trodden land. Aid us in the fight for it. We seek to make it great and grand. Its shipless bays, its naked strand,

Bv

canvas-swelling breezes fanned: Oh, what a glorious sight for it.

ex])iring like a

The past

brand
it!

In morning's rosy light for

Think, this dear old land is thine. And thou a traitor slave of it: Think how the Switzer leads his kine. When pale the evening star doth shine ;

His song has home

in every line,

Freedom
Think how

in every stave of it; the Clerman loves his

Khine

And worships

every wave

of it!

Our own dear land is bright as theirs, But oh our hearts are cold for it;
I

62

POEMS OF NATIONAL
Awake we
!

SPIRIT.

are not slaves, but heirs.

Our fatherland requires our cares, Our speech with men, with God our prayers; Spurn blood-stained Judas gold for it:
Let us do
all

that honor dares

Be

earnest, faithful, bold for

it

DENIS FLORENCE MAC CAKTHY.

IRELAND.
[1847.]

They
They

are dying they are dying corn is growing;

!

where the golden

dying! they are dying! where the crowded herds are lowing: They are gasping for existence where the streams
are

And

of life are flowing. they perish of the plague

where the breeze of

health

is

blowing!

God

of justice!

Do we dream?

God of power! Can it be,

In this land, at this hour, With the blossom on the tree. In the gladsome month of May, When the 3'oung lambs play.

When Nature looks around On her waking children now,

The seed within the ground, The bud upon the bough?
Is
it

right, is it fair,

PATRIOTISM.
That we perish of despair In this hind, on this soil,

63

Where our destiny is set, Which we cultured with our

V\'e

toil.

And watered with our sweat?

have ploughed, we have sown But the crop was not our own
;

We

have reaped, but harpy hands Swept the harvest from our lands; We were i)erishing for food,

Our kindly

V>'hen lol in pitying mood, rulers gave

The fat lluid of the slave. While our corn tilled the manger Of the war-horse of the stranger!

God

of mercy!

must

this last?

Is this land preordained,

For the present and the past

And

the future, to be chained,

To be ravaged, to be drained, To be robbed, to be spoiled. To be hushed, to be whipt.

Its soaring pinions dipt.

And
Do
But

its

every effort foiled?

our numbers multiply

to perish and to die? Is this all our destiny below,

rot,

grow?

Thai our bodies, as they

May

fertilize the sjtot

Where

the harvests of the stranger

G4

P0E2W OF NATIONAL
If this be, indeed,

SPIRIT.

our

fate,

Far, ar better now, though late, That Ave seek some other land and try some other

zone;
coldest, bleakest shore Will surely yield us more Than the storehouse of the stranger that we dare not call our own.

The

Kindlv brothers of the ^Vest, Who from Liberty's full breast Have fed us, who are orphans beneath a stepdame's froAvn, Behold our happy state. And weep youv wretched fate That you share not in the splendors of our empire and our crown!
Kindly brothers of the East,

of

Thou great tiaraed priest. Thou sanctified Rienzi of Kome and

earth,

the

Or thou who

bear'st control

Over golden Istambol, Who felt for our misfortunes and helped us in our dearth,^

Turn here your wondering

eyes.

Call your wisest of the Avise,

Your muftis and your

ministers, your

men

of

deepest lore; Let the sagest of your sages Ope our island's luystic pages

PATRIOTISM,
And
exi)laiu

65

unto youi- liiglmoss the wonders of our shore.

fruitful,

teeming

soil,

^^'he^e the patient peasants toil

IJeneath the summer's sun and the watery winter

sky; "Where they tend the golden grain Till it bends u])0u the plain,

Then reap
die;

it

for the stranger,

and turn aside

to

Where

iiu*y

\\auh their tlocks increase,

And
Till tlioy

store the

snowy

ileece

send

it

to tlieir masters to be

woven

o'er

the waves;

Where, having sent their meat For the foreigner to eat, Their mission is fultilled, and they creep into
their graves.
"T

is

lor Ihis the}' are

dying where the golden dving where the crowded

corn
'T
is
f>r

is

growing,

this tliev are

'T is

herds are lowing, for this they are dying where the streams of

And

owing. they perish of the plague where the breeze oi health is blowing!
11

life

are

VII r 5

DEXIS FLOUENCE MAC CAKTUY.

GO

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

kiPIRIT.

IRELAND.
A
SEASIDE
PORTRAIT.

GREAT,

She

And

Shape, aloue, (her harp has falleii) on the sand, sees her children, one b}' one, de})art
sits
:

still

Her cloak

(that hides what sins beside her own!) Wrapped fold on fold about her. Lo,

She comforts her

fierce heart,

As wailing some, and some gay-singing go, With the far vision of that Greater Land
Deep
in the Atlantic skies.

Saint Brandan's Paradise!

Another Woman there, Mighty and vrondrons fair. Stands on her shore-rock: one uplifted hand Holds a quick-piercing light That keeps long sea-ways bright; She beckons with the other, saying "Come,

landless, shelterless,
tress

Sharp-faced with hunger, worn with

:

long

dis-

Come hither, finding home Lo, my new fields of harvest, open, free, By winds of blessing blown. Whose golden corn-blades shake from sea to sea " Fields without walls that all the people own
! !

JOUK JAMKS PIATT.

PATRIOTISM.

G7

EXILE OF ERIN.
There came to the beach a poot exile of Eiiii, The dew on his thiu robe was heavy and chill For liis country he sighed, when at twilight re;

pairing

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. Kut the dav-star attracted his eve's sad devotion, For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion, He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh.
Sad is my fate said the heart-broken stranger; The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee, But 1 have no refuge from famine and danger, A home and a country remain not to me.
I

Never again

in the

green sunny bowers

I

Where my
hours,

forefathers lived shall

spend the sweet

Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers. And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh
I

Erin,

my tountry though sad and forsaken, In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore;
I

But, alas! in a far foreign land I awaken. And sigh for the fi-icnds who can meet

me no

more

cruel fate

wilt thou never replace

me

In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chase

me?
Never again shall m^' brothers embrace me? They died to defend me, or live to deplore!

G8

POEMS OF NATIONAL
is

SPIRIT.

Where Where

my
and

Sisters
is

cabiu door, fast by the wildwood? sire, did ye weep for its fall ?

the mother that looked on

my

child-

hood? And where

O my

Why

is the bosom-friend, dearer than all sad heart! long abandoned by pleasure, did it dote on a fast-fading treasure?

Tears, like the rain-drop,

ure.

may

fall

without measrecall.

But rapture and beauty they cannot

Yet, all its sad recollections suppressing, One dying wish my lone bosom can draw,

Erin, an exile bequeaths thee his blessing!

Land of my forefathers, Erin go bragh Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion, Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean!
!

And

thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion,

Erin mavourueen, Erin go bragh

*
!

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

AFTER DEATH.
Shall mine Or
eyes behold thy glory, O my country? Shall mine eyes behold thy glory? shall the darkness close around them, ere the

sun-blaze breaks at last

When

upon thy stovj? the nations ope for thee their queenly cle, as a sweet new sister hail thee,
* Ireland

cir-

my

darling, Ireland forever

PATRIOTISM.

G9

Shall these lips be sealed in callous death aud silence, that have kuowu but to bewail thee?

Shall the ear be deaf that oulv loved thy praises, wheu all meu their tribute briug' thee?
Shall the

mouth be clay that saug thee iu thy squalor, wheu all poets' mouths shall siug
thee?

Ah, the harpiugs and the salvos and the shoutings

I

of thy exiled sons returning! should hear, though dead and mouldered, and the grave-damps should not chill my bosom's

burn in <r. ^o* Ah, the tramp of feet victorious! I should hear them 'mid the shamrocks and the mosses. And my heart should toss within the shroud and quiver as a'cai>tive dreamer tosses.
I

should turn and rend the cere-clothes round me, giant sinews 1 should borrow

O my brothers, I have also loved her in Crying, her loneliness and sorrow.
"Let me
let

"

join with

you the jubilant procession;

her story;

me chant with you

Then contented I shall go back to the shamrocks, now mine eyes have seen her glory! "
FRANCES ISABEL PARNELL-

70

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

CANADA NOT
At

LAST.

Venice.

Lo Venice, gay with color, lights and song, Calls from St. Mark's with ancient voice and
strange
I
:

am the Witch of Cities glide along My silver streets that never wear by
!
:

change

and pain, and wrong, men And ever sorrow reigning among. Know I can soothe thee, please and marry thee To my illusions. Old and siren strong,
Of years
forget the years,
I smile

Who

immortal, while the mortals flee whiten on to death in wooing me.

At Florence.
Say, what more fair by Arno's bridged gleam Than Florence, viewed from San Miuiato's slope At eventide, when west along the stream

The

last of

day

reflects

a silver hope!

Lo, all else softened in the twilight The city's mass blent in one hazy cream,

beam

The brown Dome 'midst it, and the Lily tower, And stern Old Tower more near, and hills that seem Afar, like clouds to fade, and hills of power On this side greenly dark with cypress, vine and
bower.

At Eome.
End
Though
of desire to stray I feel would come Italy were all fair skies to me,

PATRIOTISM.
Though Fnince's foam
fields

71

went uiad with tlowery

x\ud Blanc put on a special majesty,

Not all could match the growing thought of home Nor tempt to exile. Look 1 not on Kome
Yet
This ancient, modern, modiirval still sigh westward over hill and dome, Imperial ruin and villa's princely scene
serene.

queen

Lovely with pictured saints and marble gods

Reflection.

Rome, Florence, Venice noble, fair and quaint. They reign in robes of magic round me here;
IJut fading, blotted, dim, a jjiclure faint, With spell more silent, only pleads a tear.

Thou hast my heart, () picture dim! autumn hand Of God upon the nui})les! Answer Iliin With weird, translucent glories, ye that stand
I'lead not!
I see the fields, I see the

Like spirits in scarlet and in amethyst! I see the sun break over you the mist
:

On

fiom iron bases grand Their heads su])erb! the dream, it is my nahills

that

lift

tive land.

WILLIAM IxilW SCIIUVLER-LKJHTIIALL.

CANADA.
O
OriiLii of

Who

stand'st

Nations, giant-lind)ed. among the uiHions now,

Unlieeded, unjidored. uuhvmned,

With unanointed brow:

72

POEMS OF NATIONAL
How
The trust

SPIRIT.

long the ignoble sloth, how long in gi-eatuess not thine own?

Surely the lion's brood is strong To front the world alone!

long the indolence, ere thou dare Achieve thy destiny, seize thy fame; Ere our proud eyes behold thee bear

How

nation's franchise, nation's

name?

The Saxon

force, the Celtic fire,

!

These are thy manhood's heritage Why rest with babes and slaves? Seek

highei!

The place of race and

1 see to every

age.

wind unfurled
;

The

Thy

tlag that bears the Maple- Wreath swift keels furrow round the world
;

Its blood-red folds beneath

Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas; Thy white sails swell with alien gales; To stream on each remotest breeze The black smoke of thy pipes exhales.

Falterer, let thy past convince

Thy future: all the growth, the gain, The fame since Cartier knew thee, since Thy shores beheld Champlain
Montcalm and Wolfe!
!

Wolfe and Montcalm!

Quebec, thy storied citadel

PATRIOTISM.
Attest in buruiug song and i)salm Ho\\- here tliy heroes f el I
!

73

O Thou

that bor'st the battle's brunt

At Queenstow n, and at Luudy's Lane: On whose scant ranks but iron front The battle broke in vain
I

^Miose was the danger, whose the day, From M hose triumphant throats the cheers.

At

Chrysler's

Farm, at Chateauguay,
our ears?

Storming

like clarion-bursts

On

soft Pacific slopes, beside Strange floods that nortliAvard rave

tide,

"Where chafes Acadia's chainless Thy sons await thy call.

and

fall,

They wait; but some

^\'ith

in exile,

some

And

strangers housed, in stranger lands; some Canadian lips are dumb

Ueneath Egyptian sands.

mvstic Nile Tliv secret yields Before us; thy most ancient dreams Are mixed with far Canadian fields
I

And muniiur
lint

of

Canadian streams.

thou,

my

Country, dream not thou!

^^'ake,

and

l>ehold

how night
I

is

doue,

How

on ihy breast, ami o'er thy brow, liursts the uprising sun

CHARLES

G.

IJ.

nor.EKTS.

74

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

WHAT

IS

THE GERMAN'S FATHERLAND?

is

What
Is
it

the Germau's fatherland?

oi-

Is it Prussia,

the Swabiaii's hind?

where the grape glows on the Rhine? Where sea-gulls skim the Baltic's brine? Oh no more grand Must be the German's fatherland
! !

What

is the German's fatherland? Bavaria, or the Styrian's land? Is it where the Master's cattle graze? Is it the Mark where forges blaze?

Oh no more grand Must be the German's fatherland

!

What

is

the German's fatherland?

Westphalia? Pomerania's strand? Where the sand drifts along the shore? Or where the Danube's surges roar? Oh no more grand Must be the German's fatherland
! !

What
Is
it

is

the German's fatherland?

!

Now name

for me that mighty land Switzerland? or Tyrols, tell ; The land and ]>eople pleased me well Oh no more grand
!

Must be the German's fatherland!

What

is

the German's fatherland?

for

Now name

me

that mighty land!

PATRIOTISM.

75,

Ah
So

it must be, fame and victory. Oh no! more graud Must be the German's fatherland!
!

Austria surely

rich in

What is the German's fatherhxnd? Tell me the name of that great land!
the land which princely hate Tore from the Emperor and the State?
Is
it

Oh no! more grand Must be the German's fatherland!

What
"

is

the German's fatherland?

!

Now name

at last that mighty land Where'er resounds the German tongue, Where'er its hymns to God are sung "
!

That is the land, Brave German, that thy fatherland

That
is

the German's fatherland!

Where binds like oak the clasi)6d hand, Where truth shines clearly from the eyes,

And

in the heart affection lies.

Be

Brave German,

this the land, this thv fatherland!

That

is

the Gorman's fatherland

Where Where Where

scorn shall foreign trifles brand, all are foes wliose deeds offend, every noble soul's a friend:
the land!

Be this the land, All Germany shall be

7G

POEMS OF NATIONAL
All

SPIRIT.

Germany that land shall be: Watch o'er it, God, and grant that we. With German hearts, in deed and thought, May love it truly as we ought.
All
this the land, Germany shall be the land

Be

From

the

German

of

ERNST MOKITZ AKNDT.

PATRIOTIC SONG.
GoD_,

who gave iron, purposed ne'er That man should be a slave: Therefore the sabre, sword, and spear In his right hand lie gave.
Therefore

He

gave him

fiery

mood,

Fierce speech, and free-born breath, That he might fearlessly the feud

Maintain through
Therefore will

life

and death.
did say,

we what God

With honest truth maintain.

And

A
And

ne'er a fellow-creature slay, tyrant's pay to gain!

shall fall
fights for sin

But he

Who
^Vith

by stroke of brand and shame,

not inherit German land

men

of

German name.
!

Germany, bright fatherland

O German
Thou sacred

love, so true!

We

land, thou beauteous land, swear to thee anew

!

PATRIOTISM.
Outlawed, each kuave aud coward shall The crow aud raven feed

77

But we

will to the battle all

Eevenge shall be our meed.

Flash forth, flash forth, whatever can,

To bright and flamiug

life

Now

man, ye Forth to the holy strife Your hands lift upward to the sky
all
I

Germans, man

for

Your heart

shall

upward

soar

And man
Our

for

man,

let

each one cry,

slavery
let

is o'er!

Let sound,

sound, whatever can.

fife

Trumpet and

and drum,

This day our sabres, man for man, To stain with blood we come;

With hangman's and with Frenchmen's

blood,

O
That

glorious day of

ire.

to all

Germans soundeth good

Day

of our great desire!

Let wave,

let wave, whatever can, Standard and banner wave! Here will we purpose, man for man,

To grace a

hero's grave.

Advance, je brave ranks, hardily Your bannc^rs wave on high;

We'll gain us freedom's victory,

Or freedom's death
From
the

we'll die!

German

of

EKNST MOKITZ ABNDT.

78

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

MEN AND
;

BOYS.
;

The storm is out tlie land is roused Wliere is the coward wlio sits well housed?
Fie on thee, boy, disguised in curls, Behind the stove, 'mong gluttons and girls! A graceless, worthless wight thou must be; No German maid desires thee,

No German song inspires thee. No German Rhine-wine fires thee.

Forth
in the van,

Man

by man,
!

Swing the battle-sword who can

When we

stand watching, the livelong night, Through piping storms, till morning light, Thou to thy downy bed canst creep,

And

there in dreams of rapture sleep.

graceless, worthless wight, etc.

When, hoarse and

fast,

shrill, the trumpet's blast, Like the thunder of God, makes our heart beat

Thou in the theatre lov'st to appear. Where trills and quavers tickle the ear.

A
When When

graceless, worthless wight, etc.

the glare of noonday scorches the brain, our parched lips seek water in vain,
fly

Thou canst make champagne corks

PATRIOTll^iM.

79

At the gToauing

tables of luxury.

A
When
Thou

graceless, worthless wight, etc.

we, as

we rush

to the strangling fight,

Send home

to our true-loves a long " Good-night," canst hie thee where love is sold,

And buy

thy pleasure with paltry gold. graceless, worthless wight, etc.

When lance and buliet come whistling bv. And death in a thousand shapes draws nigh,
Thou canst
at thy cards, and kill and knave with thy spadillc. King, queen,
sit

A
Jf

graceless, worthless wight, e(e.

bell

on the red held our

should

toll,
!

Then welcome be death

Thy pampered

to the patriot's soul llesh shall quake at its doom,

And

crawl

in silk to

a hopeless tomb.

iitiful exit thine shall be; No Oerman maid shall weep for thee, No German song shall Ihey sing for thee,

No German
Forth

goblets shall ring for thee. in the van,

for

Man
Swing
From

man.

the battle-sword
the Oerrnan cf

who can!
TIIICODOll KOItMCU.

HAUL

Translation of CIIAUI.KS TI.MOTIIV IJUOOKS,

80

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

THE WATCH ON THE RHINE.*

VOICE resounds like tbiinder-peal, 'Mid dasliing waves and clang of steel

"

"The

Rhine, the Rhine, the

German Rhine!

Who

guards to-day

my

stream divine ?

Chorus.

Dear Fatherland, no danger thine: Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhme!
They stand, a hundred thousand strong, Quick to avenge their country's wrong; With lilial love their bosoms swell, They '11 guard the sacred landmark well

The dead

of a heroic race

From heaven

look down and meet their gaze; They swear with dauntless heart, O Rhine, Be German as this breast of mine!"
'*

While flows one drop of German blood, Or sword remains to guard thy flood. While rifle rests in patriot hand,

No

foe shall tread thy sacred strand

river flows,

Our oath resounds, the

In golden light our banner glows;

* Written by a manufacturer of Wurteniburg in 1840, the left bank of the Rhine. It was set to music by Carl Wilhelni, and during the

when France was threatening

Franco-Prussian war of 1871 was adopted as the national folk-hymn and rallying cry of the army.

PATRIOTL^M.
Our hearts
will guard thj stream divine: The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine!

81

Dear Fatherland^ no danger thine: Finn stand thy sons to ivatch the Rhine! From the German of MAX SCH^'ECIvfc:2vBUKGEB.

PROEM.
FROM

"THE KALEVALA

(Land of heroes), the NATIONAL Eric OF FINLAND.*

-'^

Mastered by desire impulsive, By a mighty inward uigiiig,

now for singing, to Ready begin the chanting Of our nation's ancient iolk-song.
I

am

ready

Handed down from bygone ages. In my mouth the words are melting,

From my lips the tones are gliding, From my tongue they wish to hasten; A\'hon my willing tt'cth arc i)arted. When my ready mouth is opened,
Songs of ancient wit Uasten from me not Golden friend, and Brother dear of mine Come and sing witli Come and chant with
* Aside from
is ititcrostin*^

and wisdom
unwilling. dearest brother,
in childliood.

me me

the stories, the legends.

Legends of the times forgotten,

" The Kalevala" its national si*?nifioance from tlie fact of its liavin^j bcfTi tak<^n as the " Hiawatha," ihyllim and st.\ le for Longfellow's

model
the

in

ei)ic

of the

VIII

American Indian.

82

POEMS OF NATIONAL
Since

SPIRIT.

we now are here

together,

Come

together from our roamiugs.

Seldom do we come for siugiug, Seldom to the one, the other, O'er this cold and cruel country,
O'er the poor soil of the NorthlandLet us clasp our hands together,

That we thus may best remember. we now in merry singing, Chant we now the oldest folk-lore, That the dear ones all may hear them, TUat the well-inclined may hear them, Of this rising generation. These are words in childhood taught me, Songs preserved from distant ages; Legends they that once were taken
Join

From From From From From From

These

the belt of \^'ainamoiueu. the forge of llmariueu. the sword of Kaukomieli,

the

bow

of Youkahainen,

the pastures of the Northland, the meads of Kalevala.

my
at

dear old father sang

me
:

When
These

work with knife and hatchet

mv

When

tender mother taught me she twirled the flying spindle,

AVhen a child ui)on the matting By her feet I rolled and tumbled. Incantations were not wanting Over Sampo and o'er Louhi,

Sampo growing old in singing, Louhi ceasing her enchantment.

In the songs died wise Wipunen,

PATRIOTISM.
At the games died Lenimiukainen. There are mauy other legends, Incantations that were taught me, That 1 found along the wayside, Gathered in the fragrant copses. Blown me from the forest branches,
Culled

83

among

the plumes of pine-trees,

Scented from the vines and llowers, Whispered to me as I followed Flocks in land of honeyed meadows,

Over hillocks green and golden,

After sable-haired Murikki, And the many-colored Kimmo. Many runes the cold has told me,

Many lays the rain has brought me. Other songs the winds have sung me; Man}' birds from many forests. Oft have sung me lays in concord; Waves of sea, and ocean billows. Music from the many waters. Music from the v\hole creation. Oft have been my guide and master.
Henteuces the trees created,
Rolled together into bundles, Moved tliem to my ancient dwelling,

On

my cottage, my garret rafters. Hung them on my dwelling-portals,

the sledges to

Tied them to

Laid them

in a

diest of boxes,
copi)er.

Boxes lined with shining

lay within my dwelling the chilling winds of winter, Tliiough Jn my dwelling-place for ages.

Long they

84

P0E3IS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

From
Shall I bring these songs together? the cold and frost collect them?

Shall I bring this nest of boxes, Keepers of these golden legends,

To

the table in

my

cabin,

Underneath the painted rafters, In this house renowned and ancient?

Shall I

now

these boxes open,

Boxes

filled

Shall I

Of

.this

with Avondrous stories? now the end unfasten ball of ancient wisdom?

These ancestral lays unravel? Let me sing an old-time legend,

That shall echo forth the praises Of the beer that 1 have tasted, Of the sparkling beer of barley.
Bring to me a foaming goblet

Of the barley
Lest

of

my

fathers,

singing grow too weary, Singing from the water only. Bring me too a cup of strong beer;

my

It will

add

to

our enchantment,

To

the pleasure of the evening,

Northland's long and dreary evening. For the beauty of the day-dawn,

For the pleasures of the morning. The beginning of the new day.
From
Translation of
the Fl^S^NISH.

JOHX MAliTlN CKAWFOBD.

PATRIOTISM.

H5

PART NO LOVERS.
1

SIENNA.
I

LOVE thee, love thee, Giulio

Some

call

me
. .

cold,

and some demure.

And
1

if

love thee

And

thou hast ever guessed that so well ; the proof was poor, no one could be sure.
.

Before thy song (with shifted rhymes To suit my name) did 1 undo

The Persian? If it moved sometimes. Thou hast not seen a hand push through

A
My

llower or two.

mother listening to my sleep Ueard nothing but a sigh at night, The short sigh rippling on the deep, When hearts run out of breath and sigh

Of men,

to God's clear light.

When

others
"

named

thee,

thought thy brows

Were

straight,

thy

smile

was

tender,

Here He comes between the vineyard-rows!"

I

said not

"

Ay," nor

waited, Donr,

To
I

feel thee step too near.

loft

such things to bolder girls, Olivia or Clotilda. Nay,

86

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT,

When
I

that Clotilda through her curls Held both thine eyes in hers one day,

marvelled, let

me

say.

could not try the woman's trick: Between us straightway fell the blush
separate, blind,
in

Which kept me

and
flush.

sick.

wind came with thee

As blow through Horeb's

bush.

But now that Italy invokes Her young men to go forth and chase The foe or perish, nothing chokes

My
I

voice, or drives

me from

the place:

look thee in the face.

I love thee

it is

understood,
:

Confest

No

do not shrink or start blushes: all my body's blood

:

Has gone

to greaten this poor heart.

That, loving,

we may

part.

Our Italy invokes the youth To die if need be. ^till there's room, Though earth is strained with dead, in truth.
t^ince twice the lilies were in bloom They had not grudged a tomb.

And many a plighted maid and wife And mother, who can say since then
"

My country," cannot say through life " " " My son," my spouse," my flower
And
not weep

of

men,"

dumb

again.

PATRIOTISM.
Heroic males the country bears, But daughters give up more thau sons. Flags wave, drums beat, aud unawares You Hash your souls out with the guns, Aud take your heaven at once!

87

But we, we empty heart and home Of life's life, love we bear to think You 're gone, ... to feel you may not come, To hear the door-latch stir aud clink Y'et no more you, nor sink.
I

Dear God! when

Italy

is

one
.

perfected from bound to bound, Suppose (for my share) earth's undone

And

By one grave in May kill a man,

't!
't is

as one small

wound

found!

What
At

ihcn?

If love's delight

least we'll clear its truth

must end. from flaws.

!

I love thee, love thee, sweetest friend

Now

my sweetest without pause, To help the nation's cause.

take

And
The

tlius of
'11

noble Italy

^Ve

both be worthy.

Let her show

free,

futui-e

how wo made her

life,
.

>sot sparing

nor Giulio.

Nor

this.

.this heart-break.

Go!

ELIZAUETH BARRETT BROWNING.

88

POEMS OF NATIONAL
AMERICA.

SPIRIT.

O MOTHER of a mighty race, Yet lovely in tby youthful grace! The elder dames, thy haughty peers, Admire and hate thy blooming years; With words of shame And taunts of scorn they join thy name.
For on thy cheeks the glow is spread That tints thy morning hills with red Thy step, the wild deer's rustling feet Within thy woods are not more iieetj

Is bright as thine

Thy hopeful eye own sunny

sky.

let them rail, those haughty ones, While safe thou dwellest with thy sons.

Ay,

They do not know how loved thou art, How many a fond and fearless heart Would rise to throw Its life between thee and the foe.
They know
not, in their hate and pride, virtues with thy children bide,

What

How
Make

true,

how

good, thy graceful maids

bright, like flowers, the valley shades;

What

Spring, like thine oaks,

generous men by hill and glen;

guest

What cordial welcomes greet the By thy lone rivers of the west
;

PATRWTWM.
and tiutli revered, aud God is feared, In woodland homes, Aud where the ocean border foams.
faith
is

89

How

kepi,

Aud

mail

is loved,

There 's freedom at thy gates, and rest For earth's down-trodden and opprest, A shelter for the hunted head, For the starved laborer toil and bread.

Power, at thy bounds. Stops, and calls back his baffled hounds.

fair

young mother! on thy brow

a nobler grace than now. Deep in the briglitness of thy skies,

JShall sit

The thronging years in glory rise. And, as they fleet, Drop strength and riches at thy

feet.

Thine eye, with every coming hour, Shall brighten, and thy form shall tower;

And when thy sisters, elder born. Would brand Ihv name with words
lU'fore thine eye

of scorn,

Upon

their lips the taunt" shall die.

WILLIAM CULLEN BKYANT.

COLUMBIA.
CoLUMHTA, Columbia, to glory arise, The queen of the world, and the child of the skies!
Tiiy genius

commands

1h(^; with rapture behold,

While ages on ages thy sjtlendors unfold.

90

POEMS OF NATIONAL
reigu

SPIRIT.

is the last aud the noblest of time, fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime; Let the crimes of the East ue'ei- enci-imsou thy

Thy

Most

name.

Be freedom and

science

and virtue thy fame.

To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire; nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire; heroes the rights of mankind shall defend, Thy And triumph pursue them, and glory attend.

Whelm

thy realm ; for a world be thy laws as thine empire, and just as thy cause; Enlarged On Freedom's broad basis that empire shall rise,

world

is

Extend with the main, and dissolve with the

skies.

Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar. And the East see thy morn hide the beams of her
star
;

New
To

bards and new sages unrivalled shall soar To fame unextinguished when time is no more;
thee, the last refuge of virtue designed,
fly

Shall

from

all

nations the best of mankind;

Here, grateful

to Heaven, with transport shall

bring Their incense, more fragrant than odors of spring. Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend,

And

genius and beauty in harmony blend; The graces of form shall awake pure desire, And the charms of the soul ever cherish tlie fire; Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refined,

And

virtue's bright image, enstamped on the mind, ^Vith peace and soft rapture shall teach life to

glow,

And

light

up a smile on the aspect of woe.

PATRIOTLSM.
Thy tleols lo all logioiis i\\y power sliall The Dutions admire, and the oeeau obey;

91
display,

Kac-h shore to thy j;lory its tribute unfold. And the East and the t^outh yield their spices
gold.

and

As

the dayspriug
flow,

unbounded thy splendor

shall

And

earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow. While the ensigns of union, in trium])h unfurled, Hush the tumult of war, and give peace to the

world.

Thus, as

down a

lone valley, with cedars o'er-

From

spread. war's dread confusion, I pensively strayed, The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired;

The wind ceased to murmur, the thunders

pired;

ex-

Perfumes, as of Eden, flowed sweetly along. And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung:
*

Columbia, Columbia, to glory

(picen

arise,

The

of

the world,

and the child

of the

skies!"

TIMOTHY

n\VI(!HT.

ON THE PKOSPECT OF PLANTING ARTS AND LI:AI{N1\C. in. AMERICA.

Tin; Muse, disgusted at an age and clime IJarren (f cnciv glorious theme,
III

(list a

II

lands

now waits

a better time.

Producing subjects worthy fame.

92

POEMF^ OF NATIONAL

f^PIRIT.

In liajjpy climes, where from the geuial sun And virgin earth such scenes ensue,

The force

And

of art by nature seems outdone, fancied beauties by the true:

In happy climes, the seat of innocence, \^'here nature guides and virtue rules, Where men shall not impose for truth and sense

The pedantry of courts and schools

There shall be sung another golden age, The rise of empire and of arts, The good and great inspiring epic rage. The wisest heads and noblest hearts.

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay: Such as she bred when fresh and young.

When heavenly flame did animate By future poets shall be sung.

her clay,

Westward the course of empire takes its way; The first four acts already past, A fifth shall close the drama with the day;
Time's noblest offspring is the last. BISHOP GEOKGE BERKELEY.

ENGLAND TO AMERICA.
Nor

Who

O ye north or south, or east or western land. Native to noble sounds, say truth for truth,
force nor fraud shall sunder us
!

Freedom for freedom, For God O ye who

;

love for love,

in eternal

and God

youth

PATRIOTISM.
Speak with a living and creative flood This universal l']uglish, and do staucf Its ln-eathmg book; live worthy of that grand Heroic utterance parted, yet a Avhole,

1)3

Far, yet unsevered,

children brave and free

Of the great Mother tongue, and ye shall be Lords of an empire wide as Shakespeare's soul. Sublime as Milton's immemorial theme, And rich as Chaucer's speech, and fair as Spenser's dream.
SYDNEY DOBELL.

OUR STATE.
The
its teeming cane. heavy grain, And sunset's radiant gales unfold On rising marts and sands of gold

south-land boasts
its

The prairied west

Rough, bleak, and hard, our

little

State

Is scant of soil, of limits strait;

Her yellow sands are sands alone, Her only mines are ice and stone!

From autumn

frost to April rain,

Too long her winter woods complain; From budding flower to falling leaf, Her summer time is all too brief.
Yet, on her rocks, and on her sands.

And wintry hilb-;, the S( hool-house And what her rugged soil denies
Tlie harvest of the

stands;

mind

supplies.

94

POEMS OF NATIONAL
The Are
riches of the
free,

SPIRIT.

commonwealth

strong minds, and hearts of health; And more to her than gold or grain The cunning hand and cultured brain.

For well she keeps her ancient stock, The stubborn strength of Pilgrim Rock;

And And

still

maintains, with milder laws, clearer light, the good old cause!
sceptic's pun}' hands,

Nor heeds the

While near her school the church-spire stands;

Nor

fears the blinded bigot's rule,

\A'hile

near her church-spire stands the school. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIEK.

THE REPUBLIC.
FROM
'"

THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP."

O Ship of State! Union, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears. With all the hopes of future years. Is hanging breathless on thy fate We know what Master laid thy keel. What ^yorkmen wrought thy ribs of steel. Who made each mast, and sail, and rope.
Tpiou, too, sail on,
Sail on,

What

anvils rang, what hammers beat. In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope
!

Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 'T is of the wave and not the rock
;

PATRIOTISM.
'T is but the

95

Happing

of the sail,

Aud

gale! uot 11 rent In spite of rock and tempest's roar, lu spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,

made by the

Our Our Are

our tears. hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our o'er fears, faith triumphant
all

with thee,are
IIEXRY

all

with thee!

WADSWOKTU LOXGFELLOW.

AMERICA.
[1833.J

My

country,

't

is

of thee,

Sweet land of liberty. Of thee 1 sing Land where my fathers died,

;

Land

of the Tilgrims' pride,

From

every mountain-side

Let freedom ring.

native country, thee. Land of the noble free,

My

Thy name
I

I love;
rills,

love thy rocks and

Thy woods and templed

hills;

My

heart with rapture Like that above.

tlie

thrills

Let music swell

breeze,

And

ring from Sweet freedom's song;

all

the trees.

96

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Let mortal tongues awake, Let all that breathe partake, Let rocks their silence break,

The sound prolong.

Our fathers' God, to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee I sing; Long may our laud be bright With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by thy might.

Great God our King. SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH.

''OLD IRONSIDES."
[On the proposed breaking up of the United States frigate "Constitution."]

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle-shout,
!

And

The meteor

burst the cannon's roar: of the ocean air

Shall sweep the clouds no more!

Her deck, once Where knelt

red with heroes' blood.

the vanquished foe,

When winds were hurrying o'er the flood And waves were white below, No more shall feel the vict rs tread,
Or know
the conquered knee:

PATRWTIfiM.
The harpies of the shore The eagle of the sea
!

97

shall pluck

better tliat her shattered hulk

!

Should siuk beneath the wave Her thuuders shook the mighty deep,

Aud

there should be her grave

hoi}- flag,

Nail to the mast her

And

Set every threadbare sail, give her to the god of storms,

The lightning and the gale!

OLIVEE WENDELL HOLMES.

MEN OF THE NORTH AND WEST.

[APRIL, 1861.]

North and West, your might. Prepare, as the rebels have done,
of the
.

Men

Wake
For

in

the fight!

You cannot shrink from

Rise!

the test;

Men

of the

North and West!

They have torn down your banner of stars; They have trampled the laws They have stifled the freedom they hate, For no cause!
;

Do you
Si.eak
!

love

it

or slavery best?

Men

of the

North and West

They
VIII

strike at the life of the State:

Shall the murder be done?

98

POEMfi OF NATIONAL
They cry
''

^^PtRIT.

"
:

We

are two
"
!

"
!

And you ?
to breast;
!

We

are one

You must meet them, then, breast On Men of the North and West
!

Not with words they hiugh them

;

to scorn,

x\nd tears they despise;

But

witli

swords

in

your hands, and death

In your eyes!
Strike home! leave to
Strike!

God

all

the rest;

Men

of the

North and West!

EIGIIAKD

HENEY STODDARD.

OUR COUNTRY'S CALK

[1861.]

Lay down
Leave

the axe, fling l>y the spade; in its track the toiling plough;

The rifle and the bayonet-blade For arms like yours were fitter now; And let the hands that ply the pen Quit the light task, and learn to wield The horseman's crooked brand, and rein The charger on the battle-field.

Our country calls; away! away! To where the blood-stream blots

Strike to defend the gentlest

the green;

sway

That Time in all his course has seen. see See, from a thousand coverts her track; the armed foes that haunt Spi-iug rush to her nnd we smite down, They Must beat the banded traitors back.

PATRIOTI^^r.
IIo
!

99

sturdy as the oaks

^-e

cleave,

And moved as soon to fear and tlight, Men of the glade and forest! leave
Your woodcraft for the field of fight. The arms that wield the axe must pour

An iron tempest on the foe; His serried ranks shall reel before The arm that lays the panther low.
And ye who By grassy
breast the mountain storm

steep or highland lake, Come, for the land ye love, to form A bulwark that no foe can break.

own grav clifi's that mock The whirlwind; stand in her defence: The blast as soon shall move the rock. As rushing squadrons bear ye thence.
Stand, like vour

And

ye whose homes are by her grand Swift rivers, rising far away.
the depth of her green land

Come from

As mighty in your march as they; As teri'ible as when the rains Have swelled them over bank and bourne, With sudden Hoods to dro\\ n the plains

And
And
ye

sweej> along the

woods uptorn.

who throng
tlic

beside the deej),

\\a\'('s

Her

i)orts

and hamlets of the strand,

tlial

In nuiiibcr likr

leap

long-murmuring marge of sand, Come, like that deep, when, o'er his brim, Ht rises, all his Hoods to pour.
Ills

On

100

POEMS OF NATIONAL
flings the

SPIRIT.

And

helpless

proudest barks that swim, wreck against his shore.

Few, few were they whose swords of old Won the fair land in which we dwell;

But we are many, we who hold The grim resolve to guard it well. Strike for that broad and goodly land, Blow after blow, till men shall see That Might and Right move hand in hand, And Glorious must their triumph be. "WILLI^JI CULLEN BBYANT

A CRY TO ARMS.
[1861.]

Ho, woodsmen of the mountain-side! Ho, dwellers in the vales! Ho, ye who b}' the chafing tide Have roughened in the gales! Leave barn and byre, leave kin and

cot,

Lay by the bloodless spade; Let desk and case and counter

rot.

And burn your

books of trade!
fairest lands;

The despot roves your

And

till

he

flies

or fears.

Your fields must grow but armed bands. Your sheaves be sheaves of spears!
Give up to mildew and to rust
useless tools of gain, feed your country's sacred dust With floods of crimson rain!

The

And

PATRIOTISM.
the weapous at your call ^Vitll musket, pike, or kuife; He wields the deadliest, blade of all
Avitli

101

Come

^yho

ligiitest

holds

fiis life.

The arm that drives its unbought blows With all a patriot's scorn,
Might brain a tyrant with a rose

Or stab him with a

thorn.

Does any falter? Let him turn To some brave maiden's eyes, And catch the holy fires that burn
In those sublunar skies. Oh, could you like your women feel, And in their spirit march, A day might see your lines of steel Beneath the victor's arch!

AYliat hope,

O God! would not grow warm \Vhen thoughts like these give cheer? The lily calmly braves the storm,
And
shall the palm-tree fear?

Ko! rather let its branches court The rack that sweeps the plain;

And from the lily's regal port Learn how to breast the strain.
Ho, woodsmen

(.)f

the mountain-side!
I

ilo. (Iwclhu'S in Ihe vales

Ho. ye who by the roaring tide Have roughened in the gales!

102

POEMS OF NATIONAL
Come, flocking gayly

SPIRIT.

to the fight,

From

forest, hill,

We

and lake;

And

battle for our country's right, for the lily's sake!

HENRY TIMROD.

THE NATION'S PRAYER.

[1861].
I.

Before Thy Throne we bow

God, our shield be Thou

From

Treason's rage!

In faith we look to Thee, Our strength in Heav'n we Defender of the free. In ev'ry age.
II.

see,

Our

follies

we

confess:

God, forgive and bless! Let Mercy's light Illumine this dark hour.
clouds o'er us lower,
!

When war And Thine

eternal power Defend the right

III.

Our Pilgrim

fathers sleep,

The ocean, broad and deep.

Beside their graves.

When

Thine archangel cries, Forbid that they should rise

PATRIOTISM.
To crowns
in Paradise
soil of slaves!
IV.

103

From

And when
Strike

Protect onr armies, Lord, they draw the sword

In freedom's name,

Thou for them the blow, Overwhelm the vaunting foe,

And bury Treason

low,

In deathless shame!

Let Liberty arise.

Her glory fill the The world be

Let
all

skies,

free!

adore Thy name,

lis})

And

children

Thy fame

Let earth and heav'n proclaim

The

jubilee!

CRAMMONU KENNEDY.

MY MARYLAND.
[18G1.]

The

despot's heel is on thy shore,

Maryland!
His torch
is

at thy tomiile door,

Maryland

Avenge the palriolic gore That fleck<Ml llie streets of I'.altimore, And be the battle <|U('('ii of yore,
Maryland,

My Maryland

W4:

P0E2I^ OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

Hark
to thy

wandering son's appeal, Maryland

!

mother State, to thee I kneel, Maryland For life and death, for woe and weal.

My

Thy

peerless chivalry reveal,

And

gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,

Maryland,

My

Maryland!

Thou

wilt not cower in the dust,

Maryland

Thy beaming sword

shall never rust,

Maryland

Remember Carroll's sacred trust, Remember Howard's warlike thrust,

!And
all

thy slumberers with the just,

Maryland,

My

Maryland!

Come,

't is

the red

dawn

of the day,
!

Marvland

Come with thy

panoplied array,

Maryland

With Ringgold's spirit for the fray. With ^Vatsou's blood at Monterey, With fearless Lowe and dashing May,
Maryland,

My

Maryland!

Dear mother, burst the tyrant's chain, Maryland

!

Virginia should not

call in vain,
!

Maryland
She meets her
" " Sic semper
!

sisters
't is

on the plain

the proud refrain

PATRTOTISM.
That
baffles

105

miuions back amain,

Marylaud,

My

Maryland!
is

Come, for

lliy

shield

bright and strong,

!

Maryland

Come, for thy dalliauee does thee wrong, Maryland

!

Come

to thine

own

heroic throng.
to thy song,

That stalks with

liberty along,

And

give a

new key

Maryland,
I see the blush

My

Maryland!

upon thy cheek,

^Maryland
!

But thou wast

But
lo! there

ever bravely meek,

Maryland

From

surges forth a shriek hill to hill, from creek to creek;

calls to

Potomac

Chesapeake,

Maryland,

My

Maryland!
toll,

Thou
Thou

wilt not yield the Vandal

Maryland
Maryland upon thee roll,

wilt not crook to his control,

!

Better the

fire

Than

Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, crucifixion of the soul,
^Maryland, 'Mx Maryland!
I hear the distant

thunder hum,

The Old

Line's bugle,

Maryland life, and drum, Maryland

!
I

106

POE}W OF NATIONAL
is

SPIRIT.

She

not dead, nor deaf, nor

!

dumb

;
!

Huzza she spurns the Northern scum S]ie breathes, she burns she '11 come come

she

'11

Maryland,

My

Maryland! JAMES KYDER RANDALL.

DIXIE.
[1861.]

Southrons, hear your country call you Up, lest worse than death befall you To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted,
! !

Let

all

hearts be
!

now
!

united!
!

To arms To arms To arms, in Dixie Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah hurrah For Dixie's land Ave take our stand,
! !

And

live or die for

Dixie!
!

To arms

To arms
To arms

And conquer
To arms
!

peace for Dixie!

!

And conquer

peace for Dixie!

Hear the Northern thunders mutter!

Northern flags in South winds flutter! Send them back vour fierce defiance
!

stamp

upon the accursed alliance!

Lift

Fear no danger! Shun no labor! up rifle, pike, and sabre!

PATRIOTISM.
Shoulder pressing close tQ shoulder, Let the odds make each heart bolder

107

How
At For

the South's great heart rejoices your caimon's riugiug voices

!

faith betrayed, and pledges broken,

inllicted, insults

Wrongs

spoken.

Strong as

lions, swift as eagles,

Back to their kennels hunt these beagles! Cut the unequal bonds asunder! Let them hence each other plunder!

Swear u])on your country's altar Never to submit or falter.

Till the spoilers are defeated, Till the Lord's

work

is

completed.

Halt not
Secures

till

our Federation
earth's powers its station
!

among

Then at peace, and crowned with glory. Hear vour children tell the storv!
If the loved

ones weej) in sadness.

Victory soon shall bring them gladness,

To arms! Exultant pride soon banish sorrow, Smiles chase tears away to-morrow. To arms, in Dixie! To arms! To arms
I

Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah hurrah For Dixie's land we take our stand,
I !

108

POEMS OF NATIONAL
And
live or die for Dixie!

SPIRIT.

To arms

To arms To arms

And conquer
To arms
!

peace for Dixie

!

And

conquer peace for Dixie! ALBEKT PIKE.

THE FLAG GOES

Hats
off!

BY.

Along the

street there

comes

A A

blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, flash of color beneath the sky:

!

Hats off The flag

is

passing by

Blue and crimson and white it shines, Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. Hats off
!

The colors before us fly; But more than the flag is passing

by.

Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great, Fought to make and to save the State
:

Weary marches and sinking ships; Cheers of victory on dying lips;

Days of plenty and years of peace; March of a strong laud's swift increase; Equal justice, right and law, Stately honor and reverend awe;
Sign of a nation, great and strong

To ward her

jjeople

from foreign wrong:

PATRIOTISM.
Pride and glory and honor, all Live in the colors to stand or fall.

109

Hats

off!

Along the

street there

comes
:

blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums; And loyal hearts are beating high

Hats off The flag

is

i^assing by

HENRY HOLCOMB BENNETT.

THE BRAVE AT HOME.

The maid who
binds her warrior's sash With smile that well her pain dissembles,

The while beneath her drooping lash One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles. Though Heaven alone records the tear,

And Fame shall never know her story, Her heart has shed a drop as dear As e'er bedewed the field of glory
!

The wife who girds her husband's sword^ Mid little ones who weep or wonder,

And bravely speaks the cheering What though her heart be rent Doomed nightly in her dreams to
The bolts of death around him Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er

word.
asunder, hear
rattle,

Was

poured upon the

field of battle!

The mother who conceals her grief While to her breast her son she

presses,

110

P0E3JS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

Then breathes a few brave words aud brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, With no one but her secret God

To laiow the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod Received on Freedom's field of honor
!

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

II.

FREEDOM.
THE PLACE WHERE MAN SHOULD
DIE.

How

little

recks

it

where men

lie,

Wlu'u once the moment's past In which the dim and <lazing e.ye Has looked on earth its last, Whether beneath the sculptured urn The collined form shall rest, Or in its nakedness return

Back
Death

to its mother's breast

is

As

different

And

at his

common friend or foe, men may hold, summons each must go.
;

The timid and the hold But when (he spiiil, free and warm.
Deserts
it,

as

it

must.
the lifeless form

What matter where

Dissolves
iiuaiii to

dust?

TIh' soldier

f;ills

'mid eoi'Ses pih^l

rpon

(1m' b;itlle-pl;lin,

lU

112

POEMS OF NATIONAL
Where

SPIRIT.

reinless war-steeds gallop wild

Above the mangled slain; But though his corse be grim to see, Hoof -trampled on the sod, What recks it, when the spirit free

Has soared

aloft to

God?
close

The coward's dying eyes may

Upon

And

Or But ye who shun

bed, softest hands his limbs compose, garments o er them spread.

his

downy

the bloody fray,

When

Go strip his coflfln-lid away. And see him in his grave! &^
'T were sweet, indeed, to close our ejes, With those we cherish near.

fall

the mangled brave.

And, wafted upwards b}' their sighs. Soar to some calmer sphere. But whether on the scaffold high,

Or in the battle's van, The fittest place where man can die Is where he dies for man
!

MICHAEL JOSEPH BAERY.

LIBERTY.

What man
''

is

there so bold that he should say,

Thus, and thus only, would I have the Sea "? For whether lying calm and beautiful, Clasping the earth in love, and throwing back

FREEDOM.
The smile of Heavcu from waves of amethyst; Or whether, freshened by the busy wiuds, It bears the trade and navies of the world To ends of use or stern activity Or whether, lashed by tempests, it gives way To elemental fury, howls and roars At all its rockv barriers, in wild lust Of ruin drinks the blood of living things.
;

113

And

shore,
it is

strews

its

wrecks

o'er

leagues of desolate

Always
Before

its

the Sea, and men bow down vast and varied majesty.

So

all in

vain will timorous ones essay

To set the metes and bounds of Liberty. For Freedom is its own eternal law It makes its own conditions, and in storm Or calm alike fulfils the unerring Will. Let us not then despise it when it lies Still as a sleeping lion, while a swarm
:

Of gnat-like

Nor doubt

round its head; mad, disjointed times It shakes the torch of terror, and its cry Shrills o'er the quaking earth, and in the flame Of riot and war we see its awful form Rise by the scaffold, where the crimson axe
evils hover
it

when

in

Rings down
kings.

its

grooves the knell of shuddering

For ever

in thine eyes,

Liberty,

Shines that high light whereby the world is saved. And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee!
VIII

JOHN HAY.

114

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

PATIENCE.
FROM
'^''

POEMS OF FREEDOM/^

Be

patient, O be patient! the earth

;

Put your ear against

Listen tliere

how

noiselessly the

germ

o'

the seed

has birth;

How

noiselessly

and gently

it

upheaves

its little

way
Till it parts the scarcely-broken

ground, and the blade stands up in the day.

O be patient! the germs of mighty thought Must have their silent undergrowth, must underground be wrought; But, as sure as ever there 's a Power that makes
Be
patient,

Our land

the grass appear, shall be green with Liberty, the bladetime shall be here.
!

O be patient go and watch the wheatears grow. So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change nor
Be
patient,

throe

Day

after day,

day after day

till

the ear

is

fully

grown

And
Be

then again day after day,

field is

till

the ripened

brown.
be patient! though yet our hopes

patient,

are green,

FREEDOM.
The
harvest-field

115
shall

of

Freedom

be crowned

with the sunny sheen.

ripening, be ripening! mature your silent way Till the whole broad land is tongued with fire on

Be

Freedom's harvest day.

WILLIAM JAMES LINTON.

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.

are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines, That stream with gray-green mosses; here the.

Here

ground

Was

never trenched by spade, and fiowers spring

up

Unsown, and die uugathered. It is sweet To linger here, among the flitting birds,

And

leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set

With

i>ale

shades

blue

berries.

In

these

peaceful

Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old ^ly thoughts go up the long dim i)ath of years, Back to the earliest davs of libertv.

Oh Freedom thou
!

fair

young

girl,

art not, as poets dream, with light and delicate limbs,

And wavy

tresses gushing

from the cap

his slave

With which the Roman master crowned

When
Armed

he took

the gyves. A bearded man. to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand
off

116

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow, Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee;

They could not quench the

heaven.

life

thou hast from

And

Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep, his swart armorers, by a thousand fires,
yet, w^hile

Have forged thy chain;

bound.

he deems thee

The links are shivered, and the prison walls

Fall outward

As springs

And
Thy

terribly thou springest forth. the flame above a burning pile. shoutest to the nations, who return
:

shoutings, while the pale oppressor

flies.

Thy birthright was not given by human hands: Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant
fields,

^YhiIe yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars,

And

teach the reed to utter simple airs.

Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, His only foes; and thou with him didst draw The earliest furrows on the mountain side.
Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself. Thy enemy, although of reverend look, Hoary with many years, and far obeyed,
Is later born than thou;

and as he meets

iHCJAiAS campb?:ll

FREEDOM,
The grave defiance of tliiue elder eye, The usurper trembles in his fastnesses.

lir

shall fade into a feebler age; Feebior, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares, And spring them on thy careless steps, aud clap

Thou But he

sbalt

wax

stronger with the lapse of years,

His withered hands, and from their ambush call His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send Quaint maskers, forms of fair and gallant mien. To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth. Twine around thee threads of steel, light thread on thread. That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh! not yet May'st thou unbrace thy corselet, nor lay by Th}' sword; nor yet, O Freedom! close thy lids
In slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps, And thou must watch and combat till the day Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst thou
rest

Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men. These old and friendly solitudes invite

Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees Were young upon the unviolated earth,

And

yot the moss-stains on tlie rock were new. Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. VnLLIAJr CULLEN BRYANT.

lis

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

HALLOWED GROUND.
What^s hallowed ground?
Its

Has earth a clod Maker meant not should be trod

the image of his God,
free,

By man,

Erect and

Unscourged by Superstition's rod To bow the knee?

That
hallowed

's

ground where, mourned and

missed.

The lips repose our love has kissed; But Where's their memory's mansion? Yon churchyard's bowers? No! in ourselves their souls exist,

Is

't

part of ours.

kiss can consecrate the

ground
:

Where mated

hearts are mutual bound

links were

The spot where love's first That ne'er are riven.

Is hallowed

wound,

down

to earth's profound.
!

And up

to heaven

For time makes all but true love old; The burning thoughts that then were told

Run molten still in memory's mould; And will not cool

Until the heart itself be cold

In Lethe's pool.

FREEDOM.
What hallows ground where
'T
is

119

heroes sleep? not the sculptured piles you heap! In dews that heavens far distant weep

Their turf

nia,v

bloom;

Or Genii twine beneath the deep

Their coral tomb.

Uut strew his ashes to the wind sword or voice has served mankind, And is he dead, whose glorious mind
^^'hose

To

live in

Lifts thine on high? hearts we leave behind

Is not to die.

Is

't

death to

fall for

Freedom's right?
!

He 's dead alone that lacks her light And murder sullies in heaven's sight
The sword he draws:

What

can alone ennoble fight? A noble cause!

Give that,

and welcome War to brace

Her drums, and rend heaven's reeking space! The colors planted face to face, The charging cheer,
Though Death's pale horse lead on the
Shall
still

chase,

be dear.

And

place our tro]hies where men kneel To Heaven! but Heaven rebukes my zeal! The cause of Truth and human weal, O God above

Transfer

from the sword's appeal To Peace and Love.

it

120

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Peace, Love! the cherubim, that join Their sin'ead wings o'er Devotion's shrine,

Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine,

Where they

are not,

The heart alone can make divine

Religion's spot.

And pompous

To incantations dost thou trust, rites in domes august?

See mouldering stones and metal's rust
Belie the vaunt.

That man can bless one pile of dust With chime or chant.

The ticking wood-worm mocks

Tin' temples,

creeds themselves grow wan

dome
of nobler span,

thee,

man!
I

But there

's

A
Thy

temple given
dare not ban,
!

faith, that bigots

Its space is heaven

Its roof, star-pictured Nature's ceiling,

Where, trancing the rapt

spirit's feeling.

And God
Make

himself to

man

revealing.

The harmonious spheres music, though unheard their pealing By mortal ears.

Fair stars! are not your beings pure? sin, can death, your worlds obscure? Else why so swell the thoughts at your

Can

Aspect above?

FREEDOM.
Ye must
bo heavens that
love
!

121

make us sure

Of heaveuly

And
I

in

your harmony sublime

read the

doom

of distant time;

That man's regenerate soul from crime Shall yet be drawn. And reason on his mortal clime Immortal dawn.

What
Peace

's

hallowed ground?
Inde])endence
!

T
!

is

what
!

To sacred thoughts
!

in souls of

worth

gives birth

Truth

go forth

I'^arth's

compass round;

And yonr

liigh-priesthood shall

make earth

All lialluived (jround.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

THE WOLF AND THE DOG.

PROWLING wolf, whose shaggy skin (So strict the watch of dogs had been) Hid little but his bones, Once met a mastiff dog astray.

prouder, fatter, sleeker Tray

No human

mortal owns.

Sir Wolf, in famished plight, Would fain liave made a ration

Upon

his fat relation:

first must fight; dog seemed able

But then he

And

well the

To save from

wolfish table
tight.

His carcass snug and

122

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT,

So then in civil conversation The wolf expressed bis admiration Of Tray's fine case. Said Trav
"

politely,
;

Yourself, good sir, may be as sigbtly Quit but the woods, advised by me:

For all your fellows here, I see. Are shabby wretches, lean and gaunt,

With such One fights

Belike to die of haggard want. a pack, of course it follows,

for every bit he swallows.

On

then with me, and share equal terms our princely fare."
"

Come

Cut what with you

to
''

Has one

do? "

Inquires the wolf. Light work indeed," Replies the dog: "you only need

To bark a little now and then, To chase ofi' duns and beggar-men, To fawn on friends that come or go Your master please, and so forth
;

forth.

For which you have to eat All sorts of well-cooked meat

Cold pullets, pigeons, savory messes Besides unnumbered fond caresses."

The wolf, by force of appetite. Accepts the terms outright. Tears glistened in his eyes;

A
"

But faring on, he spies galled spot on the mastiff's neck.

he
cries.

"What's that?"
a speck."

"Oh, nothing but

not enough to pain

speck?

" " Ay,

ay

't is

me:

FREEDOM.
Perliai>s the collar's

123

mark by which they chain

I

me."
"

Chaiu chain you What lun you uot, thou, Just where you please and when?" "Not always, sir; but what of that?"
I

"

Enough

It

for me, to spoil your fat ought to be a precious price

Which could to servile chaius entice; For me, I '11 shun them while I 've wit." So ran Sir \\'olf, and ruuueth vet.
From
the French of .;E

AX

1)E

Translation of

LA FONTAINE. ELIZUU WUIGHT.

KIENZl TO THE KOMANS.

FUOM
^^

UIENZI.^^

FUIENUS!

come not here to talk. Ye kuow too well The story of our thraldom. We are slaves! Th(> bright sun rises to his course, and lights A race of slaves he sets, and his last beam Falls on a slave! Not such as, swept along
I
!

]>y the full tide of

power, the conqueror leads

To crimson glory and undying fame,

l>ut base, ignoble slaves!

slaves to a horde

(H petty tyrants, feudal despots; lords Hieh in some d(zen ]altrv villages, Strong in some hundred sjiearnien, only great In that strange spell, a name! ICach hour, dark

fr;ui(l,
<ii-

((pen rajiine, or i)i'otected

Iliit

murder,
this verv

Cries out against them.

dav

124

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

honest man, my neighbor {pointing to Paolo), there he stands, Was struck struck like a dog by one who wore

An

The badge of Ursini because, forsooth,

!

lie tossed not high his ready cap in air, Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts.

At

Be we men, sight of that great ruffian suffer such dishonor? men, and wash not The stain away in blood? Such shames are com!

And

mon.
I

have known deeper wrongs.

all gentleness, of
;

I,

that speak to ye,

had a brother once, a gracious boy.

calmest hope,

Full of

Of sweet and quiet joy there was the look Of Heaven upon his face which limners give To the beloved disciple. How I loved That gracious boy! younger by fifteen years, Brother at once and son He left my side A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
!

Parting his innocent

lips.

In one short hour

I

The pretty, harmless boy was slain! The corse, the mangled corse, and then For vengeance! Kouse ye, Romans!
slaves
!

saw
Eouse
ye,

I cried

Have ye brave sons?

brawl

Look
fair

in

the next fierce

To To

see
see

live, torn from your arms, distained. Dishonored; and, if ye dare call for justice, Be answered by the lash Yet this is Rome,
!

them them

die!

Have ve

daughters?

Look

That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne Of beauty ruled the world Yet we are Romans
! !

Why,

in that elder day, to be a

Roman

FREEDOM.
Was
greater than a king! And once again Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread

125

Of either lirutus! once again, I swear, The eternal city shall be free her sous shall walk
;

with princes.

MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.

FALLEN GREECE.
FROM
Climb
'"'THE

GIAOUR.^'

Whose

of the unforgotten brave! land, from j)lain to mountain-cave,

AVas Freedom's home or Glory's grave! Shrine of the mighty can it be

!

remains of thee? thou craven, crouching slave; Approach,

this is all

That

^ay,

is

not

tliis

Thermo j>y lie?

These waters blue that round you

servile offspring of the free,

lave,

Pronounce what sea, what shore The gulf, the rock of Salamis!
;

is

this?

These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own Snatcli from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires;

And

he

who

in the strife expires

Will add tu theirs a

name

of fear

That TyraDoy

shall

quake to hear,

And

leave his sons a hope, a fauie.

They too will rather die than shame; For Freedom's battle once begun,
Bequeathed by bleeding
sire to son,

12G

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Tliougli baffled oft is ever won.

Bear witness, Greece, thy living page;

Attest
it,

many

a deatliless age:
liid,

Wliile Ivings, in dusty darliness

Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command,
The mountains of their native land There points thy Muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die 'T were long to tell, and sad to trace, Each step from splendor to disgrace: Enough, no foreign foe could quell Thy soul, till from itself it fell Yes self-abasement paved the way
!
!

To

villain-bonds

and despot sway.

What can he tell who treads thy shore? No legend of thine olden time. No theme on which the Muse might soar, High as thine own in days of yore. When man was worthy of thy clime.
The hearts within thy valleys bred. The fiery souls that might have led

Now

to deeds sublime, crawl from cradle to the grave. Slaves nay, the bondsmen of a slave.

Thy sons

And

callous save to crime.

LOED BYKOBT.

FREEDOM.

127

GREECE ENSLAVED.
FROM
'"''CIIILDE

HAROLD/^ CANTO

II.

Fair Greece! sad

Iminortal,

relic of

departed worth!

though
!

no

more;

though

fallen,

great

Who now shall

lead thy scattered children forth,

And long-accustomed bondage uncreate? Not such thy sous who whilom did await,
The hopeless warriors
In bleak
O,
of a willing doom.
Theri'.iopylaj's

sepulchral strait,

who

Leap from Eurotas' banks, and

that gallant spirit shall resume, call thee from the

tomb ?
Spirit of

Thou

sat'st

Freedom when on Phyle's brow with Thrasybulus and his train,

!

Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which

now Dims the green

Not But Nor

beauties of thine Attic plain? thirt}' tyrants now enforce the chain, every carle can lord it o'er thy land;
rise th}- sons,

but idly

rail in vain.

Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand,

From

birth

till

death enslaved; in word,

in deed,

unmanned.
In all save form alone, how changed and who That marks the fire still spai-kling in each eye, Who but would deem their bosoms burned anew
!

128

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.
I

With thy unquenclied beam, lost Liberty And many dream withal the hour is nigh That gives them back their fathers' heritage; For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh, Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage, Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful page.

Hereditarv bondsmen

know

ve not,

Who
By

would be blow?
their

free themselves

must

strike the

right
?

arms the conquest must be

wrought

Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye? No! True, they may lay your proud despoilers low, But not for you will Freedom's altars flame.

Shades of the Helots! triumph o'er your foe! Greece! change thy lords, thy state is still the same
;

Thy

glorious day

is

o'er,

but not thy years of

shame

And
Thy

yet

Land

how lovely in thine age of woe, of lost gods and godlike men, art thou! vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow.

Proclaim thee Nature's varied favorite now.

Thy fanes, thy temples to thy surface bow. Commingling slowl}' with heroic earth, Broke by the share of every rustic plough So perish monuments of mortal birth. So perish all in turn, save well-recorded worth;
:

FREEDOM.
Save where some solitary column mourns

129

Above

its

prostrate brethren of the cave;

Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns Colonna's cliff, and gleams along the wave; Save o'er some warrior's ha If -forgotten grave,
the gray stones and long-neglected grass but not oblivion, feebly brave. Ages, While strangers only not regardless pass,

Where

Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh ''Alas!"

Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild, Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy
fields.

Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled. And still his honeyed wealth Hymettus
vields;

There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress

builds.

The free-born wanderer

Apollo
Still
still

of thy

mountain

air;

thy long, long summer gilds, in his beam Mondeli's marbles glare:
fail,

Art, Glory, F"reedom

but Nature

still is fair.

Where'er we tread,

't is

No

earth of thine

is lost in

haunted, holy ground vulgar mould.

But one vast realm

of

wonder spreads around.

the Muse's tales seem truly told. Till the sense aches with gazing to behold
all

And

The scenes our Each hill and

wold,
VIII

earliest

dale, each

dreams have dwelt uj)on: deepening glen and

130

POEMS OF NATIONAL
gone
thon.
:

SPIRIT.

Defies the

power which crushed thy temples

Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray MaraLORD BYRON.

SONG OF THE GREEK POET.

FROM "don JUAN," CANTO
III.

The

isles of

Greece, the isles of Greece!

Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sj)rung! Eternal summer gilds them yet;
But
all,

except their sun,

is set.

The Scian and the Teian muse. The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse; Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires' Islands of the Blest.

The mountains look on Marathon,

And ^larathon looks on the sea And musing there an hour alone,
I

dreamed that Greece might

still

be free;

For, standing on tlie Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave.

A king

Which

sat on the rocky brow looks o'er sea-born Salamis;

FREEDOM.
And sliips. by tliousauds, lay below, And iiKMi iu nations all were his! He counted them at break of day And when the sun set, where were they?
-

131

And where

My

country?

are they? and where art thou, On thy voiceless shore

The heroic lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine. Degenerate into hands like mine?
'T
is

something

in the

Though To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush for Greece a tear.

linked

dearth of fame, among a fettered race,

Must we but weep o'er days more blest? Must we but blush? Our fathers bled.
Earth render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead Of the three hundred grant but three,
! !

To make a new Thermopylie!

What:

silent still?

Ah

no!

the

and

silent all?

voices of the dead

fall,
''

Sound

like

a distant torrent's

And
But
'T
is

answer,

one, arise

one living head, we come, we come "

L<'t
!

but the living who are dumb.

132

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
In vain,

SPIRIT.

in

vain; strike other chords;

I

cup with Samiau wine Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,

Fill high the

And
Hark!

shed the blood of Scio's vine

rising to the ignoble call,
!

How

answers each bold Bacchanal

You have Where

is

the Pvrrhic dance as yet, the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?

Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one?

You have

the letters Cadmus gave, Think ye he meant them for a slave?

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! will not think of themes like these

We
He

It

made Auacreon's song

divine

served, but served Polvcrates,

tyrant; but our masters then

still,

Were

at least, our countrymen.

The tyrant

of the Chersonese

freedom's best and bravest friend; That tyrant was Miltiades!

Was

O that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind Such chains as his were sure to bind.
!

Fill high the

On

Suli's rock

bowl with Samian wine! and Parga's shore

Exists the remnant of a line

Such as the Doric mothers bore;

FREEDOM.
And there perhaps some seed is sown The Heracleidan blood might own.
Trust not for freedom to the Franks, Thev have a king who buys and sells: In native swords, and native ranks,

133

The only hope of courage dwells; But Turkish force, and Latin fraud. Would break your shield, however broad.
Fill high the

bowl with Samian wine!

virgins dance beneath the shade, I see their glorious black eyes shine;

Our

But, gazing on each glowing maid^

My own
Place

To think such

the burning tear-drop laves, breasts must suckle slaves.

me on Suniuni's marbled steep. Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die.

Dash down yon cup

land of slaves shall ne'er be mine, of Samian wine!

LORD BYRON.

TO ALTHEA FRO^f BRISON.

When
To

Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates,

Althea brings
whisjier
I

And my divine

iil

my

grates;

When And

lie

tar.glcd in her hair

fettered with her eye,

134

POEMS OF NATIONAL
The birds that wanton

SPIRIT.

in tlie air

Know
When

no such

liberty.

flowing cups pass swiftly round

With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses crowned, Our hearts with loyal flames When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
;

When healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple iu the deep Know no such liberty.
When, like committed linnets, I With shriller throat shall sing The mercy, sweetness, majesty

And glories of my King; When I shall voice aloud, how good He is, how great should be.
Enlarged winds that curl the flood Know no such liberty.
Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor

iron bars a cage

Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage

:

If I

have freedom
in

in

And

my

soul

my love, am free.

Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.

EICHAKD LOVELACE.

FKEEDOM.

135

SLAVERY.
FROM "THE TIMEPIECE
"
:

"THE TASK,"

BK.

II.

FOR a lodge in some vast wilderness,

Some boundless continuity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit.

Of unsuccessful or successful war,
Mif>ht never reach me more! My ear is pained. My soul is sick, with every day's report

Of wrong and outrage with which earth

There
is

is filled.

no flush

It does not feel

man's obdurate heart; for man the natural bond

in
;

Of brotherhood is served as the flax, That falls asunder at the touch of fire.

He

finds his fellow guilty of a skin

Not colored like his own, and, having power To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful ])rey. Lands intersected by a narrow frith Abhor each other. Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations, who had else
Like kindred drops been mingled into one.

Thus man devotes

And, worse than

his brother,

all, niid

and destroys; most to be deplored

l)l(tt.

As human

nature's broadest, foulest

Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat ^^'ijll shipes, that Mercy, with a bleeding heart, ^\'('('ps, when she sees iullided on a beast.
is man? And having hnman And hang his head,

Then what

And what nmn,

seeing this.

feelings, does not blush,

to think himself a

man?

136
I

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
to
till

SPIRIT.
groimd,
the wealth

would uot have a slave

ine, to fan
I

my
all

To carry

me

while

sleep,

And

tremble when

wake, for

That sinews bought and sold have ever earned. No; dear as freedom is, and in my heart's
Just estimation prized above
I
all price,

had much rather be myself the slave, And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. We have no slaves at home. Then why abroad?

they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free They touch our country, and their shackles fall. That 's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud
;

And

And And

jealous of the blessing, Spread it then, let it circulate through every vein Of all your empire; that, where Britain's power
Is felt,

mankind may

feel

her mercy too.

WILLlAil COWPER.

SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN.

[After the English Revolution of 16S8, all bishops '.vere compelled to swear allegiance to William and Mary. Seven of them, adherents of James II., refused and were imprisoned for treason, the "Non-Jurors." Trelawney of Cornwall was one. J

GOOD sword and a trusty hand,

merry heart and

true.

King James's men

shall

understand

What Cornish

lads can do.

vVILLIAM C()WPP:R

FREEDOM.
And have they fixed the where and when, And sliall Trelawney die? Then twenty thousand Cornish men Will know the reason why.
What! ulU they scorn
Tre, Pol,

137

and Pen?

And
Will

shall

Trelawney die?
the reason why.

Then ticcnty thousand under (/round

know

Out spake the captain brave and bold, A merry v,-iglit was he ''Though London's Tower were ^Michael's
:

hold,

We We

'11

set

Trelawney

free.

'11

cross the

Tamar hand

to hand,

no stay; We '11 side by side from strand to strand, And who shall bid us nay? What! will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen?
shall be

The Exe

And

shall Trelaicney die?

Then twenty thousand Cornish men

Will Iniow the reason why.
"

And

wlipu
'11

we come
it

to

London wall
!

We
'

shout with
forth,

in view,

Come

come

forth, ye covrards all

!

We 're

better

men than you

Trelawney, he

's in keep and hold, he Trelawney, may die; But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold Will know the reason why!'

What!

And
Then

will they scorn Tre, Pol, shall Trelairney die? twenty thou.'iand under

and Pen?
yround

Will

know

the reason why."

ROBERT STKPHEX MAWKER.

138

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH

TARA'S HALLS.
The harp
The soul
that ouce through Tara's halls
of music shed, hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er,

Now

And

Now

hearts that once beat high for praise feel that pulse no more
!

No more

to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells; The chord alone that breaks at night
Its tale of ruin tells.

Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives.
THOMAS MOORE.

AS BY THE SHORE AT BREAK OF

DAY.
As by
the shore, at break of day,

vanquished chief expiring lay, Upon the sands, with broken sword,

He traced his farewell to the free And there the last unfinished word He dying wrote was " Liberty "
!

FREEDOM.
:

139

At night a sea-bird shrieked the knell Of him who thus for freedom fell The words he wrote, ere evening came, Were covered by the sounding sea; So pass away the cause and name Of him who dies for liberty THOMAS MOORE.

THE HILLS WERE MADE FOR

FREEDOM.

When

freedom from her home was driven,

'Mid vine-clad vales of Switzerland, She sought the glorious Alps of heaven. And there, 'mid dills by lightnings riven,

Gathered her hero-band.

And still outrings her freedom-song. Amid the glaciers sparkling there,
At Sabbath bell, as peasants throng Their mountain fastnesses along,
Happy, and
free as air.

hills were made for freedom they Break at a breath the tyrant's rod; Chains clank in valleys; there the prey

The

Writlies 'neath Oppression's heel alway:

Ilills

bow

to

none

()ut

Ood!

WILLIAM GOLDSMITH KUOWX.

140

POEM 8 OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

SWITZERLAND.
FROM
"

WILLIAM TELL."
free

Once Switzerland was

I

used to walk these

hills,

pride look up to heaven,

! !

With what a
It

And bless God that it was so From end to end, from cliff to

lake

was free 't was free

Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks, And plough our valleys, without asking leave; Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow In very presence of the regal sun!

How

happy was

in

it

then!

loved

Ay, often have I sat In my boat at night, when, midway o'er the lake, The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge The wind came roaring, I have sat and eyed The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, And think I had no master save his own
Its very storms.

JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES,

MAKE WAY FOR LIBERTY!

[Battle of Senipach, fourteenth century. J

Make way for Liberty " ^he Made way for Liberty, and died
"
! ! !

cried

In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, A living wall, a human wood

where everv conscious stone Seemed to its kindred thousands grown ;

wall,

FREEDOM.
A A
rampart
all

141

assaults to bear,

Till

time to dust their frames should wear; wood like that enchanted grove

In which with fiends Rinaldo strove, AVhere every silent tree possessed

spirit prisoned in its breast,

Which Would

the

first

stroke of coming strife

the Austrians stood,

startle into hideous life:

still,

So dense, so

living wall, a human wood! Im[)regnal)le their front appears,

xVll

horrent with projected spears,

Whose polished i>oints before them shine, From tiank to Hank, one brilliant line.
Bright as the breakers' splendors run

Along the billows

to the sun.

Opposed to these, a hovering band Contended for their native land Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke
:

From manly nocks the ignoble yoke, And forged their fetters into swords. On equal terms to fight their lords. And what insurgent rage had gained In many a mortal fray maintained:
Marshalled once more at Freedom's
call.

They came

to conquer or to fall,

Where he who conquered, he who fell, W;is deemed a dead, or living, Tell! Such virtues had that i)atriot breathed,
So to the soil his soul bequeathed. That wheresoe'er his arrows Hew
Ileroes in his

own

likeness grew,

142

'P0E3LS

OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.
trod.

And

warriors sprang from every sod

his

Which

awakening footstep
of life

And now the work Hung on the passing

The The
fire

and death
;

of a breath

of conflict burned within, battle trembled to begin

:

Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, Point for attack was nowhere found
;

Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed. The unbroken line of lances blazed: That line 't were suicide to meet,

And

How
And

perish at their tyrants' feet, could they rest within their graves. leave their homes the homes of slaves?
feel their children tread

Would^they not

With clanging chains above

their

head?

It must not be: this day, this hour. Annihilates the oppressor's power; All Switzerland is in the field, She will not fly, she cannot yield,

She must not fall her better fate Here gives her an immortal date. Few were the numbers she could boast; But every freeman was a host, And felt as though himself were he On whose sole arm hung victory.
;

It did depend on one indeed; Behold him, Arnold Winkelried! There sounds not to the trump of fame The echo of a nobler name.

FREEDOM.
Unmarked he stood amid
In rumination deep and
Till

143

the tlirong,

lonj.

yon
b.v

mijj;lit see,

with sudden grace,

o'er his face,

The very thought come

And
And

the motion of his form

stoi-ni,

Anticipate the bursting

by the ui)lifting of his brow Tell where the bolt \\ ould strike, and how.

But 't was no sooner thought than done, The field was in a moment won
:

"

Make way
ran, with
if

for Liberty

"
!

he cried.

Then

arms extended wide.

As

Ten spears he swept within

"

his dearest friend to clas[; his grasp.

Make way

for Liberty

''
!

he ciied

Their keen points met from side to side; He bowed amongst them like a tree.

And

thus made

way

for LilxMty.

Swift to the breach his comrades

^'

fly;

Make way

for

Liberty

"
!

they cry,

And through
As rushed

the Austrian phalanx dart.

the spears through Arnold's heart; While, instantaneous as his fall,

An
A

Kout, ruin, panic, scattered all: eaitlniuake could not overthrow

city with a sui'cr blow.

Thus Switzerland again was free; Thus Death made way for Liberty!
JAMKS MONTGOMKKY.

144

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

POLAND.
FROM
"

THE PLEASURES OF HOPE," PART

!

1.

SACRED Truth

thy triumph ceased awhile,

And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, When leagued Oppression poured to Northern
wars

Her whiskered pandours and her

fierce hussars, her dread standard to the breeze of morn, Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet

Waved

horn

Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, Presaging wrath to Poland and to man Warsaw's last champion from her height

sur-

Wide
"

veved, o'er the

fields,

O Heaven
save
!

"
!

a waste of ruin laid; he cried, " my bleeding country

Is there

no hand on high to shield the brave?

!

Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains. Else, fellow-men our country yet remains!

By that dread name, we wave the sword on high. And swear for her to live with her to die! " He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed

His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed; Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze,

Low murmuring sounds

Revenge, or death,

the watchword and reply;

but dreadful as the storm; along their banners fly,

Then pealed the

And

notes, omnipotent to charm. the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm!

FREEDOM.
From rank
Sarmatia

145

In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! to rank your volleyed thunder flew: bloodiest O, picture in the book of Time!
fell,

unwept, without a crime;

a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe! Droi)ped from her nerveless grasp the shattered
spear.

Found not

Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career; Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,

And Freedom

shrieked

as Kosciusko

fell!

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

THE MARSEILLAISE.
sons of freedom, wake to glory! Hark hark! what myriads bid you rise! Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,
I

Ye

Behold their tears and hear their cries!

Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,
hireling hosts, a ruffian band, Aflright and desolate the land.

With

While peace and liberty lie bleeding? To arms! to arms! ye brave! The avenging sword unsheathe; March on! march on! all hearts resolved

On

victory or death.

Now, now the dangerous storm is rolling. Which treacherous kings confederate raise;
The dogs of war,
let loose,

aie howling.

And
VIII

lo!

10

our helds and

cities blaze;

146

POEMS OF NATIONAL
shall

SPIRIT.

And

we

basely view the ruin,

force, with guilty stride, Spreads desolation far and wide. With crimes and blood his hands imbruing?

While lawless

To arms

to

arms ye
!

brave, etc.

Liberty! can

man
felt

resign thee,

Once having

thy generous flame?

Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee? Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long the world has wept, bewailing That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield, But freedom is our sword and shield,

And
From

all their

arts are unavailins-.

To arms
the Freuch of

arms ye brave, etc, CLAUDE JOSEPH ROUGET DE

!

to

LISLE.

A COURT LADY.
Her
Her
hair

was tawny with

gold, her eyes M'ith pur<

pie were dark.

cheeks' pale opal burnt with a red

less spark.

and

rest-

Never was lady of Milan nobler

race;

in

name and

in

Never was lady of Italy fairer to see

in the face.

Never was lady on earth more true as woman and

wife.

Larger

in

judgment and
life.

instinct,

prouder in man-

ners and

w h O o z I

CO

CO Pi CO Pi

CO

o X h <

FREEDOM.
She stood
in the eai-ly
'*

147

morniug, and said to her

maidens, Bring That si liven robe made ready to wear at the court
of the king.
"

Bring me the clasps of diamonds,

of the mote,

lucid, clear

Clas})

me the large at the waist, and clasp the small at the throat.
to fasten the hair,

me

"

Diamonds

and diamonds to

fasten the sleeves.

Laces to drop from their rays, like a powder of snow from the eaves."

Gorgeous she entered the sunlight which gathered

her
\\'liile

u] in

a tlame,

straight, in her

open carriage, she to the

hospital came.

In she went at the door, and gazing, from end to

end,
''

Many and low

are the pallets, but each

is

the

place of a friend."

Up

she passed through the wards, and stood at a young man's bod
:

Bloody the band on his brow, and

of his head.

livid the

droop

"Art thou
thou
"
!

Lombard,

my

brother?

Happy
in

art

she cried.

And

smiled like Italy on him: he face and died.

dreamed

her

148

POEMS OF NATIONAL
:

SPIRIT.

Pale with bis passing soul, she went on still to a second He was a grave, hard man, whose years by dungeons were reckoned.

Wounds

in his body were sore, wounds in his life were sorer. "Art thou a Romagnoie? " Her eyes drove light-

nings before her.

" Austrian

and

priest

had joined to double and

strong one,

tighten the cord

Able to bind thee,

free

by the

stroke of a sword.
"

Now

be grave for the rest of us, using the overcast

life

To

ripen our wine of the present (too new) glooms of the past."

in

Down

she stepped to a pallet where lay a face

like a girl's,

Young, pathetic with dying,

the curls.
"

a deep black hole in

Art thou from Tuscany, brother? and seest thou, dreaming in i)ain, Thy mother stand in the piazza, searching the list
of the slain?"
a mother herself, she touched his cheeks with her hands " Blessed is she who has borne thee, although she should weep as she stands."
:

Kind as

FREEDOM.
On
she passed to a Fi-eucliman, his
off

149

arm

carried

by a ball
.
.

Kneeling,
shall
"
I

"O more than thank thee for all?

my

brother!

how

Each

of the heroes
line,

round us has fought for his

for a stranger, in hate of a

land and

But thou hast fought wrong not thine.

"

Hapjty are

all free peoples,

;

too strong to be dis-

possessed

But blessed are those among nations who dare to

be strong for the rest "
!

Ever she passed on her way, and came to a couch where pined One with a face from Venetia, white with a hope
out of mind.

Long she stood and gazed, and twice she

the name,

tried at

But two great crystal tears were and came.

Only a tear for Venice? and loss,

all

that faltered

she turned as
and kissed

in passion

And

s1oo[)ed to his forehead

it,

as

if

she

were kissing the cross.

Faint with that strain of heart, she moved on then
to another, Stern and strong in his death. " suffer, mv brother?

"And

dost thou

150

POEIihS
bis

OF NATIONAL
in bers:

.SPIRIT.
of tbe Pied-

Holding

bands

"Out
!

mont lion Cometb tbe sweetness

or to die on."

of freedom

sweetest to live

Well, O, well Holding bis cold, rougb bands, bave je done In noble, noble Piedmont, W'bo would not be noble
alone."

''

Back be
feet

Sbe rose to ber fell wbile sbe spoke. witb a spring, " Tbat was a Piedmontese! and tins is tbe Court

of tbe King."

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND.

The breaking waves dashed bigb On a stern and rock-bound coast, And tbe woods against a stormy sky
Tbeir giant brandies tossed
;

And

bung dark and waters o'er. When a band of exiles moored tbeir bark
tbe beavy night
hills

The

On

the wild

New England

shore.

Not as the conqueror comes. They, tbe true-hearted, came; Not witb tbe roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame
:

FREEDOM.
Not as the
flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the desert gloom

151

With

their

hymns

of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the

sea

And

the sounding aisles of the To the anthem of the free.

dim woods rang

The ocean eagle soared

From And the

his nest by the white wave's foam, rocking pines of the forest roared,

This was their welcome home.

There were men with hoary hair

Whv

Amidst that pilgrim-band: had thev come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye.

Lit by her deej) love's truth;

There was manhood's brow serenely high,

And

the fiery heart of youth.

What sought
l>i-ight

they thus afar? jewels of the mine? The wealth of the seas, the si)oils of

war?

They sought
Ay.
call
it

a faith's ])ure shrine!

holy ground,

lii'st they trod; what there they found, unstained They Freedom to worshij) God.

The

soil

wIhmc

liiivc left

FELICIA HEMANS.

152

POEHW OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT,

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

When
Freedom, from her mountain height, Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night,

And

set the stars of glory there

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies.
striped its pure, celestial white With streakings of the morning light;

And

Then, from his mansion in the sun. She called her eagle-bearer down,

And

gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land
!

Majestic monarch of the cloud! Who rear'st aloft thy regal form. To hear the tempest trumping loud. And see the lightning lances driven,

When strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven,
Child of the Sun to thee 't is given To guard the banner of the free.
!

To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle-stroke.

And

bid its blendings shine afar. Like rainbows on the cloud of war,

The harbingers

of victory

Flag of the brave thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high
!

FREEDOM.
When speaks And the long
Ere jet the
the sigual-truuipet tone,
line

153

comes gleaming on, life-blood, warm and wet,

the glistening bavonet,

Has dimmed

Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn To where thy sky-born glories burn, And, as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from the glance.

And when
Heave
in

the cannon-mouthings loud

And

wild wreaths the battle shroud. gory sabres rise and fall

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, Then shall thy meteor glances glow. And cowering foes shall shrink beneath

Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas! on ocean wave

Thy
\A

stars shall glitter o'er the brave; hen death, careering on the gale,

And

Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's

Each dying wanderer

reeling rack, of the sea

Shall look at once to heaven and thee. And smile to see thy sjdendors fly

In triumi)h o'er his closing eye.

Flag of the

free heart's

hope and home,

angel hands to valor given! have lit the welkin dome. stars Thy And all thv hues were born in heaven.

By

154

POSJ/*S'

OF l^'ATIONAL

f'PIRIT.
I

Forever

float that

standard sheet

Where breathes the foe but falls With Freedom's soil beneath our

before us,
feet,

And Freedom's banner

streaming o'er us! JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.*

SAY, can you see
bj'

What

so proudly

gleaming

we

the dawn's early light hailed at the twilight's last

Whose broad

stripes

and bright

stars,

through the
so gallantly
in

clouds of the fight

O'er the ramparts

we watched, were

streaming!

And

the rocket's red glare, the

air,

bombs bursting
flag

Gave proof througli the night that our

still

was

there;

say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the
!

brave ?

On

that shore dimly seen through the mists of the

deep. the foe's haughty host in dread silence
is

Where

re-

poses.

What
As
*
it

that which the breeze, o'er the towering

steep.
fitfully blows,
cliiriii,<r

now

conceals,

now

discloses?

attack on Fort McHenry, by a fiiritisli Begun fleet, wliicli on the niglit of Sept. 12, 1814, unsuccessfully bombarded tbat fort from llie Patapsco River; the author, an envoy from the city of flaltiinore, liaving heeu detained as a prisoner on the Heet.
tlie

FREE DOM.
Now
In
'T
it

155
lii-st

catches the gleam of the inoniiiig's

beam.
full gloi-y reflected
is

now

shiues on the stream;

long^

the star-spauglecl banner! O,

mav

it

wave
O'er the laud of the free, and the

home

of the

brave

is that band who so vauntingly swore havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps'

And where
That
tlie

pollution.

No refuge From the

And

could save the hireling and slave terror of flight, or the gloom of the

grave; the star-spangled banner in triumph doth

wave
er the laud of the free,

and the home of the

brave

01 thus be it ever, wheu freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's
lation
I

deso-

Blest with vict'ry and peace, ma}' the Heavenrescued land

Praise the l*ower that hath

us a nation.

made and preserved

Theu

cou<iU('i- wi'

And And
O'er

this be
llie

must, when our cause it is just, our moHj. "In (Jod is our tnist:" star-spangled banner in Iriunipli shall

wave
ilic

hind of the free, and the

home

of (he

brave.

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

15G

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT,

NEW ENGLAND'S
New

DEAD.
dead!

England's dead! New England's On every bill they lie; On every field of strife, made red By bloody victory.

Eacb

valley, wbere the battle Its red and awful tide,

poured

Beheld the brave

New England sword With slaughter deeply d3'ed.

hill,

Their bones are on the northern And on the southern plain,

By brook and river, lake and And by the roaring main.

The land
is

rill,

holy where they fought, holy where they fell For by their blood that land was bought, The land they loved so well,

And

Then glory to that valiant band, The honored saviours of the land
O, few

and weak

their

A
But

numbers were,
;

handful of brave
to their

men

God they gave

And

rushed to battle then. The God of battles heard their cry.

sent to

And

their prayer,

them the

victory.

They left the ploughshare in the mold, Their flocks and herds without a fold,

FREEDOM.
The sickle iu the unshorn grain, The corn, half-garnered, on the plain.

157

And

mustered, in their simple dress,

For wrongs to seek a stern redress. To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe, To perish, or overcome their foe.

And where are ye, O fearless men? And where are ye to-day?
I call
:

the

hills rei>]y

again

That ye have passed away; That on old Bunker's lonely height. In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground. The grass grows green, the harvest bright Above each sohlier's mound. The bugle's wild and warlike blast Shall muster them no more; An army now might thunder past.

And

The starry

they heed not its roar. flag, 'neath which they fought In many a bloody day.
their old graves shall rouse thorn not,

From

For they have passed away.

ISAAC M'LKLLAN^.

THE REFOiniEn.
All grim and
T

soiled

and brown and tan,

in his

saw

Strong One,

wrath,

Smiting the godless shrines of

man

Along

his path.

The Church beneath her trembling dome Essayed in vain her ghostly charm
:

158

P0E3IS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

Wealth shook within his gilded home With strange alarm.

Fraud from

his secret

chambers

fled
:

Before the sunlight bursting in Sloth drew her pillow o'er her head

To drown the
"

din,

" Spare," Art implored, yon holy pile That grand old time-worn turret spare "
;
:

Meek Reverence, kneeling

Cried out, " Forbear

in the aisle "

!

Gray-bearded Use, who, deaf and blind, Groped for his old accustomed stone, Leaned on his staff, and wept to find His seat o'erthrown.

Young Romance
"

raised his

dreamy

eyes,

O'erhung with paly locks of gold.^ Why smite," he asked in sad surprise, ''The fair, the old?"

Yet louder rang the Strong One's stroke, Yet nearer flashed his axe's gleam; Shuddering and sick of heart I Avoke, As from a dream.
I

looked

aside the dust-cloud rolled,

The Waster seemed the Builder too Upspringing from the ruined Old I saw the New.

FREEDOM.

150

T was but the ruin of the bad,

The wastinj; of the
wi'onf;

and

ill;

Whate'er of good the old time had

Wa

living

still.

Calm grew the brows of him 1 feared, The frown which awed me passed away,

And

left

behind a smile which cheered

Like breaking day.

The grain grew green on battle-plains, O'er swarded war-mounds grazed the cow The slave stood forging from his chains The spade and plough.

Where frowned the fort, pavilions gay And coltage windows, Hower-entwined,
Looked out upon the peaceful bay

And

hills behind.

Through vine-wi-eathed cups with wine once The lights on brimming crystal fell, Drawn, sparkling, from the rivulet head

red.

And mossy wvU.

Through
F'resh
])rison-walls, like TTt^aven-sent hope, breezes blew, and sunbeams strayed, with the idle gallows-i-ope

And

The young

child played.

Whei-e the doomed victim

in

his cell

Had

counted

o'ei-

the weary hours,

100

POEMS OF NATIONAL
school-girls,

.SPIRIT.
bell,

Glad

answering to the

Came crowned with

Grown
I

flowers.

wiser for the lesson given,

I

fear no longer, for

know

That where the share is deepest driven The best fruits grow.

The outworn rite, the old abuse, The pious fraud transparent grown. The good held captive in the use Of wrong alone,

These wait their doom, from that great law Which makes the past time serve to-day;

And

fresher life the world shall

draw

From

their decay.

backward-looking son of time!

The new is old, the old is new, The cycle of a change sublime
Still

sweeping through.

So wisely taught the Indian seer Destroying Seva, forming Brahm, Who wake by turn Earth's love and
;

fear,

Are

one, the same.

Idly as thou, in that old day Thou mournest, did thy sire repine; So, in his time, thy child grown gray

Shall sigh for thine.

FREEDOM.
But life shall on and upward go; The eternal step of Progress beats To that great anthem, calm and slow,

IGl

Which God
I

repeats.

Take heart the Waster builds again, A charmed life old Goodness hath; The tares may perish, but the grain

Is not for death.

God works
His
first

Wake

in all things; all obey projmlsion from the night thou and watch the world is gray
!

With morning light! JOHX GREENLEAF

WIIITTIER.

FREEDOM OF THE MIND.

WRITTEN WHILE IN PRISON FOR DENOUNCING THE
DOMESTIC SLAVE-TRADE.

High walls and huge the body may

confine,

And iron gates obstruct the prisoner's gaze. And massive bolts may baffle his design.. And vigilant keepers watch his devious ways;
But scorns
the immortal
it

mind such base control:

and no cell enclose. Swifter than light it files from pole to pole, And in a fiash from earth to heaven it goes. It leaps from mount to mount; from vale to vale It wanders, plucking honeyed fruits and
chains can l)ind
llowers;
It visits

No

home

to

hear the fireside tale

afar.

And
'T
is

in sweet converse pass the joyous hours;

up before the sun, roaming

in its

And

watches wearies every star. WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. Yill 11

162

POEMS OF NATIONAL
THE PRESENT

SPIRIT.

CRISIS.

When
Runs

a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth's aching breast

a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west, And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul

within him climb

To

the awful verge of manhood, as the energy

sublime

Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny

stem of Time.

Through the walls

of hut and palace shoots the instantaneous throe.

When
At

the travail of the Ages wrings earth's sys-

tems to and fro;

the birth of each
start,

new Era, with

a recognizing

Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with mute

lij)S

apart.

And

glad Truth's yet mightier man-child leaps beneath the P'uture's heart.
Evil's
chill,

So the
a

triumph sendeth, with a terror and

to continent, the sense of

Under continent
ill.

coming

And

the slave, where'er he cowers, feels his sym-

pathies with God In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be dilmk up by the sod.
Till a

corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the nobler clod.

FREEDOM.
For
inaiikiiKl are

1G3

oue iu

spirit,

and au iusliuct

bears alouy;,

Kouud

tiie eartli's

eleetric circle, tlie swift flush

of right or wrong; Whether eoDscioiis or unconscious, yet

ity's vast

Human-

frame

Through

its

ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush

of joy or shame; In the gain or loss of oue race all the rest have

equal claim.

Once

to every

man and

nation comes the

moment

to decide, In the strife of Truth with

Falsehood, for the

good or evil side; Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight,
I'arls the goats u]ou the left hand,

and the sheep

upon the

right.

And

the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light. r^'

Hast thou chosen,

() my people, on whose party thou shall stand, Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the

(lust

against onr land?

't

Though

the cause of Evil pros{)er, yet

is

is

Truth

:il<n(>

strong,
1

And, albeit she wander outcast uow,

her throng

see

around
lier

Troops of beautiful, from all wrong.

tall

angels, to enshield

164

POEiMS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

the ages and the beacon-

Backward look across moments see,

That,

like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion's sea; Not an ear in court or market for the low fore-

boding cry

Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose feet earth's chaff must fly; Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed by.

Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old sys-

tems and the Word; Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on
the throne, Yet that scaffold sways the Future, and, behind the dim unknown,

Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.

We

see dimly in the Present

what

is

small and

Avhat

is

great.

Slow of faith, how weak an arm may turn the iron helm of fate, But the soul is still oracular; amid the market's
din.

List the

ominous stern whisper from the Delphic

cave Avithin, " They enslave their children's children

who make

compromise with sin."

FREEDOM.
I
brood,

165

Slavery, the earthborn Cyclops, fellest of the giant

Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched the earth with blood. Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our
I)urer day, Gro[es in yet unblasted regions for his miserable

prey
Shall

;
his gory fingers

we guide

where our helpless

children play?

Then

to side with Truth is noble

when we share
and
't is

her wretched crust.

Ere her cause bring fame and

profit,

pros-

perous to be just; Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside,

Doubting
cified.

in his abject spirit, till his

Lord

is

cru-

And

the multitude

make

virtue of the faith they

had denied.

Count me

o'er earth's chosen heroes,

they

were

souls that stood alone, While the men they agonized for hurled the con-

tumelious stone, Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden
Iteam incline

To

the side of perfect justice, mastered by their

faith divine,

By one man's

jihiin

truth to

manhood and

to God's

supreme design.

166

POEMS OF NATIONAL
feet I truck,

SPIRIT.

By

the light of biu-niug heretics Christ's bleeding

Toiling up

new Calvaries
mounts

ever with the cross that

tui-us not back,

And
One

of anguish number how each learned generation new word of that grand Credo which in

these

prophet-hearts hath burned Since the first man stood God-conquered with his
face to heaven upturned.

For Humanity sweeps ouAvard

martyr stands.

where to-day the

the silver in

On
Far

the

morrow crouches Judas with

his hands; in front the cross stands ready

ling fagots burn.

and the crackin silent

While the hooting mob of yesterday

return

awe

To glean up

the scattered ashes into History's

golden urn.
'T
is

as easy to be heroes as to
graves,

sit

the idle slaves

fathers'

Of a legendary virtue carved upon our

AYorshippers of light ancestral light a crime;

make

the present

Was

the Mayllower launched by cowards, steered

b}'

men behind

their time?

Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Plymouth rock sublime?
They were men
iconoclasts, of

present valor, stalwart old

FREEDOM.
Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that
the Past's;
all

167
virtue

was

But we make
that hath

their truth our falsehood, thinking

Hoarding

it in

made us free, mouldy parchments, while our

ten-

der spirits tiee The rude grasp of that Impulse which drove them across the sea.

They have rights who dare maintain them; we are

traitors to our sires, Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's newlit

altar-fires;

Shall
in

we make

their creed our jailor?

Shall we,

our haste to slay.

the tombs of the old prophets steal

From
To

the

funeral lamj)S away light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day?

New

occasions teach

new

duties;

Time makes
A\h<)

an-

cient good uncouth;

They must upward

still,

and onward,

would

keep abreast of Truth; before us gleam her camp-fires! Lo,

we

ourselves

must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and

Nor

steer boldly through the desperate winter sea. allcmpt the Future's portal with the Past's
l)h)od-rusted key.

December, 1845.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

1G8

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

THE LITTLE CLOUD.*

[1853.]

As when, on Carmers

sterile Steep,

The ancient prophet bowed the knee,

And

seven times sent his servant forth

sea;

To look toward the distant

There came at last a little cloud. Scarce larger than the human hand, Spreading and swelling till it broke In showers on all the herbless land;

'

And hearts were And praise to

As the

glad, and shouts went up, Israel's mighty God,

And

sear hills grew bright with flowers, verdure clothed the valley sod,

Even so our eyes have waited long; But now a little cloud appears, Si^reading and swelling as it glides

Onward

into the

coming years.
!

Bright cloud of Liberty

full soon.

Far stretching from the ocean strand, Thy glorious folds shall spread abroad,
.

Encircling our beloved land.

* Arousing of

An ti-SIavfery

agitation,
'

when

it

was

pro-

Missouri Coinpi'oraise " posed in Congress to al)olish tlie and throw open the Territories to slavery if tlieir people should so vote.

FREEDOM.
Like the sweet lain on Judali's
hills,

109

The glorious boon cf love And our bond millions shall

shall fall,
arise,

As

at an angel's trum[>et-call.

Then shall a shout of jov go up, The wild, glad cry of freedom come
I^rom hearts long crushed by cruel hands,

And

songs from lips long sealed and dumb;

And every bondman's chain be broke. And every soul that moves abroad
In this wide realm shall know and The blessed Liberty of God.
JOIIX
feel

aOWAKD BKYAXT.

BRO\yN OF 0>?SAWATOMIE.
John Brown
day
:

of Ossawatomib spake on his dying

"I
But

will not

have to shrive

my

soul a priest in

Slavery's pay;
let

some

jioor

slave-mother

whom

have

striven to free. With her children, from the gallows-stair put " for

up

a prayer

me

John Brown
die;

of

Ossawatomie, they led him out to

little

And

lol a

jxmr shivo-mothor with her

:

child

pressed nigh STben the bold, blue eye grew tender, and the old harsh face grew mild.

170

POEMS OF NATIONAL
kissed the negro's child
!

SPIRIT.
and

As he stooped between

the jeering ranks

The shadows of
apart,

his

stormy

life

that

moment

fell

And
That

they
kiss

who blamed
;

the bloody hand forgave

the loving heart

from

all its

guilty

means redeemed the

good intent, And round the grisly

aureole bent!

fighter's hair the martyr's

Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil

good

Long

live the

human

generous purpose unstained with blood

!

Not the raid of midnight terror, but the thought which underlies; Not the borderer's pride of daring, but the Christian's sacrifice.

Nevermore may you

rifle

I>lue

Ridges the Northern

Nor
But

hear, see the light of blazing

homes

flash

on the

negro's spear; let the free-winged angel Truth their guarded

passes scale,

To teach that right is more than might, and tice more than mail
!

jus-

So vainly shall Virginia set her battle in array; In vain her trampling squadrons knead the winter

snow with

clay!

FREEDOM.
;

171

She may strike the pouncing eagle, but she dares not harm the dove And every gate she bars to Hate shall oi^en wide to Love!

JOHN GKEENLEAF WHITTIER.

WORDS FOR THE ''HALLELUJAH

CHORUS."
JoHX Brown's body lies a-moldering in the grave, John Brown's body lies slumbering in his grave But John Brown's soul is marching with the

brave,

His soul

is

marching on.
!

Glory, glory, hallelujah

Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah His soul is marching on.
I

He
He
He

has gone to be a soldier in the

Army

of the

Lord
is

sworn as a private
Lord,

in

the ranks of

the

shall stand at

Armageddon with
is

his brave old

sword,

When Heaven
He
shall
file

marching on.

in

front where the lines of battle

He

form. shall face to front

form Time with the column, and charge in the storm, Where men are marching on.

when

the squares of battle

172

POEMS OF NATIONAL
!

SPIRIT.

Ah, foul Tyrants! do je hear him where he comes? Ah, black traitor do ye know him as he comes, In thunder of the cannon and roll of the drums, As we go marching on?

Men may Men may

die,

die,

and molder in the dust and arise again from dust,

in the
is

Shoulder to shoulder,

ranks of the Just,

When Heaven

marching *&

on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! His soul is marching on.

HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL.

BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.

Mine
eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord
:

He

is

tramj)ling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift

He hath

sword

His truth
I

is

marching

on.

have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred

in

circling camps; They have builded him an altar dews and damps;
I

the evening
'

"''

can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps: His day is marching on.

FREEDOM.
I

173

have read a

fiery gosx>el,
:

writ in burnislied rows

of steel

"

As ye

deal witli

my

grace Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on."

sliall

contemners,, so with deal ;

you

my

He He

has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never

is

call retreat; sifting out the hearts of

men

before his

judgment-seat:
O, be swift,

my
feet

soul, to
I

answer him! be jubilant,

my

Our God

is

marching on.
lilies

In the beauty of the

the sea,
"NA'ith

Christ

was born across

a glory in his

bosom that transfigures you

holv, let us die to

and me; As he died

to

make men
free,
is

make

men

While God

marching on.
JULIA

WAKD HOWE.

JOHN CHARLES FREMONT.*

Thy
error,

Fremont, simplj^ was to act

brave man's part, without the statesman's tact. And, taking counsel but of common sense.

To

strike at cause as well as consequence.

* Fremont's proclamation of martial law in Missouri, in August, LSOl, (iHclariiig free all slaves of Txfbcls, was re-

ceived willi ardor

i,>y

tl>e

Nortli, but annulled

by President

Lincoln as premature.

174

POEMH OF NATIONAL

>SPIRIT.

O, never yet since Roland wound his horn At lloncesvtilles has a bhist been blown

Far-heard, wide-echoed, startling as thine own, Heard from the van of freedom's hope forlorn
It

had been

safer, doubtless, for the time,

To flatter treason, and avoid offence To that Dark l'o\\'er whose underlying crime
Heaves upward
But,
if

its perpetual turbulence. thine be the fate of all who break

The ground
years

for

truth's

seed,

or

forerun

their

Till lost in distance, or

with stout hearts make

lane for freedom through the level spears, Still take thou courage! God has spoken through
thee,

Be free! The land shakes with them, and the slave's dull ear Turns from the rice-swamp stealthily to hear. Who would recall them now must first arrest The winds that blow down from the free NorthIrrevocable, the mighty words.

west,

KuHling the Gulf; or

like a scroll roll

back

The ^Mississippi to its upper springs. Such words fulfil their prophecy, and lack But the full time to harden into things.
JOHN GREENLEAF WIIITTIER.

HEROES.
The winds
Have
that once the
l>y
is

Argo bore

died

Neptune's ruined shrines.

the diift of the deep-sea floor, of Pelion's tallcjst pines.

And

her hull

Though shaped

FREEDOM.
You may
seek her crew on every isle Fair in the fonm of ^gean seas, But out of their rest no charm can wile

175

Jason and Orpheus and Hercules.

And Priam's
Iy

wail
II

is

heard no more

windy
'*

ion's sea-built walls;

Nor

<;reat Achilles,

stained with gore,

't is

Shouts

ye

j>ods,

Hector

falls!

"

On

mount is the shinino; snow, Jove has j>()ne from its brow away; And red on the plain the ]oppies jirow Where the Greek and the Trojan fouj^ht that
hla's
l>ut

day.

Mother

Eartli. are ihe heroes

dead?
years no
iiiore'.^

Do

they

thrill ilic soul of (lie

Are the

gleamini;
is left

snows and the poppies red

of the brave of yore?

All that

Are there none to fight as Theseus fought. Far in the young world's misty dawn? Or teach as gray-haired Nestor taught? Mother Earth, are the heroes gone?

Gone? In a grander form they rise. Dead? \\'e may clasp their hands

And

in ours. catch the li^ht of tlieir clearer eyes. .\nd wreathe their brows with immortal flowers.
is

Whei'ever a noble deed

'T
is

done,

the pulse of a hero's heart is stirred; ^^'heleveI Kiglit has a Iriuiiijili won,
Tiiere are the heroes' voices heard.

!l76

P0E3LS

OF"

NATIONAL

fiPIRIT.

Their armor rings on a fairer field Tliau the Greek and the Trojan fiercely trod; For Freedom's sword is the blade they wield, And the gleam above is the smile of God.
So, in his isle of calm delight, Jason may sleep the years away

For the heroes

live,
is

And

the world

and the sky is a braver world

bright,
to-day.

EDNA DEAX PKOOTOK.

LAUS DEO!
[On hearing
tutional

the bells ring

on the passage of the Consti-

Amendment
It
is

abolishing slavery.]

done!

Clang of bell and roar of gun Send the tidings up and down. How the belfries rock and reel How the great guns, peal on peal, Fling the joy from town to town!
!

Ring, O bells! Every stroke exulting tells

Of the burial hour of crime. Loud and long, that all may hear. King for every listening ear Of Eternitv and Time!
Let us kneel God's own voice is in that peal. And this spot is holy ground. Lord, forgive us! What are we. That our eyes this glory see, That our ears have heard the sound!
:

FREEDOM.
For the Lord

177

On
I

the whirhvind

is

abroad

In the eaithquake he has spoken He has smitten with his thunder The iron walls asunder, And the gates of brass are broken
;
!

Loud and long

Lift the old exulting song; Sing with Miriam bv the sea:

He

has cast the mighty down

!

Horse and rider sink and drown; He has triumphed gloriously

Did we dare,
In our agony of prayer, Ask for more than He has done?
^^'hen

was ever

his right

hand
the sun?

Over any time or land

Stretched as

now beneath

How

they pale,

Ancient myth and song and tale, In this wonder of our days, When the cruel rod of war Blossoms white with righteous law. And the wrath of man is praise
I

Blotted out!
All within

and

all

about

Shall a fresher

life bt'giu;

Freer breathe the universe

As it rolls its heavy curse On the dead and buried sin.

VIII

12

178

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
It is done! In the circuit of the sun

SPIRIT.

Shall the sound thereof go forth. It shall bid the sad rejoice,
It shall give the dumb a voice. It shall belt with joy the earth
!

King and swing,

Bells of joy! On morning's Send the song of praise abroad

wing
!

With a sound

of broken chains,

Tell the nations that

He

reigns.
!

Who

alone

is

Lord and God

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.,

A HOLY NATION.
Let Liberty run onward with the
years,

And

circle with the seasons; let her

break

The tyrant's harshness, the oppressor's sjtears; Bring ripened recompenses that shall make Supreme amends for sorrow's long arrears;

Drop holy benison on hearts that ache; Put clearer radiance into human eyes,

And

set the glad earth singing to the skies.

Clean natures coin pure statutes. Let us cleanse The hearts that beat within us; let us mow Clear to the roots our falseness and pretence, Tread down our rank ambitions, overthrow

Our braggart moods

of puffed self-consequence,

Plough, up our hideous thistles which do grov,' Faster than maize in May time, and strike dead The base infections our low greeds have bred.

RICHARD REALF.

in.

WAR.
BATTLE OF THE ANGELS.
FROM
" PARADISE LOST/'

BOOK

VI.

THE ARRAY.
forth the morn, arrayed in jiold Empyreal; from before her vanished night, Shot through with orient beams; when all the

Now went

Such as

in liiyhest heaven,

plain

Covered with thick embattled squadrons bright, Chariots, and (laming arms, and fiery steeds. Reflecting blaze on blaze, first met his view.

The apostate

in

his sun-bright cliariot sat,

Idol of majesty divine, enclosed

With (laming cherubim, and golden shields; Then lighted from his gorgeous throne, for now 'Twix( host and host but narrow space was left,

dreadful interval, and front to front

in terrible

Presented stood

array

Of hideous length: before the cloudy van, On the rough edge of battle ere it joined,
179

180

P0E3IS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

towering, armed in

Satan, with vast and haughty strides advanced,

Came

adamant and

gold.

THE CONFLICT.
Michael bid sound

The

archangel heaven

trumpet;

through

the

vast

of

It sounded, and the faithful armies rung Hosanna to the Highest nor stood at gaze The adverse legions, nor less hideous joinedThe horrid shock. Now storming fury rose, And clamor, such as heard in heaven till now Was never; arms on armor clashing brayed Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots raged dire was the noise Of conflict; overhead the dismal hiss
:

Of

fiery

And

darts in flaming volleys flew, flying vaulted either host with fire.

So under flery cojie together rushed Both battles main, with ruinous assault

And

inextinguishable rage. All heaven Resounded; and had earth been then, all earth

Had

to her centre shook.

Deeds of eternal fame for wide w^as spread That war, and various: sometimes on firm ground A standing fight, then, soaring on main wing. Tormented all the air; all air seemed then

Were

done, but infinite

Conflicting

fire.

WAR.
Fortliwith (behold tlie excellence, the power Which (lod hath in his mighty angels placed!) Their arms awav threw, and to the hills

181

(For earth hath this variety from heaven,

Of pleasures situate

in hill

and dale),

Light as the lightning glimpse they ran, they flew, From their foundations loosening to and fro.

They plucked the seated hills, with all their load, Rocks, waters, woods, and by the shaggy tops Uplifting bore them in their hands: amaze,

Be

sure,

and

terror, seized the rebel host,

^Mien coming towards them so dread they saw The bottom of the mountains upward turned, and on their heads Main promontories ilung, which in the air Came shadowing, and oppressed whole legions
.
. . .

armed

Their armor helped their harm, crushed in and bruised

Into Iheir substance pent, which wrought them

pain Implacable, and many a dolorous groan; Long struggling underneath, ere thev could wind Out of such prison, though si)irits of purest light,

Purest at

first,

now

gross by sinning grown.

The

rest, in imitation, to like

arms

Betook them, and the neighboring hills uptore: So hills amid the air encountered hills. Hurled to and fro with jaculation dire, That iinderground the}' fought in dismal shade; Infernal noise! war seemed a civil game

To

this uproar; horrid confusion Ui)on confusion rose.

heaped

182

POEMS OF NATIONAL
THE
VICTOR.

SPIRIT.

So spake the Son, aud iuto terror changed His conntenance too severe to be beheld, And full of wrath bent on his enemies.

At once the Four spread out theii starry wings With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs
Of his fierce chariot Of torrent floods, or
rolled, as

with the sound

of a

impious foes Gloomy as night: under his burning wheels The steadfast empyrean shook througliout. All but the throne itself of God. Full soon Among them he arrived in his right hand Grasping ten thousand thimders, which he Before him, such as in their souls infixed
his
;

He on

numerous host. right onward drove,

s'ent

Plagues: they, astonished, all resistance lost, All courage; down their idle weapons dropt; O'er shields, and helms, and helmed heads he rode Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrate,

That wished the mountains now might be again Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire. Nor less on either side tempestuous fell His arrows, from the fourfold-visaged Four Distinct with ejes, and from the living wheels
Distinct alike with multitude of eyes;

One

spirit in

them ruled; and

ever}^

eye

Glared lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire Among the accursed, that withered all their

And

strength. of their wonted vigor left

them drained,

Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fallen. Yet half his strength he put not forth, but checked

WAR.
:

183

Ilis tliunder in mid volley; for he meant Kot to destroy, but root them out of heaven The overthrown he raised, and as a herd Of goats or timorous flock together thronged. Drove them before him thunderstruck, pursued AVith terrors and with furies, to the bounds

And

crystal wall of heaven; which, opening wide, Kolled inward, and a spacious gap disclosed Into the wasteful deep the monstrous sight
:

Struck them with horror backward, but far worse Urged them behind headlong themselves they
:

threw Do\\n from the verge of heaven eternal wrath Burnt after them to the bottomless pit.
;

MILTON.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

FROM
'^

HKliREW

MELODIES/^
like the

The Assyrian came down

fold,

wolf on the
purple and
like stars

And

his

cohorts were gleaming in

And

gold; the sheen of their spears the sea,

tlie

was

on

iWhen

blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when

summer

is

green. That host with their banners at sunset were seen:

Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath

blown.

That

liost

on the morrow lay withered and strown.

184

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
of
blast,

.SPIRIT.

For the Angel

Death spread his wings on the

And And And

breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;

the eyes of the sleepers
chill,

waxed deadly and

and forever

their hearts but once heaved, grev^ still!

And

there

lay
it

the

steed

with

his

nostril

all

wide.

But through
:

there rolled not the breath of his

pride And the foam of his gasping lay white on the

turf.

And
And

cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

With the dew on

mail
;

there lay the rider distorted and pale, his brow, and the rust on his

And
The

the tents were all silent, the banners alone, lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And And And

the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, the idols are broke in the temple of Baal
;

the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

LOUD BYRON.

WAR.

185

THE SCHOOL OF WAR.

PROM
Tamburlaine.
list
*''

TAMI'.UULAINE/^
off

But now, my boys, leave

and

you rudiments of war: upon the ground, March in your armor through watery fens. Sustain the scorching heat and freezing cold, Hunger and thirst, right adjuncts of the war, That
I
'11

to me, mean to teach

iiave

you learn to sleep

And

after this to scale a castle wall.

And make whole

Besiege a fort, to undermine a town. cities caper in the air.

Then next the way to fortify your men: In champion grounds, what figure serves you best, For which the <)uinque-angle form is meet. Because the corners there may fall more flat
^^'llereas the fort

mav

fittest

be assailed,

sharpest where the assault is desperate. The ditches must be deep; the counterscarps Narrow and steep the walls made high and broad ; The bulwarks and the rampires large and strong, With cavalieros and thick counterforts. And room within to lodge six thousand men. It must have privy ditches, countermines.
;

And

And
It

secret issuiugs to defend the ditch;

must have high argins and covered ways, To keep the bulwark fronts from battery,

And
And May

parapets to hide the musketers;

j)lace the great artillery; store of ordnance, that from every flank

Casemates to

scour the outward curtains of the fort.

186

P0E3IS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

Dismount the cannon of the adverse part, Murder the foe, and save the walls from breach.
this is learned for service on the land. plain and easy demonstration I '11 teach you how to make the water mount, That you may dry-foot march through lakes and

When
By

pools.

Deep

rivers, havens, creeks,

and

little seas,

And make

a fortress in the raging waves, Fenced with the concave of monstrous rock,
Invincible by nature of the place.

When this is done then are ye soldiers. And worthy sous of Tamburlaiue the Great. Calyphas. My lord, but this is dangerous
be done
:

to

We may
And

be slain or

Tamburlainb.

Villain!

wounded

ere

we

learn.

Art thou the son of

Tamburlaiue,
fear'st to die, or

with a curtle-axe

To hew thy flesh, and make a gaping wound? Hast thou beheld a peal of ordnance strike A ring of jtikes, mingled with shot and horse.

Whose

shattered limbs, being tossed as high as

Heaven,

Hang in the air as thick as sunny motes. And canst thou, coward, stand in fear of death? Hast thou not seen my horsemen charge the foe.
Shot through the arms, cut overthwart the hands, their lances with their streaming blood. And yet at night carouse within my tent. Filling their empty veins with airy wine. That, being concocted^ turns to crimson blood, And wilt thou shun the field for fear of wounds?

Dyeing

WAR.
View

187

And

1110, tli.v father, that hath conquered kings, with his horse marched round about tlie earth

Quite void of scars and clear from any wound, That by the wars lost not a drop of blood,

And

see

him lance
is

his flesh to teach

you {He cuts

all.

his arm.)

A wound
Blood
is

nothing, be it ne'er so deep; tlie i2(d of war's rich liverv.

I

ZS'ow look

like a soldier,

and

this

wound

As As

great a grace and majesty' to me, if a chain of gold, enamelled,

rubies,
fairest jtearl of

Knchased with diamonds, sapphires,

And

wealthy India, Were mounted here under a canop}'. And 1 sate down clothed with a massy robe, That late adorned the Afric potentate, Whom 1 brought bound unto Damascus' walls. Come, boys, and with your fingers search my

wound.

And

in
1

my

blood wash

all

your hands at once,

sit smiling to behold the sight. While Now, mv bovs, what think ve of a wound?

Calyphas.
it;

know not what

it

should think of

metliinks

is

Celeiunus.
father.

"T

a pitiful sight.

is

nothing: give

me

a wound,

Amvkas.

And me another, my lord. Ta.mi'.irlaixe. Come, give

sii-i-ah,

me your
as

arm. Celeiunts.

Here,
It
:

father,

cut

it

bra\ely,

as you did your own.

Tamiuulaine.
abide a

shall

sullice

thou

darest

wound

188

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

boy, thou shalt not lose a di'op of blood Before we meet the army of the Turk; But theu run desperate through the thickest

My

throngs,

Dreadless of blows, of bloody wounds, and death

And

let

the burning of Larissa-walls,

speech of war, and this my wound you see, my boys, to bear courageous minds, Fit for the followers of great Tamburlaine!

My

Teach you,

CHRISTOPHEK MARLOWE.

CATILINE TO THE ROMAN ARMY.

FROM
'^

CATILINE," ACT

V.

SC. 2.

Sound

all to

arms!

Call in the captains,

flourish (To on

{A

of trumpets.)

officer.)
!

would speak with them

officer goes.)

Death! Now, Hope! Welcome the clanging shield, the trumpet's yell, Welcome the feyer of the mounting blood. That makes wounds light, and battle's crimson
toil

away, and welcome gallant

{The

Seem but a sport, and welcome the Where soldiers with their upturned

cold bed,
faces
lie,

And welcome

wolf's and vulture's hungry throats, That make their sepulchres! We fight to-night.

{The soldiery enter.) I disdain ruined Centurions from truth the To hide you. The die is thrown! wishes for long life that And now, let each
!

all is

WAR.
I

189

Put up his sword, and kneel for peace to Eome. Ye all are free to go. What no man stirs Not one a soldier's spirit in you all? Give me your hands (This moisture in my eyes
I
I

Is

womanish, 'twill

AVell have

you
is

pass.) chosen to die!

My

noble hearts!

For, in

my

mind,

The grave

better than o'erburdened life; Better the quick release of glorious wounds,

Tlian the eternal taunts of galling tongues; Better the spear-head quivering in the heart, Than daily struggle against fortune's curse;
lett(M',

To

in manhood's muscle and high blood, leap the gulf, than totter to its edge
]>ain,

In poverty, dull

Once more,
Then, each

say,

are ye resolved'?
A

and base decay.

"

(TJie soldiers sJiout,

AUl AH!")

man

That he would We storm the Consul's camp.

to his tent, and take the arms love to die in, for, this hour,
last farewell
!

[He takes

their hands.)

When

How
Few
That

meet, we '11 have no time to look, parting clouds a soldier's countenance. as we are, we '11 rouse them with a peal

next

we

shall shake

Rome!
;

Now

to

your cohorts' heads

!

the

word

's

Re-

venge

GEORGE CROLY.

190

POEMS OF NATIONAL
CARACTACUS.

SPIRIT.

Before proud Rome's imi^erial throne In mind's uuconquered mood, As if the triumph were his own, The dauntless captive stood.

Had

None, to have seen his free-born fancied him a captive there.

air,

Though, through the crowded streets of Rome,

With slow and stately tread. Far from his own loved island home. That day in triumph led,

Unbound his head, unbent his knee, Undimmed his eye, his aspect free.

free

and

fearless glance he cast

On temple, By which the

arch,

and tower.

long procession passed

of a scornful smile
lip the while.

Of Rome's victorious power;

And somewhat

Upcurled his haughty

And now he
Where

stood, with brow serene. slaves might prostrate fall.

Bearing a Briton's manly mien In Caesar's palace hall Claiming, with kindled brow and cheek,
;

The

liberty e'en there to speak.

Nor could Rome's haughty

lord withstand

The claim that look preferred,

WAR.
But motioned with uplifted hand The suppliant should be heard, If he indeed a supjtliant were Whose glance demanded audience there.

191

Deep

stillness fell

on

all

the crowd,

From Claudius on

his throne

Down
At

to the

meanest slave that bowed

his imperial throne; Silent his fellow-cajjtive's grief

As
"

fearless spoke the Island Chief:

Think

And master
Though

not, thou eagle Lord of of the world,

Rome,

victory's banner o'er thy dome lu triumph now is furled, I would address thee as thy slave, But as the bold should greet the brave!

"

might, perchance, could

vassal's throne.

have deigned

To hold a
E'en

now
king

in Britain's isle
in

have reigned

name

alone,

Yet hohling, as lliy meek ally, A monarch's mimic pageantry.

"

Then through Kome's crowded

1

streets to-day

might have rode with thee, Not in a captive's base array,

But
1

fetterless

and

free,

freedom he could hope to find, AVhose bondage is of heart and mind.

f

192
"

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

^SPIRIT.

But canst thou marvel that, freeborn, With heart aud soul unquelled, Throne, crown, and sceptic I should scorn,

By thy permission held? Or that I should retain my

Till
^'

right

wrested by a conqueror's might?

Rome, with her palaces and towers,

By

us unwished, unreft,

Her homely huts and woodland bowers To Britain might have left;
Worthless to vou their wealth must But dear to us, for they were free!
" I might have
be,

bowed

before, but

where

Had

been thy triumph

now?

To my resolve no yoke to bear Thou ow'st thy laurelled brow; Inglorious victory had been thine, And more inglorious bondage mine.
"

have spoken, do thy will ; or death mv lot, Since Britain's throne no more I fill, To me it matters not. My fame is clear; but on my fate
I

Now
Be

life

Thy

glory or thy

shame must wait."

all

He

ceased

from

around upsprung

A murmur

of applause.

For well had truth and freedom's tongue

Maintained their holv cause.

The concpieror

He bade

Avas the captive then; the slave be free again.

BERNARD BARTON.

WAR.

193

SEMrROXIUS' SrEECH FOR WAR.

FROM
"

CATO," ACT
for war.

II.

SC.

1.

My
I

voice

is still

Gods tau a Koinan senate long debate ^Vl^icll of the two to choose, slavery or death? No;
let

And

us rise at once, gird on our swords, at the head of our remaining troops

Attack the foe, break through the thick array Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon
him.

Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, Slav reach his heart, and free the world from
Rise
't is Rome demands your help and revenge her slaughtered citizens, Or share their fate! The corjjse of half her
I

bondage. Fathers, rise

Rise,

senate

Manures the

fields of

Thessaly, while

we

Sit here deliberating, in cold debate, If we should sacrifice our lives to honor,

Or wear

Ihcin out in servitude and chains. Rouse up, for shame! our brothers of IMiarsalia Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, ''To

battle

"
:

Great Ponijiey's shade complains that we are slow, And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us. JOSEPH ADDISON.
VIII

13

194

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

THE DI]ATH OF LEONIDAS.

was the wild midnight, storm was on the sky; The lightning gave its light,
It

And

the thunder echoed by.

The torrent swept the glen, The ocean lashed the shore; Then rose the Spartan men, To make their bed in gore!
Swift from the deluge ground Three hundred took the shield; Then,
silent,

gathered round
of the held
!

The leader

He spake no warrior word. He bade no trumpet blow,

But the
signal tliunder roared.

And
The

they rushed upon the foe.

iiery element Showed, with one mighty gleam, Rampart, and flag, and tent, Like the spectres of a dream.

All

All

up the mountain's side. down the woody vale.

All by the rolling tide Waved the Persian banners pale.

WAR.
And foremost from the pass, Among the sliimberiug' baud,
Sprang King Leouidas,
Like the lightning's living brand.

195

Then double darkness

fell,

And

the forest ceased

its

moan

But there came a clash

of steel,

And

a distant dying groan.

Anon, a trumpet blew,

And
That

a fiery sheet burst high,

o'er the

midnight threw

A A

blood-red canopy.

host glared on the hill; host glared by the bay;

stilly

But the Greeks rushed onward

Like leopards in their play.

The

air

was

all

yell.

And tlie earth was all a flame, Where the vSjjartau's bloody steel On the silken turbans came;

And

still

the Greek rushed on

Where

the fiery torrent rolled,

Till like a rising

sun

Shone Xerxes' tent of gold.

They found a royal feast. His midnight ban(iuet, there;

196

POEMS OF NATIONAL
And
Lay beneath

SPIRIT.

the treasures of the East

the Doric spear.

Then sat to the repast The bravest of the brave That feast must be their Last, That spot must be their grave.
!

They pledged old Sparta's name

In cups of Syrian wine,

And the warrior's deathless fame Was sung in strains divine.

They took the rose-wreathed lyres From eunuch and from slave,

And

taught the languid wires,

gave.

The sounds that Freedom

But now the morning star Crowned CEta's twilight brow; And the Persian horn of war

From

the hills began to blow.

Up

rose the glorious rank.

To Greece one cup poured high, Then hand in hand they drank,

"To

immortality!

"

Fear on King Xerxes fell, When, like spirits from the tomb, With shout and trumpet knell, He saw the warriors come.

WAR.

197

But down swept all his power, With chariot and with charge;
Till

Down

poured the arrows' shower, sank the Dorian's targe.

tent.

Thev gathered round the

With all their strength unstrung; To Greece one look thev sent. Then on high their torches flung.
The king sat on the throne. His captains by his side, While the flame rushed roaring

on,

And

their Ptean loud replied.

Thus fought the Greek of old! Thus will he fight again Shall not the self-same mould
!

Bring forth the self-same men? GEOUGE CROLY.

SONG OF THE GREEKS.

[1821.]

Again

to the battle. Achaians!

Our liearts bid the tyrants defiance; Our land, the first garden of Liberty's-tree, Has been, and shall yot be. tlie land of tho

free;

For the cross of our faith is rejdanted. The pale dying crescent is daunted. And we march that the footprints of Mahomet's
slaves

198

POEMS OF NATIONAL
be

SPIRIT.
from our
fore-

May

washed out

in

blood

fathers' graves.

And
!

Their spirits are hovering o'er us, the sword shall to glory restore us.

Ah what though no succor advances, Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances Are stretched in our aid? Be the combat our own And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone; For we 've sworn by our country's assaulters.

By the virgins they 've dragged from our altars, By our massacred patriots, our children in chains. By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins, That, living, we will be victorious,
Or
that, dying,

our deaths shall be glorious.

breath of submission
've

The sword that we

not:
Its scabbard is left

we breathe not drawn we will sheathe

:

And

where our martyrs are laid. the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade.
fire

Earth may hide, waves engulf,

consume us;
:

But they
If

they

shall not to slavery doom us rule, it shall be o'er our ashes

:

graves

and

But we

've

smote them already with

fire

on the

waves,

And new triumphs on

To
the charge
!

Heaven's banner

land are before us

is o'er us.

This day

shall

Or brighten your

ye blush for its story; lives with its glory?

WAR.

199

Our women oh, say, shall they shriek in despair, Or embrace us from conquest, with wreaths in
their hair?

Accursed may his memory blacken, If a coward there be that would slacken Till we 've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth Being sj)rung from and named for, the godlike
of earth.

Strike

home! and

the world shall revere us

As

heroes descended from heroes.

Old Greece lightens

uj)

with emotion!

Her
Fanes

inlands, her isles of the ocean.

rebuilt,

and

fair towns, shall with jubilee

ring.

And

the Nine shall

spring.

new hallow

their Helicon's

Our hearts shall l)e kindled in gladness. That were cold, and extinguished in sadness;
Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white

waving arms,
Ringing joy to the brave that delivered their charms, When tiie blood of yon Mussulman cravens Shall have crimsoned the beaks of our ravens THOMAS CAMPBELL.

200

P0E3IS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

MARCO BOZZARIS.
[at
LASPI

ANCIENT PLAT.T3A

AUGUST

20, 1823.]

At

midnight, in his guarded tent,

of the

The Turk was dreaming

hour

When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power. In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
conqueror; In dreams his song of triumph heard Then wore his monarch's signet-ring. Then pressed that monarch 's throne a king; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's fe^ garden bird.
;

Tlie trophies of a

At midnight,

in the forest shades,

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand.

There had the Persian's thousands stood. There had the glad earth drunk their blood, On old Plata?a's day And now there breathed that haunted air
;

The sons of sires who conquered there, With arm to strike, and soul to dare, As quick, as far, as they.

An hour

He woke to
"

passed on, the Turk awoke: That bright dream was his last;

To arms Greek!"

hear his sentries shriek, the Greek they come

!

the

WAR.
He woke to die And shout, and
And

201

midst flame, and smoke,

groan, and sabre-stroke, death-shots falling thick and fast

the mountain-cloud;

As lightnings from

And

"Strike

the last armed foe expires; Strike for your altars and your Strike for the green graves of your
till

heard, with voice as trumpet loud, llozzaris cheer his band

:

fires;

sires,

" God, and your native land

!

They fought like brave men, long and well; They ])iled that ground with Moslem slain: They conquered but Bozzaris fell,

Bleeding at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their proud hurrah,
.

And

the red field

in

was won

Then saw

death his eyelids close

Calmly, as to a night 's repose. Like flowers at set of sun.

Come to the bridal chamber. Come to the mother, when

For the
first

Death, she feels.

Come when

time, her first-born's breath; the blessed seals

That close the pestilence are broke. And crowded cities wail its stroke;

Come
TIio

in consumjjtion's

ghastly form,

earthqunke shock, the ocean storm;

Come when And thou

the hoait beats high and warm. With banquet song and dance and wine,

art terrible

the tear,

202

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all Ave know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine.
to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free. Thy voice sounds like a prophet's Avord,

But

And

in its holloAv tones are

heard

The thanks

Come when Come with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought Come in her crowning hour, and then Thy sunken eye'S unearthly light
; ;

of millions yet to be. his task of fame is wronght

To him is welcome as the sight Of sk}^ and stars to prisoned men; ThA' grasp is welcome as the hand Of brother in a foreign land; Tlw summons Avelcome as the crv
That told the Indian
isles

were nigh

To the world-seeking Genoese,

When the land-wind, from Avoods of palm, And orange-groves, and fields of balm,
Blew
o'er the

Haytian

seas.

with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Kest thee; there is no prouder grave.
Bozzaris
!

Even in her own proud clime. She wore no funeral weeds for thee. Nor bade the dark hearse waA'e its plume, Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, In sorrow's pomp and pageantry. The heartless luxury of the tomb.

WAR.
But she remembers thee as one

203

Long loved, and for a season gone. For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, Her marble wrought, her music breathed; For thee she rings the birthday bolls; Of thee her babes' first lisping tells; For thine lier evening prayer is said At palace couch and cottage bed. Her soldici', closing wilh the foe,
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow; His plighted maiden, when she fonrs For him, the joy of her young years, Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears. And she, the mother of thy boys. Though in her eye and faded cheek
Is read the grief she will not speak, The memory of her buried joys,

And

even she

who gave

theo birth,

Will, by her pilgrim-circled hearth. Talk of thy doom without a sigh;

For thou art freedom's now, and fame's, One of the few, the immortal names That were not born to die.

FITZ-GUEEXE IIALLECK.

HARMOSAN.
Now
And
the third and fatal conflict for the Persian

throne was done. the Moslem's fiery valor had the crowning
victory won.

204

POEMS OF NATIONAL
last

SPIRIT.
to

Harmosan, the
defy,

and boldest the invader

Captive, overborn by numbers, they were bringing forth to die.

Then exclaimed that noble captive:

in m}' thirst;

"

Lo, I perish
let

Give

me

rive the

but one drink of water, and worst "

!

then ar-

In his hand he took the goblet

but awhile the

draught forbore,

Seeming doubtfully the purpose

explore.

of the

foeman

to

Well might then have paused the bravest for, around him, angry foes With a hedge of naked weapons did the lonely

man
"

enclose.

thou? " cried the caliph; " is it, friend, a secret blow? Fear it not! our gallant Moslems no such treacherous dealing know.

But what

fear'st

"

Thou may'st quench thy

shalt not die before

thirst securely, for thou

Thou hast drunk that cup is thine no more "

of water

this reprieve

Quick the satrap dashed the goblet down to earth with ready hand, And the liquid sank forever, lost amid the burning sand.

WAR.
"

205

Thou hast

said that mine

my

life

is,

till

the

water of that cup have drained; then bid thy servants that spilled water gather up "
I

For a moment stood the caliph as by doubtful passions stirred

" For ever sacred must remain a monarch's word. Bring another cup, and straightway to the noble

Then exclaimed

Persian give:

Drink, I said l)efore, and perish drink and live "

!

now

bid thee

RICHARD CIIEXEVIX TRENCH.

BATTLE SCENE.
FROM
"

THE
''

CID."

Then

cried

rescue

my " ho
I

Cid

In

charity,

as

to

the

With bucklers braced before

lances pointing low,

their breasts, with

With stooping
All firm of

crests

and heads bent down above

of heart they roll

the saddle-bow,

hand and high

upon

the foe.

And

he that in a good hour was born, his clarion

ai-Jiis

voice rings out. And clear above the clang of

liattio

is

lioard his

shout

"Among

them, gentlemen
!

Strike

home

fur the

love of charity

206

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

.SPIRIT.

The champion of Bivar is here Ruy Diaz I am he!" Then bearing where Bermuez still maintains unequal
fight,

Three hundred lances down they come, their pennons flickering white Down go three hundred Moors to earth, a man to every blow And when they wheel, three hundred more, as charging back the^^ go. It was a sight to see the lances rise and fall that
; ;

day;

The shivered shields and riven mail,

thick they lay
;

to see

how

The pennons that went

gory red
;

in

snow-white came out a

the riders
lying
"

The horses running

dead
AVhile
;

riderless,

Moors

call

on

Mohammed,
more

and
in

St.

James!"

And

the Christians cry. sixty score of Moors and

lie.

narrow

compass

From the Spanish. Translation of JOHN OKMSBY.

THE LORD OF BUTRAGO.

"
is faint, my King, my Lord your is sick, horse gallant His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick;

Your horse

Mount, mount on mine, thee, mount and fly

O mount
!

apace, I i)ray

WAR.
Or
in

207

my arms
King,

'11

lift
niji;li

your Grace,
!

their tram
to

pliug hoofs are

"My

my

King,! you're Avounded sore,

;

the blood runs from your feet

I>ut only lay a

hand

before,

and

I "II

lift

you

vour seat; Mount, Juan, for thej gather fasti

coming cry,

hear their

Mount, mount, and ride for jeo])ardy, you though I die!

"

'11

save

Stand, noble steed tle as a lamb;

'11

this

hour of need,
thy

kiss the

foam from
am,

ter dear I

off

be genmouth, thy masbetide,

Mount, Juan, mount; whate'er

bridle lling.

away

the

And
"

iiunge the rowels shall save my King!

in

his

side.

My

horse

Xay, never speak; my sires. Lord King, received their land from yours,
joyfully their blood shall spring, so be thine secures
;

And
If
I

it

should My, and thou,

my

King,

b(^

found

among

the dead,
1

IIow could stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head?

"Castile's

proud dames

shall

never

point

the

And

finger of disdain. say there's one

thai
!

ran

away when our

g(od l(rds wei'c slain

208
I

POEMS OF NATIONAL
Diego
in
;

SPIRIT.
'11

leave

your

care^

you

fill

liis

father's place Strike, strike the spur,

and never spare " blessing on your Grace

!

God's

So spake the brave Montauez, Butrago's lord was

he;

And

turned him to the coming host in steadfast-

He He

ness and glee; flung himself among them, as they the hill,

came down

died,

God wot but not

!

before his sword had

the Spanish.

drunk

its

fill.

From
Translation of

JOHN

GIBSON"

LOCKHAKT.

HAKON'S DEFIANCE.
FROM
"

HAKON

JARL/^

Christianity,

[Olaf Trygveson from Ireland is trying to introduce and reclaim his father's kingdom, in Norway, and has invaded the realm of Earl Hakon, a formi-

dable lieathen usurper, who, after defeat in battle, unsuccessfully attempts to have King Olaf assassinated by Thorer Klake, one of his adherents. But Olaf slays Klake,

and now

visits

Hakon, lying hid

in a peasant's luit.J

Enter Olaf Trygveson, muffled up in a gray cloak, ivith a hroad hat on his head.
[without looking up]. valiant Thorer Klake, hast come at last? Hast been successful? Dost thou bring to me

Hakon

My

What

thou

didst

promise?

Answer,

Thorer

Klake.

WAR.
Olaf.

200

All
my

things
lord;

have

happened

as

they

should,

But pardon Thorer that he does not come bring himself King Olaf's head to thee Thor knows he had 'T Nvas ditlicult for him.

And

it,

And
And
I

sort of loathing that himself should bring so he sent me.

Hakon.

Well,

'tis
it
it

deeply bury will not look on

in the

good; away. dark earth.

myself:

Hakox. Asleep Olaf. A midday slumber; he stretched beneath a shadowy elder-tree. Hakon. Then wake him up. [Aside.] Asleep, Asleep, and after such A deed Ha Thorer, admire thee
?

Bears not such sights, they reappear in dreams. Bury the body with it. Tell thy lord That he shall come at once. Olaf. He is asleep.
lies

my

eye

Stiffly

Thou hast rare courage. [Aloud.] Thrall, go wake him up. Olaf. But wilt thou first not look at Olafs
head?

Hakox.
Olaf.

No; have said no. Thou dost think, m.v lord,

I
it is

That

i)erha[s It is not so,

my

lord

a horrid frightful sight: for Olaf's head

;

Looks fresh and sound as any

Away, Olaf. ne'er saw

Hakox.
1

in the land.

tell

thee!

the like:

always heard that TTakon was a hero. Few like him in the North, and does he fear
I

VIII

210

POEM^S OF NATIONAL
see a lifeless

.SPIRIT.

To

How

and a eorpseless head? woiildst thou tremble then, my lord, Shouldst see it on his body?

if

thou

[turning round angrily], Thrall, thou darest Where hast thou got it?
!

Hakon

Olaf [takes
cloak].

his

hat

off,

and throws

off

his

On my
t,'

shoulders, Earl.
"

Forgive me that I bring it thee myself In such a way 't was easiest for me. Hakon. What, Olaf Ha what treachery here?

Olaf. Old
wrath.

is

gray-beard, spare thy rash, heroic

Attempt not to fight Olaf, but remember That he has still his head upon his body.

And that Was onl}' Hakon

Olaf

thy impotent, gray-bearded strength fitting for the headless Olaf.

[rushes at him].
!

Ha, Hilfheim
voice]. So, be quiet

[strikes his sword,

and

says- in

a loud

now,

I say,

And

My followers th}^ sword again. Surround the house my vessels are a match For all of thine, and I myself have come To win the country in an honest fight.
sheathe
;

Thyself hast urged

me with

thy plots to do

it.

Thou standest like a despicable thrall In his own pitfall caught at last; but I Will make no use of these advantages Which fate has granted me. I am convinced

WAR.
That

211

Thy

maj' boldly meet thee face to face. purpose, as thou seest, has wholly failed,
I

Aud
Thou

in his

own blood
't

seest
;

does thy Thorer swim. were easy for me to have seized

thee

To strike thee down were even easier still But I the Christian doctrine do confess,

And do
i>o

such ])o<)i' advantages despise. choose between two courses. Still be Earl
lliou wast,

Of Illade as

Or

else take Hight; for

and do me homage, when we meet again

quietly].

'Twill be the time for red and bleeding brows.

IIakox

[protKlltj
is

and
I

My

choice

made.

choose

tlie latter,

Olaf.

Thou

a villain and a thrall; That forces up a smile upon my lips. Olaf, one hears indeed that thou art young;
callest
It is by mockery and arrogance That one can judge thy age. Now, look at me Full in the eyes; consider well my brow: Hast thou among the thralls e'er met such looks? Dost think that cunning or that cowardice Could e'er have carved these Avrinkles on my brow?
I

me

did entice thee hither.

Ha

't

is

true

knew that thou didst wait but for a sign To flutter after the enticing bait; That in thy soul thou didst more highly ]>rize Thy kinship with an extinct race of kings Than great ICarl Hakon's world-renowned deeds;
I

That thou didst watch the opportunity

To

fall U])on
it

the obi m;iu in his rest.

tliat T

Does

astonish thee

should wish

Quickly to rid myself of such a foe?

212

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

That I deceived a dreamer who desxjised The mighty gods, does that astonish thee? Does it astonish thee that I approved

warrior's purpose, since a hostile fate Attempted to dethrone, not only me,

My

But

all

Olaf,

Remember,

Valhalla's gods?

Hakon,

Remember, Hakon, that e'en thou thyself Hast been a Christian that thou wast baptized
;

By Bishop Popo, and

that thou since then oath. How many hast thou break Didst thy ? broken Hakon. Accursed forever may that moment

be

When by the cunning monk I was deceived, And let myself be fooled by paltry tricks. He held a red-hot iron in his hand,
After by magic he had covered With witches' ointment.
Olaf.
silver
it

O thou blind old man hair does make me pity thee. Thy Hakon. Ha! spare thy pity; as thou
!

seest

me
Thou

here,

seest the last flash and the latest spark Of ancient Northern force and hero's life
;

And

that, with all thy fever-stricken dreams, Proud youth, thou shalt be powerless to quench.

know it is the Christian custom To pity, to convert, and to amend. Our custom is to heartily despise you, To ruminate upon your fall and death, As foes to gods and to a hero's life. That Hakon does, and therein does consist
I well do

WAR.
His
villainy.

213

By
not

Odiu, and by Tlior,

(quench
old

Thou
With

sbalt

Norway's warlike

llanie
all

Olaf.

'T

thy misty dioanis of piety.

is

well: fate shall decide.

We

sepa-

rate,

And woe

Ave, woe to me then again. crush thee not. Olaf. Heaven shall strike thee with might! Hakox. No, with his hammer Thor the cross
Hakox.
if

to thee

when next we meet

its fiery

will smite!

From

the Danish of

Translation of

ADAM GOTTLOB OEHLEXSCHLAGER. SIR FRANK C. LASCELLES.

A DANISH BARROW
ON THE EAST DEVOX COAST.
Lie
still,

old Dane, below thy heap!

sturdy-back and sturdy-limb. Whoe'er he was, I warrant him Upon whoso mound the single sheep Browses and tinkles in the sun, Within the narrow^ vale alone.
Lie
old

si ill.

Dane!

This restful scene

Suits well thy centuries of sleep: Tlie soft brown roots above thee creep,

The lotus flaunts his ruddy sheen. And, vain memento of the sjmt, The tunpioise-eyed forget-me-not.

214
Lie

POEMS OF NATIONAL
still
!

SPIRIT.

Thy mother-land

herself
:

Would know

no more The Raven from the northern shore

thee not again

Hails the bold crew to push for pelf. Through fire and blood and slaughtered kings 'Neath the black terror of his wings.

And

thou,

thy very name

is lost

The peasant onl}^ knows that here Bold Alfred scooped thy flinty bier. And prayed a foeman's prayer, and tost His auburn head, and said, " One more Of England's foes guards England's shore,"

And turned and And left thee

To
circle

passed to other feats,

in thine iron robe,

with the circling globe.

While Time's corrosive dewdrop eats The giant warrior to a crust Of earth in earth, and rust in rust.
So
lie:

and

let

the children play

And sit like flowers upon thy grave And crown with flowers, that hardly have

briefer blooming-tide than they; By hurrying years urged on to rest.

As thou within

the Mother's breast.

FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.

WAR,

215

HERMANN AND THUSNELDA.

Ha
I

there conies

Aiid duist

with sweat, with blood of Koinans, of the ii<>ht all staiuedl Oh, uever
lie,

t^aw

Ilerinann so lovely
tire iu

Never such

his eyes!

I tremble for jox Come hand me the Eagle And the red dripping sword come, breathe, and
!

rest thee

Rest thee here in

my bosom

Rest from the terrible fight Rest thee, while from thy brow
drops.
I

wipe the big

cheek,

And

the blood from thy cheek

that
I

how

glowing!

Hermann Hermann Thusnelda Never so loved thee before

!

No, not then, when thou

first in

old oak shadows,

With

tliat

manly brown arm didst wildly grasp mo!

Spell-bound
T

read in thy look

That immortality then

A\'IiiIi thou now hast won. Tell to the forests. Great Augustus, with trembling, amidst his gods now, Drinks liis nectar; for Hermann,

Hermann immortal

is

found

216

POEMS OF NATIONAL
curl'st

SPIRIT.
Lies not our

"Wherefore

thou

my

hair?

father

Cold and silent in death? Oh, had Augustus Onl}' headed his armj,

He
Let

should

lie

bloodier there! "

't is

me

lift

up thy hair;

sinking:,

Hermann

Proudly thy locks should curl aboye the crown

now!
Sigmar
From
the

is

Follow, and
Gennau
of

with the immortals mourn him no more!

!

FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK.

THE BATTLE-SONG OF GUSTAYUS

ADOLPHUS.
Fear
not,

little flock

the foe

Who

madly seeks your overthrow, Dread not his rage and power;
faints?

What though jonv courage sometimes

His seeming trium])h o'er God's saints Lasts but a little hour.

Be of good cheer; your cause belongs To him who can ayenge your wrongs.
Leave
it

to him, our Lord.

Though hidden now from

He

sees the

all our eyes, Gideon who shall rise To save us, and his word.

As true as God's own word is true, Not earth or hell with all their crew
Against us shall prevail.

WAR.

217

jest
is

God

and by-word are thev pjrown ; with us, we are his own,
victory cannot
fail.

Our

Amen, Lord Jesus; grant our prayer! Great Captain, now thine arm make bare;
So
Fight for us once again and martyrs raise chorus to thy praise, mighty
!

shall the saints

World without end!

From
the

Amen.

German

of

MICHAEL ALTEXBURG.

SWOKD

SONG.

SwoRD^ on my left side gleaming, Wlmt means thy bright eye's beaming? It makes my spirit dance

To

see thy friendly glance.

Hurrah

"A valiant A free-born

rider bears

me;

German wears me:

That makes my eye so bright; That is the sword's delight."

Hurrah

Yes, good sword, I am free, And love thee heartily,

And

clasj) thee to
j

my

side,

E'en as the (lighted bride.

Hurrah
*'

And

to thee, by

My

light steel life

Heaven, have given;

218

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
When When
shall the

SPIRIT.

knot be tied?

wilt thou take thy bride?"

Hurrah

The trumpet's solemn warning Shall hail the bridal morning b>

When

cannon-thunders wake,
true-love I take.

Then my

Hurrah

"O My
My

blessed, blessed meeting!

heart

is

wildly beating:

Come, bridegroom, come for me;

garland waiteth thee."

Hurrah

Why

in the

scabbard

rattle,

So wild, so

fierce for battle?

What means this restless glow? My sword, why clatter so?

Hurrah
!

"Well may thy prisoner

My

rattle; spirit yearns for battle.

't is war's wild glow That makes me tremble so."

Rider,

Hurrah
Stay
in

My

love;

thy chamber near, what wilt thou here?

Still in thy chamber bide; Soon, soon T take my bride.

Hurrah

WAR.
"

219

Let me not lougor wait; Love's garden liloonis in state, ^Vitll roses bloody-red,

And many

a bright death-bed."
!

Hurrah
come

Now,

then,

forth,

my

bride

Come Come
Forth

forth, thou rider's pride!

out, my good sword, come to thy father's home!

Ilurrah
"

O, in the field to prance

in the sun's bright

The glorious wedding dance!

How,

beams,

l>ride-like the clear steel

gleams!"

Hurrah

Then forward, valiant

lighters!
!

And forward, German riders And when the heart grows cold.
Let each his love infold.

Hurrah
Once on the

left it

hung,

And

stolen glances flung;

clearly on your right (Jod each fond bride ])lighto

Now
Doth

Huirah

Tlien let y<ur hoi lips feel That virgin cheek of steel;

220

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT. One kiss, and woe betide Him who forsakes the bride. Hurrah
!

Now Now

let

let

the loved one sing; the clear blade ring,

Till the bright

sparks shall
!

flj,

Heralds of victory

Hurrah
!

For, hark the trumpet's warning Proclaims the marriage morning;

It

dawns

in festal pride;

Hurrah, thou Iron Bride!

Hurrah
From
the

German

Translation of

KARL THKOOOR KORXER. CHARLES TIMOTHY BROOKS.

of

THE TROOPER'S DEATH.

The weary

where Death is lying. The morning wind doth coldly pass,

Landlord
!

We ride so We ride

night
still,

is

o'er at last

we

ride so fast

we

'11

take another glass,

Ere dying.
Thou, springing grass, that art so green, Shall soon be rosy red, I ween. My blood the hue supplying! I drink the first glass, sword in hand, To him who for the Fatherland
Lies dying!

O
<

o
< > <

WAR.
Now
And
quickly comes the second draught, that shall be to freedom quaffed

221

While freedom's foes are tlviuji;! The rest, O land, our hope and faith

We'd

drink to thee with latest breath, Though dying!

My

The

the glass is out! bullets ring, the riders shout No time for wine or sighing!

darling!

ah,

There! bring my love the shattered glass Charge! On the foe! no joys surpass

Such

dvinj>-!

From

the

German

of

GEORG HERWEGH.
"W.

Translation of

ROSSITER

KAYJIO.VD

BINGEN ON THE RHINE.

A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was
dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while
his life-

blood ebbed away, And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he

might The dying

say. soldier faltered,

and he took that com-

rade's hand,

And

he said, *' I nevermore shall see my native land

;

my

own,

Take a message, and a token,

friends of mine,

to

some distant
the

For

was born

at

Bingen,

at

Tiingen on

Rhine.

222
''

POEM^S OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

my brothers and eonipauions, when they meet and crowd around, To hear my mournful story, in that pleasant
Tell

vineyard ground,

That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done.
Full

many

a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the

;

setting sun And, mid the dead old in wars,

last of

and dying, were some grown

their

The death-wound on

gallant breasts, the

many scars; And some were young, and

morn

decline,

suddenly beheld

life's

And one had come from

the Rhine.

Bingen,

fair

Bingen on

"

Tell

my mother
still

that her other son shall com-

fort her old age;

For For

My

cage. ray father was a soldier, and even as a child heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce

I was home a

a truant bird, that thought his

and wild

And when
hoard,
I let tliera

he died, and

left

us to divide his scanty

take whate'er they would,

but

kept

mv
And
On

father's

sword

with boyish love I hung light used to shine.

it

where the bright

Bingen on

the cottage wall at Bingen, the Rhine.

calm

WAR.
" Tell

223

my

sister not to

weep for me, and sob with

drooping head, ^Vllen the troops come

marching home again with glad and gallant tread, lint to look upon them proudly, with a calm and
steadfast eye,

For her brother was a soldier

too",

and not afraid

to die; And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in

my

name
him kindly, without regret or shame, hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine) For the honor of old Bingen, dear Bingen on the

To

listen to

And

to

Rhine.

"

There

's

another,

not

sister

in

the

happy

days gone by You 'd have known her by the merriment that

Too innoccul
friend!
I

sparkled in her eye; for coquetry,

scorning,

too

fond

for

idle

fear the lightest heart

life

makes some(for, ere the

times heaviest mourning! Tell her the last night of my

iiKxtii 1)e

risen.

My
1

body

will be
)

]ris()ii

out of pain, my^soul be out of

dreamed

stood with her, and saw the yellow

On

sunlight sliino llie viiH'clad hills of Bingen,

fair

Bingen on

the Khiue.

224
" I

POEMS OF NATIONAL
or seemed to hear,

SPIRIT,

saw the blue Rhine sweep along, I heard,

to sing, in chorus

The German songs we used sweet and clear

;

And down
ing

the pleasant river,

and up the

slant-

hill.

The echoing chorus sounding, through the evening calm and still; And her glad blue eves were on me, as we passed,
with friendlv talk, Down manv a path beloved of jore, and well-

And

remembered walk her little hand lay

!

lightly,

confidingly in

mine, But we '11 meet no more

on the Rhine."

at Bingen,

loved Bingen

His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse,

grasp was childish weak,

his

His eyes put on a dying

ceased to speak His comrade bent to
;

look,

he

sighed and

lift

him, but the spark of

is

life

had fled,

The

soldier of the Legion in a foreign land

dead!

And
On

the soft

she looked

moon rose up down

;

slowly,

and calmly
with bloody

the red sand of the battle

corses stre^-n

field,

Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light

As

it

seemed to shine. shone on distant Bingen,

fair

Bingen on

the Rhine.

CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH NORTON.

WAR.

225

HOHENLINDEN.
[1800.]

On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow
Of
Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another

sight

When

the

drum

beat, at dead of night,

Coniinanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.

torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Each horseman drew his battle-blade.

By

And
To

furious every charger neighed, join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steeds to battle driven,

And
Far

louder than the bolts of heaven

flashed the red artillery.
light shall

But redder yet that

glow

On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of
'T
Iser, rolling rapidly.

is

morn, but scarce yon

level

sun
ITuu

Can pierce tlie war-clouds, Where furious Frank and

Shout
VIII

rolling dun,
fiery

16

in their

sulphurous canopv.

226

POEMS OF NATIONAL
The combat deepens.

SPIRIT.

Who
And

On, ye brave, rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
charge with
all

thy chivalry

Few, few The snow

shall part where many meet! shall be their winding-sheet.

And

every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

lYRY.
[1500.]

glory to the Lord of hosts, glories are And glory to our sovereign liege.
!

Now

from

whom

all

King Henry

of

Navarre

Now

let

there be the merry sound of music and

corn-fields green,
!

the dance.

and sunny vines, O France And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city

Through thy

l)leasant land of

of the waters,

Again

let

raptures light the eyes of

all

thy mourn-

As

ing daughters; thou wert constant in our

;

ills,

be joyous in

our joys For cold and

th}'

stiff

and

still

are they
field

who wrought

walls annoy. Hurrah hurrah a single

! !

hath turned the

of Navarre.

chance of war

Hurrah hurrah
!

for Ivry,

and Henry

WAR.
Oh
!

227
at the

We

bow our hearts were beating, when, dawn of day, saw the army of the League drawn out
array;
all
its priest-led

in long

With

citizens,

and

all

its

rebel

peers,

Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egniont's Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land And dark Mnyenne was in the midst, a truncheon
;

And

in his

hand;
of Seine's

An

as

we looked on them, we thought

empui'pled flood.

And good And we

To

Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with

;

his blood

cried unto the living God, fate of war,

who

rules the

tight for

His own holy name, and Henry of

Navarre.

The king has come

drest
;

to marshal us, in all his

armor

And

he

lias

bound

a snow-white

]>luiii('

u^ion his
in his

gallant crest, lie looked ii|oii liis people, and a tear

was

Hf

eye looked
;

ujioji

tlio 1i'nitoi-s,

and his glance was

us, as rolled

stern and high. Kight gra<-iously he

witig jo w lug,

siiiile(l

on

from

Down

all

oui-

line, a

deafening shout: (Jod save

our lord the king!

228
"

POEMS OF NATIONAL
if

SPIRIT.
as fall full well

And
lie

my

standard-bearer
I

fall,

may
promise yet of such a bloody

For never saw

frayPress where you see my white plume shine amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriHamme to-day the helmet of Navarre."

Hurrah! the
gled din,

foes are moving.

Hark

to the min-

Of

fife,

steed, ing culverin.

fiery

and

and trump, and drum, and

roar-

The

duke

is

pricking fast across Saint An-

dre's plain.

With

all

the hireling chivalry of Guelders

love, fair

and

Now

Almayne. by the lips of those ye

gentlemen

of France, Charge for the golden lilies lance!

upon them with the

thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand

spears in rest,

thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like
a guiding star,

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet

Navarre.

of

Now, God be
liath

praised, the day

is

ours:

Mayenne

turned his rein; D'Auniale hath cried for quarter; the Flemish count is slain;

WAR.

221)

Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale;

The

field is

heaped with bleeding steeds, and

all

flags,

and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and,

our van, Kemcniber Saint Bartholomew
!

along

was passed from

is

man

to

man.
:

But out spake gentle Henry

" No Frenchmen

my

foe

Down, down, with every

foreigner, but let your

Oh

brethren go," was there ever such a knight, in friendship or

in war. lord.

As our sovereign
Navarre?

King Henry, the

soldier of

Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France to-day; And many a lordly banner God gave them for a
prey.

But we

of the

religion

have borne us best in

fight;

And

the good lord of Rosny hath ta'en the cornet

white
ta'en.

Our own true Maximilian

the cornet white hath

black, the flag of

The cornet white with crosses

false Lorraine.

Up

with

it

high: unfui-l

it

wide

that

all

the host

may know

How

(lod halli limnbled the proud liouse which

wrouglit His Church such woe.

230

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.
their

Then on the ground, while trumpets sound

loudest point of war. Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for
of Navarre.

Henry

Ho

maidens of Vienna ho matrons of LucerneWeep, weep, and rend your hair for those who
!

never shall return.

Ho!

Philip, send, for charity, thy

toles.

Mexican

pis-

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy

Ho!

poor spearmen's souls. gallant nobles of the League, look that your

arms be bright;

Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night; For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God
hath raised the
slave,

And mocked
Then glorv

the counsel of the wise, and the valor

to

of the brave.

His holv name, from

whom

all

And

glories are; glory to our sovereign lord.

King Henry

of

Navarre

LORD MACAULAY.

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.

You know
w^e

French stormed Katisbon:

A
On

mile or so away.

mound, NajKdeon Stood on our stormiug-day

a little

WAR.
out-thrust, you fancy how, I^gs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the prone brow, Oppressive with its mind.

231

With noek

Just as perhaps he mused, "

My
fall,

plans

That

soar, to earth

may

Let once

my

army-leader Lannes

Waver
Out

at vonder wall,"

'twixt the battery-smokes there flew

rider,

bound on bound Full-galloping; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound.

Then

off

there flung in smiling joy.

And hold himself erect By just his horse's mane, a You hardly could suspect

bo^':

(So tight he kejtt his lips compressed. Scarce any blood came through).

You

Was
"

looked twice ere you saw his breast all but shot in two.

" Well," cried he, Emperor, by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon!
's

The marshal

And you
To
see
A\'here
I,

'11

in the market-place. be there anon

flaj)

your

flag-bird

his vans

to heart's desire, Perched him " The chief 's eye flashed
I

his i)lans

Soarel

up again

like fire.

The

chief's eye flashed; bul

itself,

Softened

presently as sheathes

232

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

A
"

film the mother-eagle's eye

When
You
're

her bruised eaglet breathes:

wounded
!

"
!

"

Nay," his soldier's pride

:

to the quick, he said " I 'm " killed, sire And, his chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead.

Touched

ROBERT BROWNING.

THE BRONZE STATUE OF NAPOLEON.

The work
is

done the spent flame burns no more,

!

The furnace fires smoke and die. The iron flood boils over. Ope the door, And let the haughty one pass by Roar, mighty river, rush upon your course, A bound, and, from your dwelling past, Dash forward, like a torrent from its source, A flame from the volcano cast! To gulp your lava-waves earth's jaws extend. Your fury in one mass fling forth,
!

In your

Again Napoleon,

An

mould, Bronze, a slave descend, return to earth emperor

steel
!

't

is

his

form appears!
tears,.

Hard

soldier in

Who

cost so

much

unending quarrel. of insult, blood, and

of laurel
!

For only a few boughs

For mourning Prance it was a day of grief, When, down from its high station flung, His mighty statue, like some shameful thief, In coils of a vile rope was hung;

WAR.
Wheu we beheld at the grand column's And o'er a shrieking cable bowed,
1^1 ace

233
base,
dis-

The stranger's strength that mighty bronze

To hurrahs

When,

of a foreign crowd forced by thousand arms, head-foremost

;

thrown.

The proud mass cast in monnrch mould Made sudden fall, and on the hard, cold stone
Its iron carcass sternly rolled.

The Hun, the stupid Hun, with

Ignoble fury in his glance,

soiled,

rank skin.

The emperor's form the kennel's

filth

within

Drew

after him, in face of France!

On

those within whose bosoms hearts hold reign, That hour like remorse must weigh On eacli French brow, 't is the eternal stain,

Which only death can wash away

I sav\',

where palace-walls gave shade and ease.

trees,

The wagons of the foreign force; saw them strip the bark which clothed our To cast it to their hungry horse. saw the Northman, with his savage lip,
liruising our flesh

Our bread devour, on our nostrils sip The air which was our own before!
In the abasement and the pain,
I

till

black with gore,

Of outrag<'s no words make known,

the weight
fair,

charged one only l)oing with my hate: lie thou accursed, Xapolcon! O lank-hiiircd Corsican, your France was In the full sun of Messidor!

234

POEALS OF NATIONAL

^SPIRIT.

She was a tameless and a rebel mare, Nor steel bit nor gold rein she bore; Wild steed Avith rustic Hank; yet, while she

trod,

Keeking with blood

of royalty.

But proud with strong foot striking the At last, and for the first time, free,
;

old sod,

Never a hand, her virgin form passed o'er. Left blemish nor affront essayed And never her broad sides the saddle bore,
the stranger made. noble vagrant, with coat smooth and bright, And nostril red, and action proud, As high she reared, she did the world

Nor harness by

affright

AVith neighings which rang long and loud. You came; her mighty loins, her paces scanned, Pliant and eager for the track;

Hot Centaur, twisting in her mane your hand. You sprang all booted to her back.
Then, as she loved the war's exciting sound.
of powder and the drum, her Earth for exercising ground. Bade Battles as her pastimes come
!

The smell

You gave

Then, no repose for her, no nights, no sleep The air and toil for evermore! And human forms like unto sand crushed deep. And blood which rose her chest before!
!

Through

fifteen

years

her

hard

hoofs'

rapid

course

And

So ground the generations, she passed smoking in her speed and force Over the breast of nations;

WAR.

235
goal
to

Till,

tired
trust,

in

ne'er earned

place vain

To tread a path ne'er left behind, To knead the universe and like a dust To uplift scattered human kind, Feebly and woin, and gasping as she trode,

Stumbling each step of her career, She craved for rest the Corsican who rode. But, torturer you would not hear; You pressed her harder with your nervous thigh, You tightened more the goading bit. Choked in her foaming mouth her frantic cry.
I

And

brake her teeth

She rose, but the strife came. From farther Saved noL the curb she could not know, She went down, pillowed on the cannon-ball. And thou wert broken by the blow!

in fuiy-tit.

fail

Now

born again, fi'om

hurled,

dej>ilis

where thou wert

A
No

radiant eagle dost thou rise;

to rule the world,
skies.

Winging thy Hight again

longer

Thine image reascends the

now

the robber of a crown,

The insolent usurper,

\\'ith

he,

cushions of a throne, un[itying, down pressed the lliioiil of Liberty, Old slave of the Alliance, sad and lone,

Who

^^'llO

died u|>on a sombre rock.

until death di-agged on

And

J'^'rance's iiii:ige

F<n- chain, beneath the strangei-'s stroke, Nai'oi,i:o\ stands, unsullied by a stain:

Thanks

to the llatlerer's tuneriil race,

23G

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

The lying poets who ring praises vain, Has Caesar 'mong the gods found place!
His image to the city-walls gives light; His name has made the city's hum, Still sounded ceaselessly, as through the fight It echoed farther than the drum. From the high suburbs, where the people crowd, Doth Paris, an old pilgrim now,

Each day descend to greet the pillar proud, And humble there his monarch brow; The arms encumbered with a mortal wreath, With flowers for that bronze's pall, (No mothers look on, as they pass beneath,

grew beneath their tears so tall !) In working-vest, in drunkenness of soul. Unto the fife's and trumpet's tone, Doth joyous Paris dance the Carmagnole
It

Around

the great Napoleon.

Thus, Gentle Monarchs, pass unnoted on! Mild Pastors of Mankind, away!
Sages, depart, as common brows have gone, Devoid of the immortal ray
!

For vainly you make

light the people's chain;

And vainly, like a calm flock, come On your own footsteps, without sweat
The people, Soon as your

treading towards

or pain, their tomb.

star doth to its setting glide,

tide

And its last lustre shall be given By your quenched name, upon the popular
Scarce a faint furrow shall be riven.
Pass, pass ye on
!

Your names

shall vanish

For you no statue high from the horde:

WAR.
Their memory
is

237
lead to die

for those

who

Beneath the cannon and the sword;

Their love, for him who on the humid field By thousands lays to rot their bones;

For him, who bids them pyramids to build, xVud bear upon their backs the stones! From the Freach of AUGUSTE BAKBIKK.

ON THE WARKES
FKOM
"

IN IRELAND.
IV.

EPIGRAMS," BOOK

EPIGKAM

6.

I TRAiSEi) the speech,

but cannot

now

abide

it.

That warre
it;

is

sweet to those that have not try'd

it now and plainly see 't, maketh all things sweet. At home Canaric wines and Greek grow lothsome; Here milk is nectar, water tasteth toothsome.

For
It

have proved
it

is

so sweet,

There without baked, rost, boyl'd, it is no cheere; Bisket we like, and Bonny Clabo here. There we complain of one wan roasted chick; Here meat worse cookt ne're makes us sick.

At home

in silken sparrers,
rest,

beds of Down,
tosse

We

scant can

but

still

up and down;

sleep, a saddle to our ])illow, A hedge the ruitaine, (^anoi)y a Willow. There if a diild Inil cry, () what a spit^!

Here we can

Here we can brook llirco laruins in one night. There homely rooms nnist be perfumed with Roses Here match and powder ne're offend our noses.
;

238

POEMH OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.
I'ullets;

There from a storm of rain we ruu like Here we stand fast against a shower of

bullets.

Lo, then how greatly their opinions erre, That think there is no great delight in Avarre;

But

I shall forever love

vet for this, sweet warre, lie be thy debtor, my home the better.
SIR

JOHN HARRINGTON.

ALFRED THE HARPER.

Dark fell the night, the watch was set, The host was idly spread, The Danes around their watchtires met, Caroused, and fiercely fed.
The
chiefs beneath a tent of leaves
of all,

And Guthrum, king

Devoured the

tlesh of

England's beeves,
fall.

And laughed

at England's

Each warrior proud, each Danish

earl,

In mail of wolf-skin clad. Their bracelets white with plundered pearl. Their eyes with triumph mad.

From Humber-land to Severn-land, And on to Tamar stream, Where Thames makes green the towery
Wliere Medway's waters gleam,

strand,

AMth hands

of steel

and mouths

of llame

They raged the kingdom through; And where the Nor-seman sickle came,

No

crop but hunger grew.

WAR.
They loaded many an English horse

239

With wealth

of cities fair;

from many a father's corse The danghter by her hair. And English slaves, and gems and gold,
The}' dragged

Were gathered round

Till

the feast;

midnight

in their

woodland hold,

O, never

tiiat riot

ceased.

In stalked a warrior tall and rude Before the strong sea-kings; " Ye Lords and Earls of Odin's brood, Without a harper sings.

He seems
And
^^'ilI

a simple

man and

poor,

lUit well he
well, ye

sounds the lay;

Norsenum

chiefs, be sure,

ye the song repay."

tiie

In trod

hai-d

with keen cold look,

glanced along the board. That with the shout and war-cry shook

And

Of many a Danish lord. But thirty brows, intlamed and stern, Soon bent on him their gaze, While calm he gazed, as if to learn

Who

chief deserved his praise.

Loud (J nth rum spake, " Nay, gaze not tlMs, Thou Harper weak and jtoor! By Thor! who bandy looks with us Must worse than looks endure. Sing high llic j)raise of Denmark's host,
High praise each dauntless Earl;

240

POEMl^ OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

this English coast

The brave who stun

With war's unceasing

whirl."

The Harper slowly bent

his head,
;

And

touched aloud the string

!

Then raised his face, and boldly said, " Hear thou my lay, O King High praise from every mouth of man To all who boldly strive, Who fall where first the fight began.

And

ne'er go back alive.

" Fill high

your cups, and swell the shout.

in

At famous Kegnar's name!

Who

sank his host

he to

bloody rout.
slain,

When

Humber came.

His men were chased, his sons were And he was left alone. They bound him in an iron chain

Upon a dungeon

stone.

iron links they bound him fast; With snakes they filled the hole. That made his flesh their long repast.

"With

And
"

bit into his soul.

Great

chiefs,

why

sink in gloom your eyes?

W^hy champ your teeth in pain ? Still lives the song though Kegnar dies!
rill high

your

cui)S

again

Ye

too, perchance,

O Norseman
long,

lords

Who

fought and swayed so

WAR.
Shall soon but live in minstrel words,

241

And owe your names

"

to song.

This land has graves bv thousands more Than that where Reguar lies. When cout^uests fade, and rule is o'er. The sod must close your eyes. How soon, who knows? Not chief, nor bard;

And
To

yet to

me

't is

given.

see

your foreheads deeply scarred,

And
" I

guess the

doom

of lleaven.

read or when or how, Earls and But, Kings, be sure I see a blade o'er every brow,

may not

Where

pride

now

sits secure.

Fill high the cups, raise loud the strain! When chief and monarch fall,

Their names in song shall breathe again,

And
fa.

thrill

the feastful hall."

Grim

sat the chiefs; one heaved a groan,

pale with dread. His iron mace was grasped by one. By one his wine was shed. And Guthrum cried, " Nay, bard, no more
V^'e

And one grew

Make drunk
'*

hear thy boding lay; the song with spoil and gore!
"
!

Light up the joyous fray Quick throbs my brain,"

"

so burst the song,

To hear the strife once more. The mace, the axe, they rest too long;
Earth
VIII

16

cries.

My

thirst is sore.

2i2

POEIiW OF NATIONAL FiPIRIT.

More blithely twang the strings of bows Than strings of harps in glee Red wounds are lovelier than the rose Or rosy lips to me.
;

"

When

O, fairer than a field of flowers, flowers in England grew,

Would

be the battle's marshalled powers,

of carnage new.

The plain
The vision
I

'SVlth all its

death before

my

soul

rises fair;
!

Raise loud the song, and drain the bowl

would that

were there "

!

Loud rang

the harp, the minstrel's eye Rolled fiercely round the throng; It seemed two crasliiug hosts were nigh, Whose shock aroused the song.

golden cup King Guthrum gave To him who strongly played; And said, " 1 won it from the slave

Who

once o'er England swayed."

'^

King Guthrum cried, 'T was Alfred's own; Thv sonU" 't> befits the brave The King who cannot guard his throne Nor wine nor song shall have.'' The minstrel took the goblet bright,
:

And

'*

said,

drink the wine

To him who owns by justest right The cup thou bid'st be mine. To him, your Lord, O shout ye all! His meed be deathless praise
!

WAR.
The King who dares uot nobly
Dies basely
"
all his
fall,

243

days."

The praise thou speakest," Guthrmn said, With sweetness fills mine ear; For Alfred swift before me fled, And left me monarch here. The royal coward never dared Beneath mine eye to stand. O, would that now this feast he shared. And saw me rule his land
*
''
I

Then stern the minstrel

rose,

And
"

<iazed ujion the King,

and spake,

Not now the golden cuj) Nor more to thee I sing.

take,

Another day, a happier hour.

Shall bring lue here again:

The cup
Till
I

shall stay in (iuthrum's power.

it

denuind

then."

The HariKjr turned and left the shed, Nor bent to (luthruurs crown; And one who marked his visage said It wore a ghastly frown. The Danes ne'er saw that Harper more, For soon as morning rose.

Upon their camjt King Alfred And slew ten thousand foes.

bore.

JOUN STERLING.

244

P0E3IS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

CHEVY-CHACE.
" [A modernized form of the old ballad of the Hunting the Cheviot." Some circumstances of the battle of Otterbourne (A. D. 1388) are woven into the ballad, and the afifairs of tlie two events are confounded. The ballad preserved in the "Percy Reliques"is probably as old as
o'

1574.

The one following

II.]

is

not later than the time of

Charles

God prosper long our noble king, Our lives and safeties all
;

woful bunting once there did In Chevj-Chace befall.

To

drive the deer with hound and horn Earl Piercy took his way; The child may rue that is unborn

The hunting

of that day.

The stout Earl of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summer days to take,

The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chace To kill and bear away. These tidings to Earl Douglas came, In Scotland where he lay
;

Who

sent Earl Piercy present

word
that,

He would

prevent his sport.

The English earl, not fearing Did to the woods resort,

WAR.
With
fifteen

245

himdred bowmen bold,

All chosen

Who knew
To aim

of might, full well in time of need

men

their shafts aright.

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran To chase the fallow deer;

On Monday

Ihey began to hunt, WhL'U daylight did appear;

And long before high noon the}' had A hundred fat bucks slain;
rp

Then, having dined, the drovers went To rouse the deer again.
hills,

The bowmen mustered on the

Well able to endure; And all their rear, with special care, That day was guarded sure.

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods The nimble deer to take. That with their cries the hills and dales

An

echo

shrill did

make.

Lord riercy

to the quarry went,

To view
Quoth
he,

the slaughtered deer;

''

Earl Douglas promised

This day to meet

"
JJut
if
1

me

here;

thought he would not come.

"

longer would I stay; With that a brave young gentleman Thus to the earl did sav
:

No

24G
"

POEMS OF NATIONAL
His men
in

SPIRIT.

Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come,

armor bright; Full twenty hundred Scottish spears All marching in our sight;
" All

men

of pleasant Tividale,
;

Fast by the river Tweed " " Then cease your sports/' Earl Tiercy said, And take your bows with speed;
''

"

And now with

me,

my

countrymen,

Your courage forth advance; For never was there champion yet,
In Scotland or in France,
"

That ever did on horseback come, But if my hap it were,

durst encounter

man

for

man.

With him

to break a spear."

Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed. Most like a baron bold, Eode foremost of his company, \\'hose armor shone like fe^ cold.
"

Show me,"

said he, " whose That hunt so boldly here.

men you

be,

That, without

my

And
The

kill

my

consent, do chase fallow-deer."

first

man

that did answer make,

Was

noble Piercy, he

WAR.
f

247

Who

''

said,

^ye

list

not to declare,
be
:

Nor show whose men we

"

Yet

will

we spend our

dearest blood

Thy Then Douglas swore a solemn

chiefest harts to slay."

And

thus in rage did say;

oath,

"Ere thus will out-braved be, One of us two shall die; I know thee well, an earl thou art,
1

Lord Piercy, so
*'

am

I.

But

trust me, Piercy, pity

it

were.

And great offence, to kill Any of these our guiltless men.

For they have done no
" Let you anl
ill.

me

the battle try.

aside."'

And

set

our men

" Accursed be he," Earl Piercy said, " liy whom this is denied."

Then

sl('i)pcd a gallant s(juii*e forth,

Who

AVitherington was his name, " I would not have it told said,
king, for shame,

To Henry, our
" That e'er

my caj)lain fought on foot, And I stood looking on. You two be earls," said \\'ith('riugtou, And a scjuire alone;
'" I

248

POEMS OF NATIONAL
" I

SPIRIT.

'11 do the best that do I may, While I have power to stand; While I have power to wield mv sword I '11 fight with heart aud hand."

Our English archers bent

At

their bows, Their hearts were good and true;

the first flight of arrows sent,

Full fourscore Scots they slew.

Yet stays Earl Douglas on the bent, As chieftain stout and good;

As

The shock he firmly

valiant captain, all unmoved, stood.

His host he parted had in three, As leader ware and tried

;

And

soon his spearmen on their foes Bore down on every side.

Throughout the English archery They dealt full many a wound;

But

still

our valiant Englishmen

All firmly kept their ground.

bows away, swords so bright; They And now shari> blows, a heavy shower.
straight their

And throwing

grasped their

On

shields

and helmets

light.

They closed

full fast

No

slackness there

on every side, was found

;

WAR.
And many
a gallant

249

gentleman

Lay gasping on the ground.

In truth, it was a grief to see How each one chose his spear,

And how

the blood out of their breasts

like

Did gush

water

clear.

At

last these two stout earls did meet; Like captains of great might, Like lions wode, they laid on lode,

And made

a cruel fight.

They fought until they both did sweat, \A'ith swords of tempered steel,
Until the blood, like drops of rain. They trickling down did feel.

"Yield
''

thee, Lord Piercy," Douglas said, In faith I will thee bring Where thou shalt high advanced be

By James, our
"

Scottish king.

Thy ransom

And
Thou

I will freely give. this report of thee,

art the most courageous knight That ever I did see."

"No, Douglas," Thy jMofl'er

*'

saith Earl Piercy then,

I

do scorn

I will

not yield to any Scot That ever vet was born."

250

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

With that there came an arrow keen Out of an English bow, Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,A deep and deadly blow
;

Who
"

never spake more words than these Fight on, my merry men all
;

For why, my life is at an end; Lord Piercy sees my fall."

Then leaving life. Earl Piercy took The dead man by the hand;

And said, " Earl Douglas, for thy Would 1 had lost my land.
" In truth,
^A'ith

life

my very heart doth bleed sorrow for thy sake; For sure a moie redoubted knight
iMischance did never take."

knight amongst the Scots there was

Who saw Earl Douglas die. Who straight in wrath did vow
Upon
Sir

avenge

the Earl Piercy.

Hugh Mountgomery was he called, Who, with a spear full bright.

Well mounted on a gallant steed, Pan fiercely through the tight;

And

Without

past the English archers a di'ead or fear;

all,

WAR.
And tlii'oujih Earl Piercv's body He thrust hi hateful spear.
With such vehonieut
force

251

then

and might

He
The

did his body gore, stall' ran through the other side
large cloth-yard

and more.

So thus did both these nobles Whose courage none could

die,

stain.

An

English archer then perceived

earl

The noble

was

slain.

He had
Made

bow bent

in his
;

hand,

of a trusty tree An arrow of a cloth-yard long To the hard head haled he.

Against Sir

Hugh Mountgomery

So right the shaft he set, The gray goose wing that was thereon In his heart's blood was wet.
This fight did last from break of day Till setting of the sun
;

For when lliey rung the evening-bell The battle scarce was done.

With stout Earl Pierey there were

Sir .John of lOgeiton, Sir Koberl liatclilV, and Sir John, Sir James, that bold baron.

slain

252

POEMS OF NATIONAL
And

SPIRIT.

with Sir George and stout Sir James, Both knights of good account, Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain,

Whose prowess

did surmount.

For Witheriugton my heart is woe That ever he slain should be, For when his legs were hewn in two, He knelt and fought on his knee.

And

with Earl Douglas there was slain

Sir

Hugh Mountgomery,

Sir Charles Murray, that from the field One foot would never flee ;

Sir Charles

Murray

of Ratcliff, too,

His sister's son was he; Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed,

But saved he could not

be.

And

the Lord Maxwell in like case Did with Earl Douglas die Of twenty hundred Scottish spears,
:

Scarce

fifty-five

did

fly.

Of

fifteen

hundred Englishmen,
fifty-three
;

Went home but

The rest in Chevy-Chace were Under the greenwood tree.

slain.

Next day did many widows come, Their husbands to bewail;

WAR.
They washed their wouuds iu brinish But all would not prevail.
Their bodies, bathed in purjde blood, They bore with them away;

253
tears,

They kissed them dead a thousand times, Ere they were clad in clay.

The news was brought to Edinburgh,

Where

i^cotland's king did reign,

That brave Earl Douglas suddenly Was with an arrow slain

:

heavy news," King James did say; Scotland can witness be have not any captain more Of such account as he."
"

Like tidings to King Henry came Within as short a space.

That Piercy of Northumberland Was slain in Chevy-Chace:

"Now God
'*'

be with him," said our King,

will no bettor be; have trust within my realm Five hundred as good as he:

Since
I

't

"

Yet shall not Scots or Scotland say IJut I will vengeance take; 'II be revenged on them all

For brave Earl Piercy's

sake."

254

POEMS OF NATIONAL
This vow
full

SPIRIT.

well the king performed

;

After at In one day

Humbledown
fift}'

knights were slain

With

lords of high

renown

And

of the rest, of small account,

Did many hundreds die: Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chacej

Made by

the Earl Piercy.

God save the king, and bless this With plenty, joy, and peace;

land,

And

grant, henceforth, that foul debate

'Twixt noblemen

may

cease.

ANONYMOUS.

SIR PATRICK SPENS.

[A confused eclio of the Scotch expedition which should have brought the Maid of Norway to Scotland, about 1285.]

The king
"

Dunfermline town. Drinking the blude-red wine,

sits in

O whare
To

sail this

will I get a skeely skijiper. new ship of mine! "

spake an eldern knight, Sat at the king's right knee, " Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor,

O up and

That ever

sailed the sea."

Our king has written a braid

letter,

And

sealed

it

with his hand,

WAR.
And
sent
it

2 -uu

to Sir Patrick Spens,

Was
"

walkiui!'e>

on the strund.

To Xoroway, to Norowav, To Xoi'oway o'er the faem The king's daughter of Noioway,
;

'T

is

Ihou niann bring

lier

hame."

The first \\ ord that Sir i'atrick read, Sae loud loud laughed he; The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his e'e.
"

O wha
And

is

this has done this deed,

tlie

tauld

king

o'

me.
of
tlie

To send us out, at this time To sail ujjon the sea?

"

year,

Be it wind, be it weet, be il hail, be Our sliip must sail the faeiu; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'T is we must letch her hame."

it sleet.

They h(\sed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' tlie speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodeusday.
Th('_\

liadna been a week, a week, In Noroway, lui twae, \\'Iicii that the lords o' Noroway liegan aloud to say,

256
"

POEMS OF XATIONAL
a'

SPIRIT,

Ye Scottishmen spend

our king's goud,

And a' our queeuis fee." "Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!
Fu' loud
"
1

hear ye

lie.

brought as much white monie, * my men and me, And I brought a half-fou f o' gude red goud, Out o'er the sea wi' me.
I

For

As gaue

"

"

Make ready, make ready, my merrymen Our gude ship sails the morn." Now, ever alake, my master dear,
I

a'

fear a deadly storm

" I

saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And, if we gang to sea, master, I fear we '11 come to harm."
They hadna
sailed a league, a league, but league barely three,

When the lift grew dark, and And gurly grew the sea.

the

wind blew

loud,

The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam o'er the broken ship, Till a' her sides were torn.
"

where

will I get a

To take my helm
* Suffice.

gude sailor, in hand,

eighth part of a peck.

t Tl'e

WAR.
Till I got

257

up

to the tall top-mast,

To
"

see

if I

can spy laud? "

I, a sailor gude, the helm iu baud, Till you go up to the tall top-mast; But I fear you '11 ne'er spy laud."

here

am

To take

He hadna gane

a step, a step,

step hut barely ane, Wheu a bout Hew out of our goodly ship, And the salt sea it came iu.
"

Gae, fetch a web

o'

silken claith,

Another o' the twine, And wap them iuto our ship's And let na the sea come in."

side.

They fetched a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And they wapped them round that gude
side,

ship's

But

still

the sea

came

in.

laith, laitli,

were our gude Scots lords

To weet their cork-heeled shoon! But lang or a' the play was played, They wat their hats aboon.

And mony was

the feather-bed.
;

That nattered on the faem

And mony was

VIII

tlie

gudo

lord's son.

That never mair cam liame.

17

258

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

The ladyes wraug their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair,
A' for the sake of their true loves; For them they '11 see na mair.

lang, lang,

may

the ladyes

sit,

Wi' their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens

Come

sailing to the strand

And

lang, lang, may the maidens sit, Wi' their gond kaims in their hair,

A' waiting for their ain dear loves! For them they '11 see na mair.

forty miles off Aberdeen, 'T is fifty fathoms deep,

And

there lies gmle Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

ANONYMOUS BALLAIX

THE DOUGLAS TPvAGEDY.

[Tliis

buUatl exists in

Denmark, and

in otlier

European

countries.

Douglas
"

Scotcli point out Blackhouse, on the wild Burn, a tributary of the Yarrow, as the scene of

The

the tragedy.]

EiSE up, rise up, now. Lord Douglas," she says, " And put on your armor so bright Let it never be said, that a daughter of thine Was married to a lord under night.
;

" Rise up, rise up,

my

seven bold sons,

And

put on your armor so bright.

WAR.

259

And

P'oi-

take better care of vour vounsest sister, voiii- eldest \s awa the last iiii;lit."

He 's niuuiUed Aud hiiiiself

With a

her ou a milk-white steed,

uii

a dapj)le grey,
side,

Aud
Lord

biigelel horn hiuig down by his lightly they rade away.

^Villiaul lookit o'er his left shoulder,

To

see

what he could

see,

And there he spyed her seven Come ridiiiL! o over the lea.
'"

brethren bold,

Light (low 11, light down. Lady Marg'ret,'' he said, '' And hold my steed in your hand, Until that against your seven brothers bold,

Aud your

father, 1 uiak a stand."

in her milk-white hand. never shed one tear. Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',

She held his steed

And

And

her father hard lighting,

dear.

who

loved her so

"

O
u

hold your baud. Lord William she said, Pop vour strokes thev are wond'rous sair;
I

''

True lovers I can get many a aiie. But a father 1 can never get mair.''

she
It

's

ta'en out
o'

licr

liandkercliief,

was

the holland sae line.

And

aye she dightfd her father's bloody wounds, That were redder liiaii tlie wine.

2G0
"

POEMS OF NATIONAL
cliiise,

SPIRIT.
said,

O
"

chuse,

Lady Marg'ret," he

" I

whether will ye gang or bide? " '11 gang, 1 '11 gang, Lord William," she For ye have left me no other guide."

said,

He 's lifted her on a milk-white steed, And himself on a dapple grey.

With a bugelet horn hung down by
his side,

And

slowly they baith rade away.

And

they rade on, and on they rade, a' by the light of the moon,

Until they cam to yon wan water, And there they lighted down.

They lighted down to tak a drink Of the spring that ran sae clear;

And down the stream And sair she gan to

"

ran his gude heart's blood,

fear.

Hold up, hold up. Lord William," she says, " For 1 fear that you are slain " " 'T is naething but the shadow of my scarlet
!

cloak.

That shines

in the

water sae plain."

And

they rade on, and on they rade, a' by the light of the moon.

Until they cam to his mother's ha' door, And there they lighted down.
" Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, " Get up, and let me in
!

WAR.
Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
''

261

For

this night

my

fair ladye I 've win.

"

O mak my bed, lady mother," " O mak it braid and deep

!

he says,

xVnd

hi )

Lady Marg'ret

close at

my

back,

And

the sounder 1 will sleep."

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight, Lady Marg'ret lang ere day

And all true lovers that go thegither. May they have mair luck than they
Lord William was buried
in St.

Mary's kirk,
rose.

Lady Margaret in Mary's (juire; Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red

And

out

o'

the knight's a brier.

And they twa met, and they twa plat, And fain thev wad be near; And a' the warld might ken right weel.
They were twa
lovers dear.

But bye and rade the Black Douglas, And wow but he was rough For he pulled up the bonny brier,
I

And

liaug

't

in St.

Mary's

loch.

ANONYMOUS BALLAD.

262

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

THE LAST HUNT.

Oh, it 's twenty gallant gentlemen Rode out to hunt the deer, With mirth upon the silver horn

And gleam upon

the spear;

They galloped through the meadow-grass, They sought the foresfs gloom, And loudest rang Sir Morven's laugh.

And

lightest tost his plume. There 's no delight by day or night Like hunting in the morn; So busk ye, gallant gentlemen.

And sound

the silver horn

They rode into the dark greenwood By ferny dell and glade. And now and then upon their cloaks The yellow sunshine played;

They heard the timid forest-birds Break off amid their glee, They saw the startled leveret. But not a stag did see. Wind, wind the horn, on summer morn Though ne'er a buck appear, There 's health for horse and gentleman
A-hunting of the deer
!

They panted up -Ben Lomond's

side

Where thick the leafage grew. And when they bent the branches back
The sunbeams darted through
;

WAR.
Sir
"

2G3

Morveu

in his suddle tiirued,

And

to his
!

comrades spake,

Now

shall find a stag quiet Beside the Biowuies' Lake. Then sound not on the bugle-horn,

we

Bend bush and do not

A-drinking at the

break,

Lest ye should start the timid hart

lake.''

Now

A
And

they have reached the Brownies' Lake, blue eye in the wood,

brink a moment's space All motionless they stood;

on

its

When, suddenly, the silence broke With tilty bowstrings' twang,

And

hurtling through the drowsy air Full til'Ly arrows sang.

Ah, better for those gentlemen, Than horn and slender spear, Were morion and buckler true,
A-hunting of the deer.

Not one

of that brave

company

Shall hunt the deer again; Some fell beside the Brownies' Tool, Some dropt in dell or glen;

An arrow
Ills

pierced Sir Morven's breast, horse [jlunged in llic lake.

to the farther

And swimming

bank

lie left a bloody wake. Ah, what avails the silver horn.

And what
There
's

(lie

ollici-

slender spear? ipiarry in the wood

Beside the fallow deer!

2G4

POEM& OF NATIONAL

f^PlRIT.

O'er ridge and hollow sped the horse Besprent with blood and foam,

Nor slackened pace

until at eve

He brought

his

master home.

How
''

tenderly- the

The

cruel dart

Lady Ruth withdrew

! !

False Tirreil shot the bolt," she said, " That my Sir Morven slew "

Deep While gayly shines the morn Hang up the broken spear, and blow A dirge upon the horn. WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER {Paul Hervies).
:

in the forest lurks the foe,

THE BALLAD OF AGIXCOURT.

[1415.]

Fair stood the wind for France, When we our sails advance. Nor now to prove our chance

Longer will tarry

But putting to the main, At Kause, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train, Landed King Harry,

And taking many a fort, Furnislied in warlike sort,

Marched towards Agincourt In happy hour, Skirmishing day by day With those that stopped his wa}-.

WAR.
Where
the Fiencli generiil lay
his power,
^^'itll all

265

"NYhich iu his height of pride, King Henry to deride,

His ransom to provide

To the king sending; Which he neglects the while, As from a nation vile,
Yet, with an angry smile,

Their

fall

portending.

And

turning to his men. Quoth our brave Henry then

Though

viiey to

one be ten,

I>e not amazed; Yet have we well begun,

Have ever

Battles so bravelv won to the sun

By fame been

raised.

And

for myself, quoth he, my full rest shall be; England ne'er mourn for me,

This

2Nor

more esteem me,

will remain,

Victor

Or on

this earth lie slain;

Never shall she sustain Loss to redeem me.

Poitiers

and Cressv tell, ^^'hen most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell
;

No

less

our

skill is

206

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
Than when our grandsire
Claiming the regal
seat,

^SPIRIT.
great,

By many

a warlike feat
lilies.

Lopped the French

The Duke of York so dread The eager vaward led; With the main Henry sped.

Amongst

his

henchmen,

Excester had the rear, A braver man not there:

O Lord how
!

On

hot they were the false Frenchmen!

They now

to fight are gone

;

Armor on armor shone Drum now to drum did groan,

To hear was wonder; That w ith the cries they make The very earth did shake;

Trumpet to trumpet spake. Thunder to thunder.

Well
it thine age became, noble Erpingham Which did the signal aim

To our hid forces; When, from a meadow

by,

Like a storm, suddenly. The English archery Struck the French horses

With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long,

WAR.
That
like to serpents stimg, Piercing the weather;

2G7

None from his fellow starts, But playing manly jjarts,

And, like true English hearts, Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilboes drew, And on the French thev Hew,
Not one was tardy; Ai'nis were from shoulders sent;
Scalps to the teeth were rent
;

Down

the French peasants went;

Our men were hardy.

This while our noble king, His broadsword brandishing, Down the French host did ding, As to o'erwhelm it;

And many

a decj*

wound

lent,

His arms with blood besprent,

And many

a cruel dent Bruised his helmet.

Glo'ster, that duke so good, Next of the royal blood.

For famous Englaiul stood

^^'ith

his brave brother,

in steel

Clarence,

so bright,

Though but a maiden knight,

Yet
in that furious tight

Scarce such another.

268

POEM.S OF NATIO^^AL HPtRIT.

in blood did wade; Oxford the foe invade, And cruel slaughter made. Still as they ran up.

Warwick

Suffolk his axe did ply;

Beaumont and Willoughby

Bare them right doughtily, Ferrers and Fanhojie.

Upon Saint Fought was Which fame

Crispin's day
this noble fray,

did not delay

;

To England to carry O, when shall Englishmen With such acts fill a pen, Or England breed again Such a King Harry? MICHAEL DRAYTON.

THE KING TO HIS SOLDIERS BEFORE HARFLEUR.

[1415.]

PEOM

"

KING HENRY

V.,"

ACT

111.

SC.

1.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more Or close the wall up with our English dead!
;

nothing so becomes a man, As modest stillness, and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
In peace, there
's

Then imitate the action

Stiffen the sinews,

of the tiger;

summon up

the blood,

WAR.
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage: Theu lend the eye a terrible aspect;

269

Let it iry through the portage of the head, Like the brass cannon let the brow o'erwhelm
;

it,

As

fearfully as doth a galled rock

O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, t^willed with "the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit

To

his full height

On,

^Vhose blood

is fet

on, you noblest English, from fathers of war-proof!

Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these i)arts, from morn till even fought, And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.

Dishonor not your mothers; now attest. That those whom you called fathers, did beget you! Be copy now to men of grosser blood. And teach them how to war! And you, good veomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt

not;

For there is none of you so mean and base. That liaih not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in -the slips, Straining upon the start. The game 's afoot;
Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge. and Cry (lod for llarry England George

Saint

SlIAKESrEARB.

270

POE}m OF NATIONAL

HPIRIT.

THE CAVALIER'S SONG.

STEED

a steed of raatclilesse speed,

of metal keene
!

sword

All else to noble lieartes is drosse, All else on eaitli is meaue.

And oh the thundering presse of Whenas their war-cryes swell,

!

The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde, Th^ rowliuge of the drum, The clangor of the trumpet lowde, Be souudes from heaven that come;
kuightes,

Maj^ tole from heaven an angel bright, And rouse a fiend from hell.

Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants And don jour helmes amaine;
Deathe's couriers, fame and honor, call

all,

Us

No shrewish When the

to the field againe. feares shall

fill

sword-hilt
'11

's

in

our eye our hand-

Heart-whole we

For the fayrest

part, and no whit sighe of the land;

Let piping swaine, and craven wight. Thus weepe and puling crye;

Our business

is like

men

to fight.

And

hero-like to die!

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

WAR.

271

GIVE A ROUSE.
King Ciiaulks, and wlio King Cluii'les, and who
Give a rouse: here King Charles!
's,
'II

do

liiiii

rimlit

's

ripe for light

now? now?

in liell's despite

uow,

Who gave me the goods tliat went since? "Who raised me the house that sank once?
A\'ho helped

me

to gold I spent since?

in winc^

AA'ho

found me

you drank once?

{Chorus)

King Charles, and iclio King Charles, and who

Give a rouse:
Jiere
\s\

11
's
///

do him rigid noicf

ripe for fight
hcH'.s despife

now?
now^

King Charles! To whom used my boy George quaff else, l>y the old fool's side that begot him? For whom did lie cheer and laugh else, ^^'llil(' XolTs damned troojicrs shot him?
(Chorus)

King Charles, and King CliarUs, mid

Give a rouse: here

irjio

'II

do

Jiim riglil
figlil

now?
noivf

irho
's,

's

ripe for

in JielVs despite noic,

King Charles!
ROHKKT HKOWNINO.

272

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

NASEBY.
[June, 1645.]

BY OBADIAH BIND-THEIR-KINGS-IN-CHAINS-ANDTHEIR-NOBLES-WITH-LINKS-OF-mOX SERGEANT IN ireton's regiment.

;

O,

wherefore come ye
north,

forth, in

triumph from the

With your hands and your

all

feet

and your raiment

red?

And

wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous

shout ?
be the grapes of the wine-press that

And whence

ye tread?
O, evil

was the
:

root,

and

bitter

was the

fruit,

And

crimson was the juice of the vintage that we

trod
of the

For we trampled on the throng

haughty and

the strong, Who sate in the high places and slew the saints of

God.
It was about the noon of a glorious day of June, That we saw their banners dance and their cui-

And
And

rasses shine. the man of blood

was

there, with his long

essenced hair,
Astley, and Sir the Rhine.

Marmaduke, and Rupert

of

WAR.

273

Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword, The General rode along us to form us to the tight; NVhen a nmrniuriug sound broke out, and swelled
into a shout

Among

the godless horsemen u[)on the tyrant's

right.

And hark
!

like the roar of the billows

on the shore,
!

The cry of battle rises along their charging line! For God for the cause for the Church for the
I

laws

For Charles, king

Rhine!

of England,

and Rupert

of the

The furious German comes, with

his

his clarions

and
;

drums, His bravoes of Alsatia, and pages of ^Yhitehall They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes! Close your ranks! For Rupert never comes but to conquer, or to fall.

We are broken They lush on They are heie We are gone Our left is borne before them like stubble on the
I I

bbist.

Lord, put forth thy might!

right:
in

Lord, defend the

it

Stand back to back,

the last
!

God's name and light

I

to

Stout Skippon hath a wound; the centre hath

given ground
VIII
:

18

274
!

POEMS OF NATIONAL
!

SPIRIT.

Hark hark what means the trampling of horsemen on our rear? Whose banner do I see, bojs ? 'T is he thank God
!

bojs Bear np another minute

he,
!

't is

Brave Oliver

is

here.

all stooping low, their points all in a row, Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on

Their heads

the dikes,

Our

cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the

And

Accurst, at a shock have scattered the forest of his

pikes.

Fast, fast the gallants ride, in hide

some safe nook

to

Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple

Bar

And

he,

he turns, he
;
!

flies

: shame on

those cruel

eyes

That bore to look on

torture,

and dare not look on

war

the plain; and, ere ye strip the slain. First give another stab to make your search se-

Ho! comrades, scour

cure

Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broadpieces and lockets, The tokens of the wanton, the i)lunder of the poor.
Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold.

WAR.
When you
to-day
kissed your
;

275
to

lily

hands

your lemans

And

to-moi'i'ow shall the fox,

in

from her chambers

the rocks, Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey.
^^'here be

and

And

your tongues that late mocked at heaven and fate? the tinkers that once were so busy with your
hell

blades.

Your perfumed
your oaths
!

satin clothes, your catches

and

Your

stage-plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades?

Down down
!

forever down, with the mitre

!

and
of

the crown

"With the

lielial of

the court, and the

Mammon
is

the Pope!

There

is woe Durham's

in

Oxford halls; there

his

wail in
his

stalls;

The Jesuit smites

cope.

bosom; the bishop rends

And
And

she of the seven hills shall

dren's
ills,

mourn her

chil-

trendile

when she thinks on

the edge

of

And

ICngland's sword; the kings of earth in fear shall shudder

of

when

they hear What the hand

(iod

hath
!

wrought for the

Houses and the Word

TUOMAS

UAIilNGTON, LORD AIACAULAY.

27G

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

THE THREE SCARS.

This
I got on the day that Goring Fought thi-ongh York, like a wild beast roaring The roofs were black, and the streets were full, The doors built up with packs of wool But our pikes made way through a storm of shot.
;

Barrel to barrel

Frere

But
This
All

till locks grew hot; dead, and Lucas was gone, the drum still beat and the tiag went on.

fell

caught from a swinging sabre. had from a long night's labor; When Chester * flamed, and the streets were red, In splashing shov^er fell the molten lead, The fire sprang up, and the old roof split, The fire-ball burst in the middle of it With a clash and a clang the troopers they ran. For the siege was over ere well began.
I

This

got from a pistol butt

;

(Lucky my head 's not a hazel nut) The horse they raced, and scudded and swore; There were Leicestershire gentlemen, seventy
score
;

Up came the Lobsters,'' covered with steel Down we went with a stagger and reel; Smaslrat the flag, I tore it to rag,
And
carried
it off

^'

in

my

foraging bag.

GEOKGE WALTER TIIORNBUEY.

*

Siege of Chester, hi the civil war, 1645.

WAR.

277

FONTENOY.
[May
11, 1745.]

Thrice at the huts of Fontenoy the English

col-

umn
And

failed,

twice the lines of Saint Antoine the Dutch in

vain assailed
;

For town and slope were

int!;

filled

with fort and flank-

And
As

batterv, well they swept the English ranks and

Dutch

auxiliary.

vainly through soldiers burst.

De

Ilarri's

wood

the British

The Freucli artillery drove them bark diminished and dispersed. The bloody Duke of Cumberland beheld with anxious eye,

And

ordered up his last reserve, his latest chance

to try.
fast his generals

On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, how

ride!

And mustering came

at eventide.

his chosen iroops like clouds

Six thousand English veterans in stately column tread

;

Their cannon blaze in front and flank, Lord Ilay

is

at tlieir head.

Steady they slep adowu the slopes, steady they

mount

the

hill,
fire,

Stojidy they load, steady they

moving right

onward

still,

278

POEMS OF NATIONAL
furnace-blast,

SPIRIT.

Betwixt the wood and FontenoA, as through a

Through rampart, trench, and palisade, and

lets

bul-

showering

fast

And on

the open plain above they rose and kept

fire

their course.

With ready

and grim resolve that mocked

at

hostile force.

Past Fontenoy, past Fontenoy, while thinner grow

their ranks,

They break as breaks the Zuyder Zee through Holland's ocean-banks.

More

idly than the

;

summer

flies,

French

tirailleurs

rush round

As

stubble

to

the

lava-tide,
;

French squadrons
tore, still

strew the ground

Bombshells and grape and round-shot

;

on
re-

they marched and fired Fast from each volley grenadier and voHigeur
tired.
''

Push on my household cavalry," King Louis madly cried. To death they rush, but rude their shock, not unavenged they died.

On through
"Not
yet,

the

camp

the

columa trod
"

King

Louis turned his

rein.

my

liege,"

Saxe interposed;

the Irish

troops remain."

And Fontenoy, famed Fontenoy, had

Waterloo, Had not these exiles ready been,
frosii,

been

vehement,

and

true.

WAR.
"
"'

279

Lord Clare," he said, "'you have your wish; there are your Saxou foes The Marshal almost smiles to see how furiously he
I

^ues.

How

tierce the look these exiles

!

wear,

who

're

wont

gay The treasured wrongs of

hearts to-day
:

to be so

fittv

years are in their

'

The treaty broken ere the ink wherewith

writ could drv
;

was

Their plundered homes, their ruined shriues, their

women's parting cry; Their priesthood hunted down like wolves, their
country overthrown
J:^acli

looks as
alone.

if

revenge for

all

were staked on

him

On Fontenoy, on Foutenoy, nor

ever yet elsewhere, Ruslied on to fight a nobler band than these proud exiles were.

O'lirien's voice is hoarse with joy, as, halting, he

commands "Fix bayonets

Til

charge!''

Like mountain-storm

rush on those ticry bands. in is the lOnglish column now, and fnini their
\(lloys

grow.
thcv have, thev

Yi'i

miisLeiing all (he slnngth make a gallant show.

their
i

They dress

ranks upon

tiie hill,

to face that

battle-wind

Their layonets the breakers' foam, like rocks the

men

Itehind

280

POEMS OF NATIONAL
volley crashes from the surging smoke,

SPIRIT.

One

tlieir line,

when through
the

With empty guns clutched

in their hands,

On

headlong Irish broke. Foutenoy, on Foutenoy, hark to that huzza

!

fierce

"Revenge! remember Limerick! dash down the

feacsanagh
"
!

Like lions leaping at a fold, when mad with hunger's pang, Eight up against the English line the Irish exiles sprang; Bright was their steel, 't is bloody now, their guns are filled with gore;

Through scattered ranks and severed

trampled The English
flags they tore.

files

and

desperate strength, paused, rallied, scattered, fled ; The green hillside is matted close with dying and with dead.

strove

with

Across the plain and far away passed on that hideous wrack,

While cavalier and fantassin dash

track.

in

upon their

On Foutenoy, on Foutenoy,
With bloody plumes the
fought and

like eagles in the sun, Irish stand the field is

won

THOMAS OSBORNE

DAVIS.

WAR.

281

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

[April 2, 1801.]

Op Nelson and

the north

Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep i)roudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand

And

In a bold determined hand, the prince of all the land

Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat

Lay

their

bulwarks on the brine;

of battle tlew

While the sign

the lofty British line It was ten of April morn by the chime.

On

As

they drifted on their path There was silence deep as death;

the boldest held his breath
a time.

And
For

But the might of lOngland flushed

Ti>

And

anticipate the scene; hep van the fleeter rushed

of

O'er the deadly space between.

"Hearts

oak!' our captain

adamantine
lips

cried;

when each

gun

From

its

Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun.

282

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
!

SPIRIT.

Again

again

again

the liavoe did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane

And

To our cheering sent us back Their shots along the deep slowly Then ceased and all is wail,
;

boom^

As they strike the shattered Or in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.

sail,

Out spoke the

"

victor then.

As he hailed them o'er the wave: Ye are brothers ye are men And we conquer but to save
!

So peace instead of death let us bring; But yield, proud foe, thy fleet.

With the crews, at England's And make submission meet To our king."

feet.

Then Denmark blessed our chief, That he gave lier wounds repose; And the sounds of joy and grief

From
As

her people wildly rose, death withdrew his shades from the dav.

While the sun looked smiling bright O'er a wide and woful sight.

Where

the fires of funeral light

Died away.

Now

joy, old

England, raise!

For the tidings of thy might,

B}' the festal cities' blaze,

Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;

WAR.
And
yet,

283

amidst that joy and uproar,

tliiuk of tliem that sleep

Let us

Full iiiauy a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep,

Elsinore

Brave hearts! to Britaiu's pride Oiuc so faithl'iil aud so true, Ou the deck of fame that died, With the gallant good Kiou Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave! While the billow mournful rolls, Aud the mermaid's song condoles,

Singing glory to the souls

Of

the brave!

THOMAS

CA.MrBELL.

BUKIAL OF SIK JOHN MOOKE.

[Coruniia, Spain, January
10, 1809.]

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rani[)art we hurried;
Not
O'er the grave where our hero
a soldier discharged his farewell shot we buried.

buried him darkly, at dead of night. The sods with our bayonets turning; By the sti'uggling moonbeams' mis'ty light,

We

Aud

the lau thorn dimly burning.

No

useless coflin enclosed his breast,

in sheet or in

Not

shroud we wound him;

284

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

But he lay, like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were And we spoke not

dead,

the prayers we said. a word of sorrow ;

face that

But we steadfastly gazed on the

was

And we

bitterly thought of the

morrow.

We

thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed. And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
o'er his

That the foe and the stranger would tread

head. And we far

away on

the billow

Lightly they

'11

talk of the spirit that

's

gone,

And
But

o'er his cold ashes

upbraid him.
!

little he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him

But

half of our heavy task

was done,

When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly
firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down.

From

We

carved not a
left

the field of his fame fresh and gory; line, and Ave raised not a stone

But we

him alone with

his glory.

CHARLES WOLFE.

WAR.

285

" It

PICCIOLA."

was a Sergeant old and gray, Well singed and bronzed from siege and Went tramping in an army's wake Along the turnpike of tbe \illage.
For days and nights the winding host

pillage,

Had through the little place been marching, And ever loud the rustics cheered,
Till every throat

was hoarse and parching.

The Squire and Farmer, maid and dame,

All took the sight's electric stirring, And hats were waved and staves were sung.

And

kerchiefs white were countless whirring.

Thev onlv saw a gallant show Of heroes stalwart under banners,

And,
'T
in the fierce heroic glow,

was

theirs to yield but wild hosannas.

The Sergeant heard the

shrill

hurrahs,

Where he behind in step was keeping; But glancing down beside the road He saw a little maid sit weeping.
"

And how

is

A moment
"

this? " he gruffly said, pausing to regard her;

Why
And

we('it'st

thou,

my

little

chit?"
harder.

then she onlv

ci-icd tlie

286
"

POEMS OF NATIONAL
is this,

SPIRIT.

And how

my

" little chit?

The sturdy trooper straight repeated,

"

When

all

That you,
"

the village cheers us on, in tears, apart are seated ?

strong, a sight, my baby beauty, To quicken silence into song And glorify the soldier's duty."

We

march two hundred thousand

that
's

And

" It's very, very grand,

know,"

The
"

little

maid gave
'

soft replying;

And

Father, Mother, Brother too. All say Hurrah while I am crying;

'

"

But think O Mr.

Soldier,

think,

How many
xVre

little sisters'

brothers

going

all

away

to fight

And may
"

be killed, as well as others! "

Why,

bless thee, child," the Sergeant said, His brawny hand her curls caressing,

" 'T is left for little ones like thee

To

find that

War 's
"
!

not

all

a blessing."

And

"

liless thee

Tlien cleai-ed his throat

once again he cried and looked indignant,

;

And marched away

To
st()[

with wrinkled brow

the struggling tear benignant.

And still the ringing shouts went u]) From doorway, thatch, and fields of

tillage;

WAR.
The

287

By one

pall beliiiid the standard seen alone of all the village.

The oak and cedar bend and ^vrithe When roars the wind through gap and braken; But 't is the tenderest reed of all That trembles tirst when Earth is shaken. ROBERT HENRY NEWELL.

WATERLOO.
[June
15, 1815.]

FROM

^^CIIILDE

HAROLD," CANTO

HI.

There was

a sound of revelry bv night,

And

lielgium's capital

had gathered then

Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men A thousand hearts beat happily and when
; ;

Music arose with

its

voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes lo()ked love to eyes which sj)ake again, xVnd all went merry as a marriage-bell;

But hush hark

1

a deep sound strikes like a rising

knell!
T)id ye not
't was but tlie wind, car rattling o'er the stony street; Oil with llie dance! let joy be unconflned! So sl('('|) Lill UKu-n, when Youth and Pleasure

hear it?

No;

Or

llie

meet

To chase
more.

But, hark!

the glow ing Hours with Hying feet, that heavy sound breaks in once

288

POEMS OF NATIONAL
if

SPIRIT.
;

As

the clouds

its eclio

would repeat

And

Arm

nearer, clearer, deadlier than before arm it is it is the cannon's opening roar
!

Within a windowed niche of that high

That sound the
first

hall

Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear

amidst the

festival,

And caught its tone with And when they smiled

near,

Death's prophetic ear; because he deemed it

His heart more truly knew that peal too well ^Vhich stretched his father on a bloody bier.

And

roused the vengeance blood alone could

quell
:

He

rushed into the

fell.

field,

and, foremost fighting,

Ah then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress. And cheeks all pale which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press
!

The

life

from out young hearts, and choking

might be repeated
:

Which
If

sighs ne'er

who would

guess

evermore should meet those mutual eyes Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could
rise!

And

was mounting in hot haste the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
there
:

Went pouring forward with impetuous

speed,

WAR.
And And And
swiftly forming in the ranks of war; the deep thunder peal on peal afar; near, the beat of the alarming drum

289

Housed up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! they come they come

''

And

wild and high the

rose,

'*

Cameron's gathering"

The war-note

Have

heard, and
:

of Lochiel, which Albyu's hills

heard, too, have her Saxon

foes

How

in the

Savage and
fills

noon of night that pibroch thrills shrill! But with the breath which
till

Their mountain pipe, so

the mountaineers
instills

With the tierce native daring which The stirring memory of a thousand

years.

And

Evan's, Donald's fame, rings in each clansman's ears

!

And Ardennes waves

leaves,

above them her green

with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er gTieves,

Dewy

Over the unreturning brnvO;,^ alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass

Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of
living valor, rolling on the foe,

And burning
VIII

with high hope, shall moulder cold

and low,

19

290

POEMS OF NATIONAL

.SPIRIT.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, the day

Battle's magniticeutly stern iuray The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which
!

when

rent

The earth
pent.

is

covered thick with other clay.

clay shall cover, heaped and

Which her own

Rider and horse,
blent
!

friend,

foe,

in

one red burial

is hj-mned by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from that proud throng. Partly because they blend me with his line,

Their praise

And And And

partly that I did his sire some wrong, partly that bright names will hallow song! his was of the bravest, and when showered

The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files along, Even where the thickest of war's tempest lowered.

They reached no nobler breast than thine, young,

gallant

Howard

There have been tears and breaking & hearts for

thee,

And mine were

nothing, had

such to give;

But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, Which living waves where thou didst cease to
live,

And saw around me

With
fruits

the wide field revive

and

fertile promise,

and the Spring

WAR.
Come
With
I

291

forth her
all

work of ghulness to contrive, her reckless birds upon the wing,

all

tinned from

she brought to those she could

not bring.
I

turned to thee, to thousands, of

whom

each

And one as all a ghastlv gap did make In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach
Forget fulness were mercy for their sake; The Archangel's trump, not glory's, must awake Those whom they thirst for; though the sound
of

Mav

for a

Fame moment

soothe,

it

cannot slake

The fever of vain longing, and the name So honored but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim.
They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling,
moui-n
:

The tri'e will wither long before it fall The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn The roof-tree siid<s, but moulders on the hall
;

In massy hoariness; the ruined wall Stands wiien its wind-worn battlements are

gone

The bars survive the captive they enthrall; The day drags through though storms keep out
the sun
;

And

liius tJK'

heart will break, yet brokenly live

on
I'^ven

as a broken niiiror, wlii<li the glass In every fragment multiplies, and makes thousand images of one that was

292

POEMS OF NATIONAL
still

SPIRIT.
more
it

The same, and

the more, the

\yill

breaks;

And

thus the heart

do which not forsakes,

Living in shattered guise, and still, and cold, And bloodless, with il;s sleepless sorrow aches, Yet withers on till all without is old, Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold.

LORD BYRON.

BY THE ALMA RIVER.

[September
20, 1854.]

Willie, fold your little hands; " " Let it drop, that soldier toy Look where father's picture stands,

Not a month

Father, that here kissed his boy father kind, since,

Who

this night may (never mind Mother's sob, my Willie dear) Cry out loud that He may hear
is
'^

Who

God

of battles, cry, safe this father day keep

God
the

By

Alma River
child.

"

Ask no more,

Never heed

Either Russ, or Frank, or Turk;

Right of nations, trampled creed, Chance-poised victory's bloody work;

Any flag the wind may roll On thy heights, Sevastopol Willie, all to you and me
i'
!

Is that spot, whatever

it be,

WAR.

293

Where he stands no other word Stands God sure the child's prayers heard Kear the Alma River.

"V"

Willie, listen to the bells

Ringing in the town to-day; That 's for victory. No knell swells For the many swept away,

Hundreds, thousands. Let us weep, We, who need not, just to keep Reason clear in thought and brain

morning comes again; dread morning tell ^^ho they were that fought and
Till the Till the third

fell

Bv

the

Alma

River.

Come, we "11 lay us down, my child; Poor the bed is, poor and hard But thy father, far exiled,

Sleeps upon the open sward, Dreaming of us two at home;

Or, beneath the starry dome, Digs out trenches in the dark,
AVliere he buries

Willie, mark! Where he buries those who died Fighting lighting at his side
Bv
the

Alma

River.

Willie, Willie, go to sleep; God will help us, O my boy

lie will

the dull hours creep Faster, and send news of joy;

I

make
nci-d

AN'lien

not shrink to meet

294

POEHhS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

Those great placards iu the street, That for weeks will ghastly stare
In some eves child, say that prayer Once again, a different one,

Say,

"

O God
the

By

Thy Alma River."

!

will be

done

DINAH MARIA M CLOCK CRAIK.

CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

[October
25, 1854.]

Half

a league, half a league,

Half a league onward, All iu the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

Forward, the Light Brigade " he said ; Charge for the guns Into the valley of Death
!
!

''

Rode the
"

six

hundred.

Forward, the Light Brigade " Was there a man dismayed? Not though the soldier knew Some one had blundered:
!

Theirs not to

make

reply,

Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die

:

Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

Cannon Cannon

to right of them. to left of them,

WAR.
Cannon
them and thundered Volleyed Stormed at with shot and Boldly they rode and well
in front of
;

295

shell,
;

Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell,

Rode

the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare, Flashed as Ihey turned in air,

Sabriu<; the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered:

Plunged in the battery-smoke, Kight through the line they broke: Cossack and Russian
Keeled from' the sabre-stroke. Shattered and sundered.

Then thev rode back, but not

jSot the six

hundred.

Cannon to right of them. Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered:
Stormed at with shot and shell. While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came thi-ough the jaws of Death Back from the mouth of Hell, .\II (li:il was left of them.

Left of six Innnlred.

29G

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT,

When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made
All the world wondered.

Honor Honor

the charge they made!

the Light Brigade,
!

Noble six hnndred

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.

THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.

[September
25, 1857.]

THAT last day in Lucknow fort! knew that it was the last That the enemy's lines crept surely And the end was coming fast.
O,

We

on,

To
It

And And

yield to that foe meant worse than death the men and we all worked on ;
roar,

was one day more of smoke and then it would all be done.

There was one of

-

us, a corporal's wife,

fair,

young, gentle thing,

Wasted with fever in the siege, And her mind was wandering.
She lay on the ground,
"
in her Scottish plaid.
;

And I took her head on mv knee When my father comes hame frae
she said, " Oh then please
!

the pleugh,"

wauken me."

WAR.
She
slept like a child on her father's floor, In the flecking of woodbine-shade,

297

When the house-dog sprawls by the And the mother's wheel is stayed.
It

open door,

was smoke and roar and powder-stench.

;

And hopeless waiting for death And the soldier's wife, like a full-tired
Seemed scarce
I

child,

to

draw her

breath.

sank to sleep and I had my dream Of an English village-lane. And wall and garden; but one wild scream lirought me back to the roar again.
;

There Jessie Brown stood listening Till a sudden gladness broke

All over her face;

And drew me

and she caught near as she spoke

my hand
:

" The Ilielauders! O, dinna ye hear The slogan far awa.

The Mcliregor's? O,
It
's

ken

it

weel;
!

the grandest
bless thae

o'

them

a'

"God
And

bonnv Ilielanders!

We 're
fell

saved

we

're

saved

''
!

she cried

on her knees; and thanks to God

like a full llood-tide.

Flowed forth

Along the

Uad

falk'u

battery-line her cry among the men,

298

POEMS OF NATIONAL
they started
life

SPIRIT.
there to die;

And

back; they were

But was

so near them, then?

They listened for life; the rattling fire Far ofif, and the far-off roar, Were all and the colonel shook his
;

And

head, they turned to their guns once more.

But Jessie said, " The slogan 's done But wiuna ye hear it noo. The Camphells are comin'? It 's no' a dream; " Our succors hae broken
;

through

We

heard the roar and the rattle afar, But the pipes we could not hear; So the men plied their work of hopeless war And knew that the end was near.
It

was not long

ere

it

made

its
:

A
It

wav,

thrilling, ceaseless

sound

was no noise from the strife afar, Or the sappers under ground. was
the pipes of the Highlanders
!

It

they jdayed Auld Lang Syne; It came to our men like the voice of God,

And now

And

they shouted along the

line.

And they wept, and shook one another's hands, And the women sobbed in a crowd And every one knelt down where he stood, And we all thanked God aloud.
;

WAR.
That happr day, when we welcomed them,

299

Our men put

Jessie first;

And

the general gave her his hand, and cheers Like a storm from the soldiers burst.

And

the pipers' ribbons

and tartans streamed,

tears,

Marching round and round our line; And our joyful cheers were broken with

As

the pipes played Aiild

Lang

tiyne.

ROBERT

T. S.

LOWELL.

DANNY DEEVEK.
"What
"

are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-

on-Parade.

To turn vou

out, to turn vou out," the ColorSergeant said.

"What makes you

"
1

look so white, so white?" said

1

Files-on-Parade.

'm dreadin' what

've

got to watch," the Color-

Sergeant said.

For

tli(\v 're

hangin'

Danny

Deever, you can

play.

liear the

Dead March

The reginieut 's in 'ollow s(piare they're hangin" him to-day; They 've taken of his buttons off an' cut his strij>es away,
An" llicy'rc Jiangin' Dann.y Deever in the mornin'.

"What makes
said

the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?"

I'"'iles

on

rai'ade.

300
" It
's

POEJIS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

bitter cold, it 's bitter cold/' the Color-Sergeant said.

"What makes

that front-rank

man

fall

down?"

"A

says Files-on-Parade. touch o' sun, a touch o' sun," the Color-Ser-

geant said. The}" are haugin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round, They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is cofiln

An'

'e '11

on the ground swing in 'arf a minute for a sneak;

in'

shootin' hound:
're

O
" 'Is cot " 'E

they hangin' mornin'

!

Danny Deever

in

the

was

right-'and cot to mine," said Files-on-

Parade.
's

sleepin' out an' far to-night," the ColorSergeant said.

" I 've

drunk

'is

beer a score

o'

times," said Files-

on-Parade.
" 'E
's

drinkin' bitter beer alone," the Color-Ser-

geant said.

They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must

mark
For
'e

'im to

'is

place,

shot a comrade sleepin' look 'im in the face

;

you

must

Nine 'undred of
disgrace,

'is

county an' the regiment's

While they
"

're

hangin'

Danny Deever

in the

mornin'.

What *s

" that so black agin the sun? said Fileson-Parade-

WAR.
" It
's

301

Dannv

fightin' 'ard for life," the Color-Ser-

geant said.

"What's
" It
's

that that

whimpers over'ead?" said

's

Files-on-Parade.

Dauny's soui that

Sergeant

passin' now," the Color-

said.

're done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play, The roginient 's in coluuin, an' they 're marchin' us away;

For they

Ho!
.

the

young recruits are

shakin',

an'

they *11 want their beer to-day. After hangiu' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

RUDYARD KIPLING.

WHERE ARE THE MEN?

Where
Hope
are the

men who went

forth

in

the

morning,
hrightly beaming in every face? Fearing no danger, the Saxon foe scorning,

thought they of defeat or disgrace! Fallen is their chieftain his glory departed
Little

Fallen are the heroes

Fatherless children

who fought by his side! now weep, broken-hearted.

Mournfully wandering by Khuddlan's dark tide!

Small was the band that escaped from the slaughter,
l-'lying foi- life

as the lidc 'gan to

How;

Uast

tlioii

no

i)ily, tliou

dark rolling water?

More

cruel

still

than the merciless foe!

302

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Death

is behind them, and death is before them; Faster and faster rolls on the dark wave;

One wailing
Silent

cry

and the sea closes

is

o'er

them;

and deep

their watery grave.

Fiom

the Welsh of

Translation of

THOMAS

TALIESSIN. OLIPIIANT.

BRUCE AND THE SPIDER.

[About
1307.J

For Scotland's and for freedom's The Bruce his part had played,
In
five

right

successive fields of fight

;

Been compiered and dismayed Once more against the English host His band he led, and once more lost The meed for which he fought; And now from battle, faint and worn, The homeless fugitive forlorn

A
And

hut's lone shelter sought.

cheerless was that resting-place For him who claimed a throne His canopy, devoid of grace. The rude, rough beams alone; The heather couch his only bed, Yet Avell I ween had slumber fled
:

From couch

of eider-down

Through darksome night till dawn of day, Absorbed in wakeful thoughts he lay Of Scotland and her crown.

WAR.
The sun roso
brijihtly,

303

and

its

gloam

Fell on that hapless bed,

And

tinged with liglit each shapeless Which roofed the lowly shed;
wistful eve,

beam

When, looking up with

The Hruce beheld a spider try His filmy thread to fling

From beam to beam of that rude cot; And well the insect's toilsome lot
.

Taught Scotland's future king.

Six times his gossamery thread

The wary si)ider threw; In vain the filmy line was sped, For powerless or untrue Each aim appeared, and back recoiled

The patient

insect, six

times foiled,
;

And yet uncon(iuered still And soon i]\o Bruce, with eager eye, Saw him prepare once more to try
His courage, strength, and
skill.

One

elTort nioi-e, his seventh

liailed the sign
I

and
-

last

The hero

And on
That

the wished-for Iteam

slendei', silken line!
it

hung

fast

Slight as

was. his spirit caught

oinoii,

The more than

for his thought

Tlic lesson well could Irace,

Which even

'*

he

who runs may

read,"

Til at Pers(n'e ranee

And

gains ils meed, Patience wins the race.

r.KUXAKIi I'.AIfTON.

304

POEMS OF NATIONAL
BANNOCKBURN.
[June
24, 1314.]

SPIRIT.

Scots,
Scots,

wha hae

wham

wi' Wallace bled, Bruce has aften led;

Welcome to your gory Or to victorie.

bed,

Now 's

the day, and

now

's

the hour

See the front o' battle lour: See approach proud Edward's power,^

Chains and slaverie!

Wha Wha Wha

will be a traitor

knave?

can

a coward's grave? sae base as be a slave?

fill

Let him turn and

flee!

Wha

for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa'? Let him follow me!

By Oppression's woes and pains! By our sons in servile chains.

We

will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low

Tyrants
fall in

every foe!

Liberty's in every blow! Let us do, or die!

ROBERT BURNS.

WAR.

30.J

SONG OF CLAN-ALPINE.
FROM
"

THE LADY OF THE LAKE," CANTO

II.

Loud

a hiiiulied clansineii raise

tlieir chieftain's praise.

Their voices in

Eadi boatman, bendinp, to his oar, Witli measured sweep tlie burthen
Tn such wild cadence, as the breeze

bore,

Makes throujiii December's leafless The chorus first could Allen know,
'*

trees.

And

Koderigh Vich Alpine, ho! ieroe!" near, and nearer, as they rowed,

Distinct the martial ditty flowed.

Hail to the Chief who

in triumj)h

advances!

Honored and blessed be the evergreen IMne! Long may the tree, in his b;inner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Heaven send it liai)py dew. Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, While every Highland glen Sends our shouts back again,
"

Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Ours

is no sapling chance-sown by the fountain, IJlooming at IJeltane, in winter to fade; When the whii-lwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain.

The more shall Clan-Alpine exult Moored in the rifled rock.

VIII

in her shade.

Proof to the i*n[iest's shock,

20

306

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; Meuteith and Breadalbane, then, Echo his praise again, " Roderigh Vieh Aljiine dhu, ho ieroe "
! !

Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, And Bannachar's groans to our slogan replied;

Glen Luss and Eoss-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her
side.

Widow and Saxon maid

Long shall lament our raid. Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe; Lennox and Leven-glen Shake when they hear again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
Row,
vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands! Stretch to your oars for the evergreen Pine that the rosebud that graces you islands Were wreathed in a garland around him to
!

twine

that some seedling gem, Worthy such noble stem.

Honored and blessed in their shadow might grow! Loud should Clan-Alpine then
"

Ring from the deepmost glen, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ieroe " SIR WALTER SCOTT.
! !

WAR.
BEAL' AN DHUINE.
[lili.J

307

FROM

"

THE LADY OF THE LAKE," CANTO

is

VI.

There

no breeze upon the fern,

erne,
;

No rii)ple on the lake, Upon her eyrie nods tlie

The deer has sonjilit the brake The small birds will not sing aloud, The springing ti-out lies still, So darklj glooms yon thunder-cloud. That swathes, as with a purple shroud,
lienledi's distant hill.
it the tlmnder's solemn sound That nuitters deep and dread. Or echoes from the groaning ground The warrior's measured tread?

Is

Is

it

the lightning's quivering glance

That on the thicket streams, Or do they Hash on s[)ear and lance The sun's rclii-ing beams?
I see tlie
I

dagger crest of Mar,

see the Moray's silver star Wave o'(>r llio cloud of Saxon war.

Thai up

tiic

lake comes wiiuling far!

strife.

To hei-o bound for battle Or bard of martial lay,

'T
\\(M'e

worth

Icii

years of peaceful

life.

One glance
Their

(licii-

array!

liglil-ariiicd

archers far ami near

Surveyed the

1aiiglel

ground,

308

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Their centre ranks, with pike and spear, A twilight forest frowned, Their barbed horsemen, in the rear.

The stern battalia crowned. clashed, no clarion rang. Still were the pipe and drum; Save heavy tread, and armor's clang, The snileu march was dumb. There breathed no wind their crests Or wave their flags abroad;

No cymbal

to shake,

Scarce the

frail

aspen seemed to quake.

o'er their road.

That shadowed

Their vaAvard scouts no tidings bring, Can rouse no lurking foe,

Nor spy a trace of living thing, Save when they stirred the roe;
The host moves
like a
its

Where

rise

no rocks

deep sea wave, pride to brave,

High swelling, dark, and slow. The lake is passed, and now they gain A narrow and a broken plain,
Before the Trosach's rugged jaws; here tlie horse and spearmen pause, While, to explore the dangerous glen. Dive through the pass the archer men.

And

At once

there rose so wild a yell

Within that dark and narrow dell. As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, Had pealed the banner cry of hell! Forth from the pass in tumult driven, Liice chatT l)cf()re the winds of heaven, The archery appear
:

WAR.
For
life! for life! their tlight

300
they ply

Aud shriek, uud shout, and battle-cry, And jdaids and bonnets waving high, And broadswords Hashing to the sk}',
Are maddening
in the rear.

Onward

they drive, in dreadful race,

Pursuers and pursued;

How

IJefore that tide of flight and chase, shall it keep its rooted place.

spearmen's twilight " " Down, down," cried Mar, your lances down

The

wood?

Bear back both friend and foe "

!

Like reeds before the tempest's frown.

That serried grove

of lances

brown

At once

lav levelled low;

And

The
"

closely shouldering side to side, bristling ranks the onset bide.

\\'e'll quell

As
^Ve

their

the savage mountaineer, linchel * cows the game;

tieet

They come as
'11

as forest deer,

drive

them back as tame."

Bearing before them, in their course.

The

relics of the archer force,

Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.

Above the

Was
And

tide, each broadsword bright blandishing like beam of light. Each targe was dark Inflow;
villi

the ocean's mighty swing,

^^'h('Il

heaving to the tempest's wing, Tliey hurled them on Ihe ff)e.

*

circle of sportsmen,

snrroimding

tlie

deer.

310
I

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

heard the lance's shivering crash, the whirlwind rends the ash ; I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, As if a hundred anvils rang

As when

But Moray wheeled his rearward flank Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flauk^

"My
I see,"

he cried,

banuermau, advance! their columns shake.

'
!

Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake, Upon them with the lance " The horsemen dashed among the rout. As deer break through the broom
;

Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, They soon make lightsome room.

Clan-Ali)iue's best are

backward borne

Where, where was Roderick then? One blast upon his bugle-lioru Were worth a thousand men
!

And

refluent through the pass of fear The battle's tide was poured
;

Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear, Vanished the mountain sword.

As Brackl inn's chasm,

so black and steep, Eeceives her roaring linn. As the dark cavei-ns of the deep Suck tlse wild wliirl})ool in, So did the deep and darksome ])ass

Devour the battle's mingled mass; None linger now upon the plain.
Save those who ne'er
shall fight again. SIR WALTER SCOTT.

WAR.

311

PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU.*

[1431.]

rir.ROCH of Donuil Dim, Pilji'ocli of Donuil, Wake tliv wild voice anew,

Summon

Clan Conuil.

Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war array,
Gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen, and From mountains so rocky;

The war-})iie and pennon Are at Inverlociiy. Come every hill-plaid, and

Come

True heart that wears one. every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd. The flock without shelter; Leave the corjtse uninterred,

The bride at the altar;

Leave the deer, leave the steer. Leave nets and barges; Come with your fighting gear, Broadswords and targes.
*

Pipe-summons, or gathering-song, of Donald the Black.

312

POEMS OF NATIONAL
Come

SPIRIT.

as the winds come, when Forests are rended;

Come

as the waves come, when Navies are stranded; Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster.
Chief, vassal, page

and groom, Tenant and master.

;

Fast they come, fast they come

See

Wide

they gather! waves the eagle plume

how

Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set Pibroch of Donuil Dim,
!

Knell for the onset

SIR

WALTER

SCOTT.

FLODDEN FIELD.
[September, 1513.]

FROM

"

MARMION," CANTO

VI.

A MOMENT
And

then Lord Marmion stayed. breathed his steed, his men arrayed.
his band,

Then forward moved

Until,

He

Lord Surrey's rear-guard won, halted by a cross of stone.

That, on a hillock standing lone, Did all the field command.

Hence might they see the full array Of either host for deadly fray
;

WAR.

313

Their marshalled lines stretched east and west, And fronted north and south,

And distant salutation past From the louil eanuon-niouth

Not in the close successive rattle That breathes the voice of modern battle, But slow and far between. The hillock gained. Lord M arm ion stayed:

" Here, by this cross,'' he gently said, "You well may view the scene;

Here shalt thou

tarry, lovely Clare:

O, think of ^rarmion in thy prayer!^ Thou wilt not? well, no less my care

Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare.

You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard,

With ten picked archers of my With England if the day go hard, To Berwick speed amain, But, if we conquer, cruel maid.

train;

My spoils shall at your feet be When here we meet again."

Nor heed

laid,

He waited not for answer there. And would not mark the maid's despair,
the discontented look

From

either squire: but sjturred amain, And, dashing through the battle-plain, His wav to Surrev took.

Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested

still

With Lady Clare

On which

The The cry they heard,

ujjon the hill for far the day was spent) western sunbeams now were bent.
;
(

its

meaning knew.

314

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Could plain their distant comrades view: Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,
"

No hope

office here to stay of gilded spurs to-day. Rut, see look up, on Flodden bent

Unworthy
!

The Scottish

foe has tired his tent."

And sudden, as he spoke, From the sharp ridges of the hill, All downward to the banks of Till

Was

wreathed

in sable

smoke.

Volumed and vast, and rolling far, The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, As down the hill thev broke: Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone. Announced their march; their tread alone,
At times their warning trumpet blown. At times a stilled hum, Told England, from his mountain-throne King James did rushing come.
foes,
close.

Scarce could they hear or see their Until at weapon-point they

They
close in clouds of

smoke and

dust.

With sword-sway and with lance's And such a yell was there.
Of sudden and portentous birth. As if men fought upon the earth

thrust;

And
O,
life

fiends in ui)per air:

and death were in the shout, Eecoil and rally, charge and rout. And triumph and despair.

Long looked the anxious

Could
in the

squires; their eye

darkness naught descry.

WAR.
At
length tlie freslieuing western blast Aside the shroud of battle cast
;

315

And, first, the ridge of mingled spears Above the brightened cloud appears;

And
As

pennons Hew, storm the white sea-mew. Then marked they, dashing broad and The broken billows of the war.
in the

in the suioke the

far,

And

[)lumed crests of chieftains brave

Floating like foam upon the wave;

But naught distinct they see: Wi<le raged the battle on the plain; *5i>ears shook, and falchions flashed amain;
Fell England's arrow-liight like rain; Crests rose, and stoo]ted, and rose again,

disorderly. the scene of tumult, high They saw Lord ilarmiou's falcon lly And stainless Tunstall's banner white,

Wild and

Amid

And
Still

l\]dmund Howard's lion briglit, bear them bravely in the tight;

Although against them come Of gallant (Jordons many a one.

And many And many

stubborn llighliuidman,

a rugged Ilorder clan,

^^ith Huntley

and with Home,

left, unseen (he while, Stanley broke J^nnox and Argyle; Thougli there (he western mountaineer Rushed w itli bare bosom on the spear.

Far on the

And And

(lung the feeble targe aside. with both liands the broadsword plied.

310

POEJilS

OF NATIONAL 8PIBIT.

'T was vain: But Fortune, on the right, With fickle smile, cheered Scotland's fight. Then fell that spotless banner white, The Howard's lion fell
;

Yet

still

Lord Marmion's falcon flew

With wavering flight, while fiercer grew Around the battle-yell. The Border slogan rent the sky A Home a Gordon was the cry Loud were the clanging blows Advanced, forced back, now low, now
!
!

high,

The pennon sunk and rose; As bends the bark's mast in the

gale.
sail,

When
No
"

rent are rigging, shrouds, and It wavered mid the foes.

longer Blount the view could bear:

all its saints, I
it lost
!

By heaven and I will not see

swear,

Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare May bid your beads, and patter prayer, I gallop to the host." And to the fray he rode amain.

Followed by all the archer train. The fiery youth, with desperate charge, Made, for a space, an opening large, The rescued banner rose. But darkly closed the war around. Like pine-tree rooted from the ground. It sunk among the foes. Then Eustace mounted too; yet stayed,

As loath When,

to leave the helpless maid. fast as shaft can fly.

Bloodshot his eyes^ his nostrils spread.

WAR.
from his head, and saddle bloody red, Housing Lord Marniion's steed rushed by;

317

The

loose rein dangling

And

Eustace, maddening at the sight, look and sign to Clara cast. To mark he would return in haste,

Then plunged

into the fight.

Ask me not what

the maiden feels,

Left in that dreadful hour alone:

Perchance her reason stoops or reels Perchance a courage, not her own, Braces her mind to desperate tone. The scattered van of England wheels; She only said, as loud in air The tumult roared. " Is Wilton there?"
;

fly, or, maddened by despair, Fight but to die.'' Is Wilton there?" With that, straight up the hill there rode

They

Two horsemen drenched with gore. And in their arms, a helpless load,

wounded knight they

bore.

His hand still strained the broken brand; His arms were smeared with blood and sand.

Dragged fi-oin among the liorses' feet, With dinted shield, and helmet beat, The falcon-crest and plumage g<me, Can that be liaughty Marmion Young r.lount his armor did unlace, And, gazing on his ghastly face.
I .

Said, I5y Saint George, he's gone! Tliat sjjear-wound hiis <ur master sped,

"

And see the deep cut on his head! Good night to Marmion."

318

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.
cease:

"Unnurtured Blount! thy brawling

He

" " opes his eyes/' said Eustace; peace!

When, doffed his casque, he felt free Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare:

air,

"Where
Cry

's

Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where?

Linger ye here, je hearts of hare! Kedeem my pennon, charge again

'

Marmion

to the rescue

'
!

vain
!

Last of my race, on battle-plain That shout shall ne'er be heard ngain Yet my last thought is England's: fly, To Dacre bear my signet-ring:
his squadrons up to bring: Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie;
Tell

him

Tunstall

lies

dead upon the

field,

His

life-blood stains the si)otless shield:

Edmund

is down; my life The Admiral alone is left.

is

reft;

Let Stanley charge with spur of

fire,

With Chester

charge, and Lancashire,

Full upon Scotland's central host,

Or victory and England 's lost. Must I bid twice? hence, varlets! flv! Leave Marmion here alone to die."

They parted, and alone he lay Clare drew her from the sight away, Till pain rung forth a. lowly moan. And half he murmured, " Is there none, Of all my halls have nurst.
:

Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring, Of blessed water from the spring.

To slake my

d^'ing thirst?

"

WAR.
O woinau
I

319

in

our hours of ease,

Uucertaiu, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made; >A'hen pain and anguish wring the brow,

ministering angel thou Scarce were the piteous accents said. When, with the Baron's casque, the maid
I

To
The

the nigh streamlet ran;

;

Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears

jilaintive voice alone she hears,

Sees but the dying man. She stooped her by the runneFs side, But in abhorrence backward drew; For, oozing from the mountain's side.

Where raged

the war, a dark-red tide AVas curdling in the streamlet blue. Where shall she turn! behold her mark A little fountain cell,

Where water,
Above, some
gviuh
:

clear as diamond-spark,
fell.

In a stone basin

lialf-worn letters say,

:

ueavy
:

pilcjvim
:

rtvinli
:

m\A
:

pray
:

^OK
She

the
:

hind
:

isoul
:

of

<^yliil
:

6vuy
u'cll
:

^Vho

huilt

thi.si

cvos.^

iuul

filled

the helm, and back she hied,

And

with sui'prise and joy espied

A monk
A
pious

supporting Marmion's head;

man whom duty brought

To dubious verge of battle fought. To shrive the dying, bless the dead.
Deep drank Lord Marmif)n of (he wave, And, as she stooj)ed his brow to lave,

.320

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
"

SPIRIT.
"

"

Is it the hand of Chu-e," he said, Or injured Constance, bathes mj head? Then, as remembrance rose,

"

Speak not to me of
I

shrift or prayer

must redress her woes.

Short space, few words, are mine to spare; Forgive and listen, gentle Clare!"

"Alas!" she

said,

"the while,
;

O, think of your immortal weal! In vain for Constance is your zeal

Holy Isle," Lord Marmion started from the ground, As light as if he felt no wound; Though in the action burst the tide In torrents from his wounded side. " Then it was truth " he said," I knew That the dark presage must be true. I would the Fiend, to whom belongs The vengeance due to all her vrrongs,
!

She died

at

Would spare me but

For wasting
fire,

a day and dying groan,

!

And
It

priests slain on the altar stone,

Might bribe him for delay.

not be! this dizzy trance, Curse on yon base marauder's lance,

may

And

doubly cursed

my

sinful heart

makes

failing brand! feeble hand."

Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk, Sui)ported by the trembling monk.

With

fi'uitless labor,

Clara bound,

And

strove to stanch the gushing

cares,

wound:

The monk, with unavailing

WAR.
Exhausted
all the Church's prayers. Ever, he said, that, close aud near,

321

xV lady's voice

was

iu his ear,

And
'^'

that the priest he could not hear, For that she ever sung,
lost battle,

la the

home down hy

the Hying,

Where

ininyles

tear's

rattle icith groans of the

dying!'' So the notes rung

"

:
!

Avoid thee, Fiend with cruel hand, Shake not the dying sinner's sand!

O, look,

my yon sign Of the Kedeenier's grace divine: O, think on faith and bliss!
son. u])on

Bv And many

nianv a death-bed

have been,

a sinner's parting seen.

like this."

But never aught The war, that

for a space did fail,

Now

trebly thundering swelled the gale. And Stanley v\as the cry
!
:

light on

Marmion's visage spread.

glazing eye:
his

And

fired his

With dying hand above

''

head
blade.

He shook the fragment of his And shouted Victory

!

Charge, Chester, charge!

Were

On, Stanley, the last words of Marmion.

SIR

on!"
SCOTT.

WALTER

VIII

21

322

POEJilS

OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

THE BONNETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE.

[About

1688.]
't

To the
"

lords

of

convention

was Claverhouse
crowns

spoke,

Ere the king's crown

to be broke; let each cavalier

shall fall, there are

So

who

loves honor

Come

follow the bonnets of bonnie

and me Dnndee "

!

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can; Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; Come open the Westport and let us gang free, And it 's room for flic ho)incts of honnic Dundee!
Dundee he is mounted, he rides np the street, The bells are rung backward, the drums they are
beat
;

But the provost, douce man, said, " Just e'en let him be, The gude toun is well quit of that deil of Dundee "
!

As he rode doun the sanctified bends of the Bow, Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow But the young plants of grace they looked cowthie
;

and
dee!

slee.

Thinking, Luck to thy bonnet, thou bonnie Dun-

With sour-featured whigs

the Grass-market

was

As

if

thranged, half the west had set tryst to be hanged;

WAR.
There was spite
each
ee,

323

in

each look, there was fear in

As

thev watched for the bonnets of bounie Dundee.

These coavIs of Kilmarnock had spits and had

spears.

And
But

lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers; they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway

was

free

At

the toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee.

lie s[urred to the foot of the

proud castle rock,

And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke: " Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa
words or three, For the love of the bonnet
of bonnie Dundee."

The (Jordon demands of him which way he goes. "Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!

Your grace in short space shall hear tidings of me. Or that low lies the bonnet of bonnie Dundee.
"There are hills beyond Pentland and lands vond Fortli
;

be-

If there's lords
ill

in
;

the Lowlands, there's chiefs

Die north

There
1

are

wild
'

Dnniew assals

thiee

thousand

lines tlnve

^^'ili

cry
dee.

lloighl

fur the bonnet of bounie

,;
,.

DunT

"

There

's

brass on the target of barkened bull-

liide.

324

POEMS OF NATIONAL
's

SPIRIT.

There

steel

in

the scabbard that dangles be-

side;

The brass
free,

shall be burnished, the steel shall flash

At a
"

toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee.

to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks,

Away
I

Ere

And

I '11 couch with the fox; tremble, false whigs, in the midst of your

own an usurper

glee,

You have not

seen the last of

my

bonnet and me."

He waved

his

proud hand, and the trumpets were

clashed,
cliffs

blown,

The kettle-drums
on,
Till

and the horsemen rode and on Clermiston's

on Ravelston's
lea

Died away the wild war-notes of bonnie Dundee.

Come fill up 7ny cup, come fill up my can; Come saddle the Jiorses, and call up the men; Come open your doors and let me gae free,
For
it ^s

up with the bonnets of bonnie Dundee! SIR WALTER SCOTT.

LIBERTY TREE.
[1775.]

In a chariot of light from the regions of day, The Goddess of Liberty came; Ten thousand celestials directed tlie way, And hither conducted the dame.

WslR,

825

fair

budding branch from the <?ardens above,

^yhc're millions with millions agree, She brought in her hand as a pledge of her love,

And
The

the plant she

named Liberty

Tree.

celestial exotic struck

it

deep in the ground,

Like a native

flourished

and bore;

The fame of its fruit drew the nations around, To seek out this peaceable shore. Unmindful of names or distinction they came. For fi'cemen like brothers agree; With one spirit endued, they one friendship pur-

And

sued. their temple

was

Lihertij Tree.

Beneath

this fair tree, like the patriarchs of old, Their bread in contentment thev ate,

Unvexed with the troubles of silver and gold. The cares of the grand and the great. With timber and tar they Old England supplied,

And
Her

supported her power on the sea

battles they fought, without getting a groat. For the honor of Lihcrty Tree.

ye swains, 't is a t;ile most profane, the tyrannical powers. Kings, Commons, and Lords, are united amain. To cut down this guardian of ours;
hear,

But

now

all

From

the east to the west blow the trumpet to

arms,

Through tho bind lot the sound of it flee, Lot the far and the near, all unite with a cheer.
In dofcnco of our Lihcrty Tree.

THOMAS

I'AINB.

320

POEMS OF NATIONAL

.SPIRIT.

HYMN

SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE CONCORD

MONUMENT, APRIL

19,

1836.

the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood.

By

And
The

fired the

shot heard round the world.

foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;

And Time the ruined bridge has SAvept Down the dark stream which seaward
On

creeps.

We

this green bank, bv this soft stream, set to-day a votive stone;
like

That memory may their deed redeem,

When,

our

sires,

our sons are gone.

made those heroes dare To die, or leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee. RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
Spirit, that

WARRP]N'S ADDRESS.*
Stand the ground 's your own, Will ye give it up to slaves? Will ye look for greener graves?
!

my

braves

Hope ye mercy
* General Joseph Warren,

still?
fell

who

at the battle of

Bunker

Hill.

June

17, 1775.

WAR.
What's the mercy despots feel? Hear it iu that battle-peal! Kead it ou yon bristliuj*- steel Ask it, ye who will.

327

Fear ye foes who kill for hire? Will ye to your Jionics retire? Look behind you! they're afire!

And, before you, see

Who
On

have done it From the vale come! and Avill ye quail? they Leaden rain and iron hail

Let their welcome be

In the

God

Die we may, and die we must: But, (). where can dust to dust

of battles trust!

Be consigned so well. As where heaven its dews shall shed On the martyred patriot's bed,

And

the rocks shall raise their head, Of his deeds to tell?

JOIIX riERPONT.

"THE LOXF.LY BUGLE GRIEVES."

FROM AX
"

oKK OX Tin:

('i:fj;i;kati()X

ok

the

RATTLK OK MUXKKR

IIII.L,

JUNE

17,

1825."

The trump hath blown. And now upon that recking

hill

Slaughter rides screaming on the vengeful ball; While with IcrrKic signal shrill,

328

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.
'

The vultures from their bloody eyries flown, Hang o'er them like a pall.

Now
And

deeper

roll

the

maddening drums,

the mingling host like ocean heaves; While from the midst a horrid wailing

And

comes, high above the fight the lonely bugle grieves! GRENVILLE M ELLEN.

NATHAN
To drum-beat and

HALE.*

heart-beat
:

by There is color in his cheek, There is courage in his eye, Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat In a moment he must die.

soldier marches

By starlight and moonlight. He seeks the Briton's camp; He hears the rustling flag. And the armed sentry's tramp; And the starlight and moonlight
His
silent

wanderings lamp.
still

With slow tread and

tread,

He scans the tented line; And he counts the battery guns

By the gaunt and shadowy pine; And his slow tread and still tread
Gives no warning sign.
*

Hauged

as a spy by the British, in

New York

City,

September

22, 1776.

STATUE OF NATHAN HALE

WAR.
The dark wave, the plumed wave,
It

32D

meets his eager ghince;

And

it sparkles 'ueath the stars, Like the glimmer of a lance

dark wave, a plumed wave,

On an emerald

expanse.

sharp clang, a

And

steel clang. terror in the sound

!

For the
In the

sentrv, falcon-eved,
;

camp a spy hath found With a sharp ching, a steel clang. The patriot is bound.
With calm brow, steady brow, lie listens to his doom;
In his look there
is

no

fear,
;

Nor a shadow-trace of gloom But with calm brow and steady brow

He

robes him for the toml>.

In the long night, the still night, He kneels upon the sod
;

And

the brutal guards withliold E'en the solemn Word of God

!

In the long night, the still night. He walks where Christ hath trod.
'Neath the blue
lie dies

iiiuin, tlio

sunny morn,
lose

upon the ti-cc; And he monrns that he can Hut one life for Liberty;

330

P0E3IS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

And

in the blue morn, the sunny morn, His spirit-wings are free.

But

his last words, his message-words,

They burn, lest friendly eye Should read how proud and calm

A
With

patriot could die.

his last words, his dying words,
soldier's battle-cry.

From Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, From monument and urn,

The sad
of earth, the glad of heaven,

His tragic fate shall learn; And on Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf

The name

of

Hale

shall burn!

FRANCIS MILES FINCH.

SONG OF MAE ION'S

Our band 'is
Our
The

T^IEN.*

few, but true and tried, leader frauk and bold; British soldier trembles

When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress-tree; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea We know its walls of thorny vines,
;

Its glades of reedy grass,

South Carolina, renowned as a daring patriot partisan leader during the Revolutionary War.

* General Francis Marion, of

WAR.
Its safe

331

and silent islands Within the dark morass.

to the English soldiery

Woe

That little dread us near! On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear; When, waking to their tents on

tire,

They

gras]) their

arms

in vain,

And And

they

who stand

to face us

Are beat
they

to earth again;
i\y in

who

terror

deem

A
And

mighty host behind. hear the tramp of thousands

the hollow wind.

Upon

Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil
;

We

talk the battle over,

And

share the battle's

i-ings

sj)oil.

The woodland

with laugh and shout,

As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are

gathered

To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind
That
in the jtine-top grieves.

And slniid)er long and sweetly On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon

The band that Marion leads, The glitter of their rilles. The scampering (tf llicir steeds.

832

POEMS OF NATIONAL
'T
is

SPIRIT.
barb

life to

guide the

fiery

'T

Across the moonlight plain; is life to feel the night-wind That lifts his tossing mane.

moment in the British camp A moment and away

Back

to the pathless forest,

Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with hoarv hairs;
Their hearts are
all

with Marion,

For Marion are

their prayers.

And

lovely ladies greet our

band

With kindliest welcoming. With smiles like those of summer,

And

tears like those of spring.

For them we wear these trust}^ arms, And la}^ them down no more Till we have driven the Briton Forever from our shore. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

CARMEN BELLICOSUM.
In their ragged regimentals Stood the old Continentals,

When

Yielding not, the grenadiers were lunging. And like hail fell the plunging

Cannon-shot;

When
Of the

the

files

isles.

WAR.
From
the

333

smoky

uiglit

encampment, bore the ban-

ner of the rampant Unicorn,

And grummer, grummer, grummer

of the

rolled the roll

drummer,
!

Through the morn

Then with eves

to the front all,

And And And

with guns horizontal, Stood our sires;

the balls whistled deadly,
in streams flashing redly Blazed the fires;

As the roar
Swept

On the shore, the strong battle-breakers o'er the greensodded acres

Of the plain;

And

louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gun-

l)owder.

Cracking amain

Now

like

Worked

smiths at their forges the red St. George's

;

Cannoneers
"

And the villanous saltpetre" Rung a fierce, discordant metre

Kound As the
With hot
their ears;

swift

Storm-drift,
sw('('i>iiig

anger,

came the horseguards'

clangor On our rtanks;

334

POEiMS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

higher,

Then

higher,

higher,
fire

burned

the

old

fashioned

Through the ranks!

Then the bare-headed colonel

Galloped through the white infernal Powder-cloud And his broad sword was swinging And his brazen throat was ringing
;

Trumpet-loud.

Then the blue

Bullets flew.

And

the troo])er-jackets redden at the touch of the leaden

Rifle-breath
;

And

rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron

six-pounder.

Hurling death

GUY HUMPHREY m'mASTER.

THE DANCE.
[Published soon after
tlie

suiTender of Cornwallis.]

CoRNW.iLLis

led a

country dance,

The
JMucli

was never seen, sir, retrogade and much advauce,

like
all

And

with General Greene,

sir.

up and rambled down. Joined hands, then ofl" they run, sir. Our General Greene to Charlestown, The earl to Wilmington, sir.
The}' rambled

Greene

in the

South then danced a

sir,

set.

And

got a mighty name,

WAR.
Cornwallis
jiji'j2;e<l

335

with

yoiinf; FaYOtle,

But sutiered

in his fame, sir.

Then down he figured to the Most like a lordly dancer,

shore,

And on his courtly honor swore He would no more advance, sir.

Quoth he. my p;uards are weary grown With footing country dances.
They never

At

at St. James's shone, capers, kicks, or prances.

Though men
A^'hile

so gallant ne'er were seen,

sauntering on parade, sir. Or wiggling o'er the park's smooth green,

Or

at a masquerade, sir.

Yet are red heels and long-laced skirts, For stumj)S and briars meet, sir? Or stand they chance with hunting-shirts, Or hardv veteran feet, sir?

Now
And

lioused in York, he challenged all.

all

At minuet or

'amande.

lessons for a courtly ball

His guards by day and night conned.

This challenge known, full soon there came A set who had the bou ton.
I)e (irasse

Fut

brillaut poui-

and Itochanibeaii. w hose fame un long tems.

330

POEMS OF NATIONAL
And Wasbington,

SPIRIT.

Columbia's son,
sir,
bj^

Whom

every nature taught,

That grace which can't

pains be won,
sir.

Or Plutus's gold be bought,

Now hand

in hand they circle round This ever-dancing peer, sir; Their gentle movements soon confound

The

earl as they

draw

near,

sir.

His music soon forgets to play His feet can move no more, sir, And all his bands now curse the day They jigged to our shore, sir.

Now

all, what can ye say? not this a griper, That while your hopes are danced away,

Tories

Come
is

is

'T

you must pay the piper?

ANONYMOUS.

MONTEREY.
[Mexico, September
19, 1846.]

We

were not many,

we who stood
;

Before the iron sleet that day Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years if but he could

Have been with us

at Monterey.

Now

here, now there, the shot it hailed In deadly drifts of fiery spray.

WAR.

837

Yet not a single soldier quailed When wounded comrades round them wailed
Their dying shouts at Monterey.

And

on, still on our column kept, Through walls of flame its withering
fell

way;

Where

the dead, the living stept, Still charging on the guns which swept

The slippery
The

streets of ^Monterey.

foe himself recoiled aghast,

When

We swooped

striking where he strongest lay, his flanking batteries past.

And. braving full their murderous blast, Stormed home the towers of Monterey.

Our banners on those

turrets wave,
;

And there our evening bugles play Where orange boughs above their grave, Keep green the memory of the brave

Who

fought and

fell

at Monterey.

We

are not many,

we who pressed
who
fell

Beside the brave

that day;

But who

of us has not confessed

He 'd

rather share their warrior rest

Than not have been at Monterey? CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.

VIII

22

338

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

.SPIRIT.

COMING.
[April, 1861.]

World,

art thou 'ware of a storm?

to the

Hark

ominous sound

How

the far-off gales their battle

And

form, the great sea-swells feel ground!

Typhoon of Death Nearer and nearer it comes! The horizon thunder of cannon-breath
It comes, the

And

the roar of angry

drums

Hurtle, Terror sublime! Swoop o'er the Land to-day So the mist of wrong and crime,

The breath of our Evil Time Be swept, as by fire, away HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL.
!

IN STATE.

O Keeper of the Sacred Key, And the Great Seal of Destiny,

Whose eye
is

the blue canopy,

tell

Look down upon the warring world, and what the end wmII be.
"

us

On

Lo, through the wintry atmosphere, the white bosom of the sphere,

WAR.

339

A
And

cluster of five lakes appear; all the land looks like a couch, or warrior's
shield, or sheeted bier.

"

And on

that vast and hollow

lips closed

field.

With both

and both eyes

iiiijihty Fii>ui'e is

revealed,

sealed,

Stretched at
in the "

full

leui^th,

and

stilT

and

stark, as

hollow of a shield,

The winds have tied the drifted snow Around the face and chin and lo, The sceptred Giants come and go. And shake their shadow,y crowns and say
;

'
:

We

always feared
"

it

would be

so!

'

She came of an heroic race:

liianCs streniith, a maiden's grace, in one seem to embrace.

A
And

Like (wo

match, and bend, and thorough-blend,

colossal

in

her

form and

face.

Where can her dazzling falchion be? One hand is fallen in the sea; The (lulf Stream drifts it far and free;

"

And

in that
tlic

hand her shining brand gleams from

depths resplcndcjilly.
oliiei-, in

*'

And

by the

its rest,

Tho starry lianner

Is

of the ^Vest

And

clasped forever to Imm- breast; of her silver lidnict. lo, a soaring eagle
crest.

is

the

340
"

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

And on her brow, a softened liglit, As of a star concealed from sight By some thin veil of Heecy white, Or of the rising moon behind the raining vapors
of the night. " The Sisterhood that was so sweet, The Starry System sphered complete, Which the mazed Orient used to greet. The Fonr-and-Thirty fallen Stars glimmer and
glitter at her feet.

and over For panoply and coronal,

"

And

over her,

all,

And

The mighty Immemorial, everlasting Canopy and Starry Arch and

Shield of All.
II.

" Three cold, bright

moons have marched and

wheeled ; And the white cerement that revealed

Figure stretched upon a Shield,

Is turned to verdure;

and the Land

is

now one

mighty
"

battle-field.

And lo, the children which she bred, And more than all else cherished,

To make them true in heart and head. Stand face to face, as mortal foes, with their swords crossed above the dead.
"

Each hath a mighty stroke and stride One true, the more that he is tried;

WAR.
And by
The other dark and evil-eved ; the hand of* one of them, mother surelv died!
his

341

own dear

/'

stealthy step, a gleam of hell, It is the simple truth to tell,

And

The Son stabbed and the Mother fell so she lies, all mute and pale, and pure and
irreproachable
!

"

And then the battle-trumpet blew And the true brother sprang and drew
;

And

His blade to smite the traitor through so they clashed above the bier, and the Night sweated bloody dew.
;

And all their children, far and wide, That are so greatly multiplied, Rise up in frenzy and divide; And choosing, each whom he will serve, unsheathe the sword and take their side.
"

"

And

in the

low sun's bloodshot rays,

I*ortentous of the coming days, The Two great Oceans blush and blaze. With the emergent continent between them,
in

wrapt

crimson haze.
wliichsoever stand or

"

Now

fall.

As (lod is groat, and man is small. The Truth shall triumph over all Forever and forevermore, the Truth shall triumph
:

over all

342

POEMH OF NATIONAL
III.

SPIRIT.

" I see the

I see I

champion sword-strokes flash fall and hear them clash; hear the murderous engines crash;

them

I see

a brother stoop to loose a foeman-brother's bloody sash.

'

mangled corse, The dead and dying" heaped in scores, The headless rider by his horse, The wounded captive bayoneted through
through without remorse.

" T see the torn and

and

hear the dying sufferer cry, his crushed face turned to the sky, I see him crawl in agony To the foul pool, and bovv' his head into bloody
I

^'

With

slime,

and

die.

" I see the assassin crouch

I see his victim fall, I see the

expire;

and

fire,

To

murderer creeping nigher the dead. He turns the head, strip The son beholds his sire!
I

the face!

"

hear the curses and the thanks;

I see the

mad

charge on the flanks.

The rents, the gaps, the broken ranks. The vanquished Sfjuadrons driven headlong down
the river's bridgeless banks. 't>^
"I see the death-gripe on the plain, The gra]>i)ling monsters on the main,

WAR,
The tens
of tlioiisnn<ls that are slain,

343

And

all

the si)eechless sufiteriug heart and brain.

and agony

of

I see the dark and bloody spots. The crowded loonis and crowded cots, The bleaching bones, the battle blots,

"

And

writ on

many

a nameless grave, a legend of

forget-me-nots.
"
I

see the gorged prison-den.

The dead line and the pent-up pen. The thousands (piartered in the fen. The living-deaths of skin and bone that were the
goodly shapes of men.

"And

still

the bloody

Dew must

fall!

groat Darkness with the Pall Of His dread Judgment cover all.
Till (he

And His

Dead Nation

rise

Transformed by Truth
"
!

to trium])h over all

"

And Last and

saitli

Last

see The Dead."

Thus

And

the Keej>er of the Key, the Great Seal of Destiny,

Whose eye is And leaves the

all

the bluo canopy. Pall of His great Darkness over

Sea.

the

Land and

FOKCK YTH E

LLSON.

3U

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT FOR

SISTER CAROLINE.
[March
35,

1861,

Soutli Carolina having adopted Ordinance of Secession.]

left

the

She has gone, she has

pride

us in passion and

Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side She has torn her own star from our firmament's
!

glow,

And

turned on her brother the face of a foe

We

Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, can never forget that our hearts have been
one,

Our foreheads both

From

si)rinkied in Liberty's name, the fountain of blood with the finger of fiame !

You were always too ready to But we said: " She is hasty

she

fire

at a touch

does not

mean

We

much." have scowled when you uttered some turbulent

threat
;

But friendship
forget."

still

whispered:

"Forgive and

Has our
Has

love all died out?

Have
last

its

altars

grown

cold?
the curse

come at

which the fathers

foretold?

WAR.
chain

345

Then Nature must teach us the strength of the

That her petulant children would sever
in vain.

They may
their
Till the Till

fight
spoil,

till

the buzzards are gorged with

it

harvest grows black as

rots in the soil,

the wolves their caves.

and the catamounts troop from

And

the shark tracks the pirate, the lord of the

waves

In vain is the strife! When its fury is past, Their fortunes must flow in one channel at

last,

As

the torrents that rush from the mountains of

snow
Roll mingled in peace in the valleys below.

Our

T^nion

is river,

lake, ocean,

and sky;

Man breaks not the medal when God cuts the die! Though darkened with sulphur, though cloven
with
steel.

The blue arch

will brighten, the waters will heal!

Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun,

Tiiere are battles with fate that can never be

won

The star-llowering banner must never be furled, For its blossoms of light are the hope of the world!
Go, then, our rash sister, afar and aloof, Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof; Rut when your heart aches and your feet have

grown

sore.

Remember

the

pathway that leads to our door! 0LIVI:R WENDELL HOLMES.

34G

POE]\m OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

JONATHAN TO JOHN.
It don't seem hardly right, John, When both my hands was
full,

To stnmp me to a fioht, John, Your cousin, tu, John Bull!

Ole Uncle
"
S.,

We know
Thet

sez he, " I guess it now," sez he,

is all

The Lion's paw

Accordin' to J.
's fit

the law,
''''

B.,

for

you and me!

You wonder why we 're hot, John? Your mark wuz on the guns,
The neutral guns, thet shot, John, Our brothers an' our sons
:

sez he, " I guess There 's human blood," sez he, " By fits an' starts, in Yankee hearts,

Ole Uncle

S.,

Though More 'n

't

may

surprise J. B.

it

would you an' me."

loose,

Ef / turned mad dogs

On i/our front parlor stairs. Would it just meet your views, John,
To wait an' sue their heirs? Ole Uncle S., sez he, " I guess,
I

John,

"

Thet
'T

on'y guess," sez he, ef Vattel on his toes

fell,

would kind
ez

o' rile J. B.,

Ez wal

you an' me! "

WAR.
Wlio made the law thet hurts, John,
" J. B."

347

Heads I win was ou

ditto tails/
liis

shirts,

John,

Onless

my memory

fails.

Ole Uncle S., sez he, '' I guess (I 'm good at thet)," sez he,
''

Thet sauce for goose ain't jest the juice For ganders with J. B., No more 'n with vou or me! "

When your
You

rights was our wrongs, John, didn't stop for fuss,

Britauny's trident prongs, John,

Was

good 'nougli law for

S.,

us.

sez he, " I guess Though physic 's good," sez he, " It doesn't toller thet he can swaller

Ole Uncle

Prescriptions signed J. B.' Put up by you an' me."

We own
Ef we
It
's

You mus'n'
jest

the ocean, tu, John, take it hard,

can't think with you, John,

your own back yard.

H., sez he,

Ole Uncle

"

guess

Ef

thet

'.s

his claim," sez he,

'11

"The

fencin' stulf

cost

enough

To bust up friend J. B. Ez w III cz _\()u an" me "

I

Why
You

talk so (hciUc
it

lig. .loiin.

Of honor when
didn't care a
r.nt jest lor

meant
John,
I

fig,

ten per cent?

"

Ole Uncle

S.,

sez he,

guess

348

POEMS OF NATIONAL
He 's like the rest," " When all is done, it
sez he,
's

SPIRIT.

number one
!

Thet 's nearest to J. B., Ez wal ez V jou an' me "

We

give the critters back, John,

Cos Abram thought 't was right; It warn't jour bullvin' clack, John,
Provokin' us to fight. Ole Uncle S., sez he, " I guess
"

We've a hard row," To hoe just now; but

sez he,
thet,

somehow,

May happen
Ez

to J. B., well ez you an' me!"

We

ain't so weak an' poor, John, With twenty million people.

A school house an' a steeple. Ole Uncle S., sez he, " I guess It is a fact," sez he, " The surest plan to make a Man think him so, J. B., Is,
Ez much
ez

An' close to every door, John,

you an' me "

!

Our

folks believe in
it 's

An'

fer her sake,

Law, John; now,

They 've left the axe an' saw, John, The anvil an' the plow.
Ole Uncle

Ef
"

't

sez he, " I guess warn't fer law," sez he,

S.,

There 'd be one shindy from here to Indy ; An' fhet don't suit J. B.

(When

't

ain't 'twixt

you an' me!)"

WAR.

349

We know
Thet
's

we 've got a cause, John, honest, just, an' true;

't

We

thought

Ef nowhere
Ole Uncle

would win applause, John, else, from you.

His
"

" I guess love of right," sez he,

S., sez he,

Hangs by a
Ez

rotten fibre

o'

cotton

There's natur' in
well ez vou an'

J. B.,

me!"

f^outh says, "Poor folks cloicti!" John, " " All III en up! say we, White, yallor. black, an' brown, John;

The

An'

Now
"

which
S.,

is

your idee?
"
I

Ole Uncle

sez he,

guess

John preaches wal," sez he; But, sermon thru, an' come to du,

Whv
1

there

's

the old J. B.

A-crowdin' you an'

me

"
!

Shall
It

it

's

be love or hate, John? you tliet 's to decide

;

Ain't pour bonds held by Fate, John, Like all the world's beside?

Ole Uncle
"

S..

Wise men But not fcrget; an' some time yet

Thet truth may strike J. Ez wal ez you an' me "
I

sez he, " I guess fergive," sez he,

B.,

God means

to mjikc this land, John,

Clear thru, from sea to sea,

350

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Believe an' understand, John, The wutli o' bein' free.

Ole Uncle
"

S.,

sez he,
is

"

guess
sells

God's price

high," sez he;

But nothin' else than wut he Wears long, an' thet J. B.

May

larn, like

you an' me JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

!

"

ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC.

"

All
"

quiet along the Potomac," they say,

Is shot, as he

Except now and then a stray picket walks on his beat, to and fro,
ritieman hid in the thicket.

By a
'T
is

nothing: a private or two, now and then, Will not count in the news of the battle; Not an officer lost, only one of the men.

Moaning

out, all

alone, the death-rattle."

All quiet along Die Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;

Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon. Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming.

tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind

Through the forest leaves softly is creeping; While stars up above, with their glittering eyes,

Keep guard,
There

for the army

is

sleeping.

As

And

's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread he tram])S from the rock to the fountain. he thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed,

Far awav

in the cot

on the mountain.

WAR.
His musket
falls slack; liis fare,

351

dark aud grim,

Grows geutle with memories teuder, As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, For their mother, ma v Heaven defend her
I

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, That night when the love \i'\ unspoken Leai)ed up 1o his lijis, when low, munimred vows ^Vele pledged to be ever unbroken Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,

He dashes olf tears And gathers his gun

As
if

that are welling,

closer

up

to its ]lace.

to keep

down

the heart-swelling.

He

passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree,

The footstep is lagging and weary; Yet onward he goes, through the broad
light.

belt of

Toward the shades of the forest so dreary. Hark was it the night-wind that rustled the
I

leaves?

Was
It

it

looked like a

moonlight so wondrously Hashing? " rifle: Ha! Mary, good-bye!"

is

And

the life-blood

ebbing and plashing.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night, No sound save the rush of. the river;

While Thf

soft falls the

])i<ket
's

dew on

the face of the dead,

IJEERS.

off

duty forever.
ETIIKLIXDA ELLIOTT

353

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT,

THE COUNTERSIGN.
Alas the weary hours pass slow, The night is very dark and still,
!

And
I

in the

marshes far below

hear the bearded whipi)Oorwill. scarce can see a yard ahead My ears are strained to catch each sound
;

hear the leaves about nie shed.

And

the spring's bubbling through the ground.

I pace,

Along the beaten path

In formless shrubs
I I

Where white rags mark my

sentry's track;

seem to trace The foeman's form, with bending back; think I see him crouching low I stop and list I stoop and peer,

Until the neighboring hillocks grow

To groups
With ready
Until

of soldiers far

and near.

piece

wait and watch.

grown, Detect each harmless earthen notch,

my

eyes, familiar

And turn guerrillas into stone; And then amid the lonely gloom.

My

Beneath the tall old chestnut trees, silent marches 1 resume. And think of other times than these.

''Halt!" who goes there?" my challenge cry, It rings along the watchful line; ''Relief!" I hear a voice reply

''

" Advance, and give the countersign

!

WAR.
With bayonet at tho charge I wait The corporal gives the mystic spell; With arms aport I charge my mate, Then onward pass, and all is well.
But
I

353

in the tent

that night awake,

I fall,

ask,
T

if

in the fray

Can

the mystic answer make, When the angelic sentries call? that Heaven
^Vhere'er I go,

And pray
Whether
I still

what

may so ordain, fate be mine,

in pleasure or in pain,

may have

the countersign.

ANONyMOUS.

CIVIL WAR.
"

Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on his breast like an amulet! "
for a fine-drawn bead.

"Ah. captain! here goes

There 's music around when my barrel 's in luno:" Crack went the rifle, the messenger s]ied, And dead from his horse fell the ringing draI

goon.

"Now,

rifleman, sfeal

through the bushes, and

first

snatch

From your
blood
VIII

victim some trinket to handsel

23

354

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.
"
!

A
"

That gleams

button, a loop, or that luminous ijatcli in the moon like a diamond stud

I staggered, and sunk on my track, gazed on the face of that fallen vidette. For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, That' my heart rose upon me, and masters me

captain
I

AVheu

yet.'

"

But

snatched
;

off

the trinket,

this

locket of

An

gold inch from the centre

my

lead broke its way,

Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,

Of a beautiful lady
"

in bridal array."

Ha!

My
Was

't is she, rifleman, fling me the locket! brother's 3'oung bride, and the fallen dra-

goon
her

husband Hush

soldier,

't

was Heav-

en's decree,

We
"

must bury him

there,

by the light of the

moon

But hark! the far bugles

War
There

is

a virtue,

unite; weakness a warnings sin

;

their

's

a lurking and loping around us to-night,

rifleman, kee]) your

Load again,

hand in " CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY.

!

WAR.

355

THE TWO WIVES.

colonel rode by his picket-line In the pleasant morning sun, That glanced from him far off to shine

The

On
From

the crouching rebel picket's gun.

his

command

the captain strode

Out with

a grave salute,

And

talked with the colonel as he rode:

levelled his piece to shoot.

The picket

The colonel rode and the captain walked, The arm of the picket tired;

Their faces almost touched as they talked, And, swerved from his aim, the picket fired.

The

cai)tain fell at the horse's feet.

Wounded and hurt to death. Calling upon a name that was sweet As God is good, with his dying breath.

And
To

the colonel that leaped from his horse and

knelt

close the eyes so dim, high remorse for God's mercy felt, Knowing the shot was meant for him.

And

he whisjiered, ]>rayer-like, under his breath, The name of his own young wife:
his friend's peace with

For Love, that had made

Death,

Alone could make

his with

life.

WILLIAM DEAN IIOWELLS.

35G

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE.

[September, 1861.]

We

are coming, Father

Abraham, three hundred

thousand more!

From

We

Mississippi's winding stream and from New England's shore leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives
;

and children

dear,
full for utterance,

With hearts too

silent tear;

with but a

We

dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before

:

We
If

are coming. Father

Abraham, three hundred

meet the north-

thousand more!

you look across the

ern sky,

hill-tops that

Long moving
;

lines of rising dust

your vision may

descry And now the wind, an instant, tears the cloudy

veil aside,

And

floats aloft

our spangled

flag in glory

and

in

pride.

And bayonets

We
If

in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour: are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred

thousand more!

you look

all

up our

valleys where the growing

harvests shine.

You may

see our sturdy

farmer boys fast forming

into line;

WAR.
And
ing at the weeds,
xVud learning

357

children from their mother's knees are pull-

how

to reap
;

and sow against

their

country's needs And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage door We are coming. Father Abraham, three hundred
:

thousand more!
called us, and we 're coming, hy Richmond's bloody tide To lay us down, for Freedom's sake, our brothers'

You have

bones beside,

Or from

foul treason's savage grasp to

wrench

the murderous blade, And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to

parade. Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before We are coming. Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more!
:

ANONYMOUS.

THE OLD

MAN AND

JIM.

Old man never had much

'Ceptin' to Jim, And Jim was the wildest boy he had. And the old man jes' wrapi)ed up in

to say

him! Never heerd him speak but once Er twice in my life, and first fime was WIk'u the army broke out, and Jim he went,

358

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
all 'at I
jes'

SPIRIT.
months;

The old man backin' him,

fer three

And

Was
"

heerd the old man say as we turned to start away,

:

Well, good-bye, Jim

of yourse'f

Take keer

"
!

'Peared like he was more satisfied

Jim him all to hisse'f-like, see? 'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him! And over and over I mind the day The old man come and stood round in the way While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim; And down at the deepot a heerin' him say, " Well, good-bj'e, Jim Take keer of yourse'f "
Jes' look in' at
likin'

And

Never was nothin' about the farm

Disting'ished Jim; Neighbors all ust to wonder

why

The old man 'peared wrapped up in him: But when Cap. Kiggler, he writ back 'At Jim was the bravest boy we had

And

In the whole dern rigiment, white er black, his flghtiu' good as his farmin' bad,

'At he had led, with a bullet clean Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen,-^

The old man wound up a

Good-bye
;

letter to

'At Cap. read to us, 'at said,

''

Tell

him Jim

And

take keer of hisse'f "

I

WAR.
Jim come home jes' long enough To take the whim
'At he
'd lil>e to

359

go baclv in the calvery

jes'

him
!

And

the old
'at

man

wrapped up

in

Jim 'lowed

he'd had sich luck afore, Guessed he 'd tackle her three years more. And the old man give him a colt he 'd raised,

And And

him over to Camp Ben Wade, fer a week er so, around laid on Jim Watcliiu' dress-parade; 'Tel Jinallv he rid awav, And last he heerd was the old man say, "Well, good-bye, Jim: Take keer of vourse'f "
follered

Tuk

the papers, the old

man

did,

A-watchin' fer Jim, Fully believin' he 'd make his mark

way jes' wrapped up in him! And many a time the word 'ud come 'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum: At Petei'sburg fer instunce, where Jim rid right into their cannons there.
f>onie

And And
Jim

tuk 'em, and p'inted 'em t' other way, socked it home to the boys in gray, As they skooted fer timber, and on and on
a lieutenant,

and

one arm gone,

And

words in his mind "Well, good-bye, Jim: Take keer of yoursc'f!"

the old man's

all

day,

Think of a private, now, perhaps,

We

'II

say like Jim,

360
'At

POEMS OF NATIONAL
's

SPIRIT.

dumb

clean

up

to the shoulder-straps
ilp in

And

the old

Think of him

with the wrapped war plum' through,

jes'

man

him

the glorious old Red-White-and-Blue A'laughin' the news down over Jim, And the old man, bendin' over him

And

The surgeon turn in' away with tears

'At hadn't leaked fer years and 3^ears, As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to

His Father's, the old voice "Well, good-bye, Jim: Take keer of yourse'f "
!

in his ears,

RILEY.

JAMES WHITCOMB

STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY

Come, stack arms, men; pile on the Stir up the camp-fire bright!
rails;

No

growling
'11

if

the canteen fails:

We

make

a roaring night.

Here Shenandoah brawls along, There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong,

To swell the Brigade's rousing song, Of Stonewall Jackson's Way.

We

see

him now

the

queer slouched hat,

;

Cocked o'er his eye askew The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat. So calm, so blunt, so true. The " Blue-light Elder" knows 'em well: " Says he, That 's Banks; he 's fond of shell. " Lord save his soul we '11 give him Well, That 's Stonewall Jackson's Way.
!

WAR.
Silence
I

361
all
!

Groimd
's

ariiisl

Kneel

Caps

off!

going to pray. tool the that dares to scoff: Strangle Attention 's his war. it
!

Old Massa

Appealing from liis native sod, Jn forma pauperis to God. ''Lay bare Tliine arm Stretch forth Thy rod: Amen " That 's Stonewall 's Way.
I

He's
Hill

in the saddle
I

now.

Fall in!

Steady

's '11 win His way out, ball and blade. What matter if onr shoes are worn? What matter if our feet are torn? Quick step! we're with him before morn: That 's Stonewall Jackson's Way,

the whole brigade. at the ford, cnt off; we

The sun's bright lances rout the mists Of morning; and By George! Here 's Longstreet, struggling in the lists,

Hemmed
Pope and
"

in

his

an ugly gorge. l>utchmen! whipped before.

Bay'nets and grape!" hear Stonewall roar. Charge, Stuart Pay off Ashby's score. In Stonewall Jackson's Way,
!

Ah, ^faiden

wait and watch and yearn

of Stonewall's band.

For news
I

Ah, Widow read, \\i1li eyes Ihat burn. That ring upon <hy hand. Ah, ^^'if'! sew on, jjray on, liojie on
I

'Xto 02

POEMH OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Thy life shall not be all forlorn. The foe had better ne'er been born, That gets in Stonewall's Way. JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER.

BARBARA FRIETCHIE.
Up from
the

meadows

rich with corn,

Clear in the cool

September morn,
of Frederick stand
hills of

The clustered spires

Green-walled by the

Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep,

Apple and peach
trees fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee marched over the mountain wall,Over the mountains, winding down, Horse and foot into Frederick town.
Forty Forty
flags

with their silver stars, flags with their crimson bars,

;

Flapped in the morning wind the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up

rose old

Bowed with

Barbara Frietchie then. her fourscore years and tenf

WAR.
Bravest of
all iu

3G3

She took up the

flag the iiieu

Fiedeiick town, hauled down;

In her attic-window the staff she

set,

To show that one heart was

loyal vet.

Up

the street

came the

rebel tread,

Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under

his slouched hat left

and right

He

glanced: the old flag met his sight.

"
I

" ITaH

tiie

dust-brown ranks stood fast;

blazed the rifle-blast.

"Fire!" out
It shivered ilie

It rent the

window, ])ane and sash; banner with seam and gash.

from the broken
staff

Quick, as

it fell,

Dame

P>arbara snaldied (he silken scarf;

She leaned far oul on the

windo^^-sill,

And shook
"

it

forth wilh a roval will.

Shoot,

if

I5ut spare

you must, Ihis old gray head, your country's flag," she said.

sliade of sadness, a blush of shame. Over the face of the leader came;
Tlie iMtbleiTj life at

nature wKhin him stirred

that wojuan's deed and word:

864
"

POEMS OF NATIONAL
!

SPIRIT.

Who touches a hair of yon gray head " he said. Dies like a dog! March on
All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet ;

All day long that free flag tost Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever

its

torn folds rose and

fell
it

On

the loyal winds that loved

well

And through
Shone over
it

the hill-gaps sunset light

with a

warm

good-night.

Barbara Frietchie's work

is o'er,

And

the rebel rides on his raids no more.,

Honor

to her!

and

Fall, for her sake,

let a tear on Stonewall's

bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Flag of freedom and union, wave

Round thy symbol

Peace and order and beauty draw of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town!
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

EDMUNIJ* CLARENCK

STEDMAN

WAR
CAVALRY SONG.
FROM
''*'

365

ALICE

OF

MOXMOUTH/^

Our

gjood steeds snuff the evening air,

Our pulses with their purpose tingle; The foenian's fires are twinkling there;

He

leaps to hear our sabres jingle!

Halt
I

whizzing ball: forward Now, cling clang! all,

its

Each carbine send

Into the fight!

Dash on beneath the smoking dome:

Through
level lightnings gallop

nearer!

One look to Heaven! No thoughts of home: The guidons that we bear are dearer.
('iiaikje!

Cling! clang! forward all! Heaven help those whose horses fall:

Cut

left

and right

They flee before our fierce attack They fall they spread in broken surges. Now, comrades, bear our wounded back, And leave the foeman to his dirges.
!
!

Wheel!
The bugles sound the swift recall: Cling! clang! backward all! Home, an<l good night!

EDMUND clarence STEDMAN.

366

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

CAVALRY SONG.
Our And
bugles sound gajly. To horse and away! over the mountains breaks the day
;
! !

Then ho

brothers, ho for the ride or the fight, There are deeds to be done ere we slumber to-

night!

And whether we fight or ivhcther we By salre-stroke or rifle-hall,

The hearts of the free
loill

fall

.'-.' yet.

rememher us

And

our country, our country will never forget!

Then mount and away! let the coward delight To be lazy all day and safe all night; Our joy is a charger, flecked with foam. And the earth is our bed and the saddle our home

And whether we

fight, etc.

And

See yonder the ranks of the traitorous foe. bright in the sunshine bayonets glow Breathe a prayer, but no sigh; think for what
!

you would fight; Then charge! with a

right
!

will, boys,

and God for the

And whether

toe fight, etc.

We have gathered again the red laurels of war; We have followed the traitors fast and far;
But some who rose gayly this morn with the sun Lie bleeding and pale on the field they have won!

WAR.
But whether
ice
flfjlit

367

or ivlwilier we fall

By

sohre-stroke or

rifle-hall^

The hearts of the

free will

rememher us

yet,

And

our country, our country will never forget! ROSSITEU W. RAYMOND.

KEAKNY AT SEVEN

PINES.*

So that soldierly logond is still on its jonrnev, That story of Kearny who knew not to yield 'T was the day when with Jameson, fierce Berrv, and Birney,
!

A<i;ainst

twenty thousand he rallied the

field.

Where

the red volleys i)Oured, where the clamor rose hiji,hest,

the

Where

dead lay
tlui

in

clnmps

tlironjih

the

dwarf oak and Where the aim from

nij^hest,

i)ine.

thicket

was

surest

and

No

charge like Phil Kearny's along the whole

line.

When

llie

battle

went

ill,

and the bravest were

still

solemn.

Near the dark Seven IMnes, where we

our ground,

held

He rode down the length And ills heart at our

bound
;

of the withering coImiiiu,

war-cry

lea[)t

uj

with a

He
*

snutfed, like his chaiger, the

der,

wind

of the pow-

M;iJor-f}t'iii'i;il

Pliilii)

Kc;iniy,

killeil

at tho battle of

Cliaiitilly, .Septoiiibur 1, laO:i.

368

POEMS OF NATIONAL
sign
:

SPIRIT.

His sword waved us on and we answered the

Loud our cheer as we rushed, but

the louder, " There 's the devil's

his laugh rang

own

fun, boys, along the

whole

line!

"

How

he strode his brown steed! his blade brighten

still left,

How we saw

In the one hand

teeth
!

and the reins in his

when
the

He

laughed

like

boy

holidays
be-

heighten,

But a

soldier's glance shot

from his visor

neath.

Up came
"

the reserves to the mellay infernal. Asking where to go in, through the clearing or pine?

O, anywhere Colonel

Forward
lovely

'T

is

all

the

same.

You

'11

find

fighting

along the whole

line!"

0, evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly, That hid him from sight of his brave men and
tried
!

Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white

lily,

The flower
pride!

of our knighthood, the

whole army's
that shadowy

Yet we dream that he

still,

in

region Where the dead form their ranks at the

drummer's

sign,

wan

WAR.
!

300

Rides on, as of old, down the length of bis legion, And the word still is Forward along the whole
line.

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.

THE GENERAL'S DEATH.

The general dashed along Amid the pelting rain
;

the road

How

joyously his bold face glowed To, hear our cheers' refrain
!

His blue blouse flapi)ed in wind and wet, His boots were splashed with mire, But round his lips a smile was set,

And

in his eves

fire.

laughing word, a gesture kind, We did not ask for more.

thirty

With

weary miles behind,

weary

fight before.

The gun grew light to every man. The crossed belts ceased their stress, As onward to the column's van We watched our leiider press.
Within an hour we saw him
lie,

bullet in his brain,

His manly face turned to the sky,

And
VIII

beaten by the rain.

JOSEPH o'cONNOR.

24

370

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER.*

Close his eyes; bis work
is

done!

What
Rise of

to

him

moon
of

friend or foeman, or set of sun,

is

Hand

man

or kiss of

woman?
!

Lay him low,

What

In the clover cares he? he cannot know; Lay him low

!

lay him low, or the snow

As man may, he fought

his fight,

Proved his truth by his endeavor; Let him sleep in solemn night, Sleep forever and forever. Lay him low, lay him low. In the clover or the snow What cares he? he cannot know; Lay him low
! !

Fold him in his country's stars. Roll the drum and fire the volley! What to him are all our wars? What but death-bemocking folly?

Lay him

low, lay

him

low,
!

In the clover or the snow What cares he? he cannot know; Lay him low
!

Leave him to God's watching eye; Trust him to the hand that made him.
*

Major-General Philip Kearny.

WAR.
Mortal love weeps idly b}'; God alone has power to aid bim.
Iaw
liiiii

371

low, lav

him

low,
!

In the clover or the snow

What

cares he? he cannot

liini

know;

Lay

low

GEORGE HENRY EOKER.

BAY
WAS

IJILLY.
15, 1862.]

[December
'T

the last fight at Fredericksburg, Perhaps the day you reck,

boys, the Twenty-Second IMaine, Kept Early's men in check. Just where Wade Hampton boomed away The light went neck and neck.

Our

All <lay the weaker wing we held, And held it with a will.

we charged on the hill, And five times beaten back, re-formed, And kept our column still.
Five several stubborn times

The

battei'y

At

last

from out (he cimtre

uj)

fight

Spurred

"That Onr

a general's aide. battery must silenced be!"

lie cried, as ]iast

he

S[)ed.

colonel sim]Iy touched his cap. And (hen, with measured tread,

372

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

To lead the crouching line once more The grand old fellow came. No wounded man but raised his head

And strove to gasj) And those who could

"

his

name,

God

not speak nor stir, blessed him " just the same.
all

For he was
That hero

the world to us,

graj'

and grim.

Right well we knew that fearful slope We 'd climb with none but him, Though while his white head led the

We 'd

way

charge

hell's portals in.

we were not half-way up, When, midst the storm of shell, Our leader, with his sword upraised,
This time

Beneath our bayonets fell. And, as we bore him- back, the foe Set up a joyous yell.

"

Our hearts went with him. And when the bugle said
Up, charge again
''
!

Back we swept,
w^as there

no man

dogged head. " We 've no one left to lead us now," The sullen soldiers said.
Just then before the laggard line

But hung

his

Bay

we spied. Billy with his trappings on, His nostrils swelling wide.
colonel's horse
still

The

As though

on his gallant back

astride.

The master sat

WAR.
Right lo.vally he took the place That was of old his wont,

373

And with

a ueigh that seemed to say,

battle's bi-uut,

Above the
If I

" IIow can the Twenty-Second charge

am

not in front?"

Like statues rooted there

we

stood,

And

gazed a

little

space,

Above that floating mane we missed The dear familiar face, But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire,

And

it

gave us heart of grace.

Ko

bugle-call could rouse us all

As

Down

that brave sight had done, all the battered line we felt

A
Up!

lightning impulse run. up the hill we followed Bill,

And we

captured every gun!

And when upon

the conquered height Died out the battle's hum. Vainly mid living and the dead \Ve sought our leader dumb. It seemed as if a spectre steed To win that day had conje.

And

then the dusk and

dew

of night

Fell softly o'er the phiin, As tiiougli o'er man's dread

work

of death

The angels wept

iigaiu,

374

POEMS OF NATIONAL
And drew

SPIRIT.
round

night's c-urtain gently

thousand beds of pain.

All night the surgeons' torches went, The ghastl}' rows between, All night with solemn step I paced

The torn and bloody green. But who that fought in the big war Such dread sights have not seen?

At last the morning broke. The Sang in the merrv skies, As if to e'en the sleepers there
It
!

lark

bade awake, and rise Though naught but that last trump of (J!ould ope their heavy e3'es.

all

And

then once more with banners gay,

Stretched out the long brigade. Trimly upon the furrowed field

And

The troops stood on jjarade, bravely mid the ranks were closed The gaps the fight had made.
half the Twenty-Second's men in their place that morn ;

Not

Were

And

Corporal Dick, who yester-noon Stood six brave fellows on, Now touched my ell>ow in the ranks, For all between were gone.
!

Ah who

forgets that dreary hour

eyes,

When, as with misty

WAR.
To call the old familiar roll The soleiiju sergeaut tries, One feels tluit tliumpiug of the heart As uo prompt voice rei)lies.

375

And

as in faltering tone and slow

last

The

Across the
It

few names were said, field some missing horse

Toiled np the weary tread. caught the sergeant's eye, and quick Bay Billy's name ho read.

Yes! there the old bay hero stood, All safe from battle's harms. And ere an order could be heard.

Or

Down
Not

the bugle's quick alarms, all the front, from end to end,
trooi)s presented

The
all

arms

the shoulder-straps on earth

Could

And
Bay

still our mighty cheer; ever from that famous day, "\A'hen rang the roll call clear.
I

Silly's

name was

read,

and then

The whole

line answered,

"Here!"
II.

FUAXK

GASSAWAY.

WOUXDEI) TO DEATH.
Stkauv, boys, steady
Keej) your
!

arms ready,
nuiy meet here.
Ix'

God

only knows
I 'd

whom we
me

J)on't Icl

taken;

rather awaken,

376

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

To-morrow, in

no matter where,
!

Than

lie in

that foul prison-hole Step slowly

over
life.

there.

These rocks

Speak lowly! may have

Lay me down

in this hollow;

We
By heavens
For
! !

are out of the strife.

the foemen

may

track

me

in blood,

this hole in

my

breast

is

No no

pickaxe and spade. What, Morris, a tear? Why, shame on ye, man! I thought you a hero; but since you began
is

surgeon for The surgeon 1 want

me

he can give

outpouring a floods me no aid

;

By George!
Well well
!

To whimper and cry like a girl in her teens, I don't know what the devil it means!
!

am rough 't is a very rough school, a trooper, but yet I 'm no fool I know a brave man, and a friend from a foe; that And, boys, you love me I certainly know;
I
;

This

life of

When

But wasn't it grand they came down the hill over sloughing and
sand
!

But we stood did we not? like immovable rock, Unheeding their balls and repelling their shock.Did you mind the loud cry When, as turning to fly. Our men sprang upon them, determined to die?
O, wasn't
it

grand!

help the poor wretches that fell in that fight; time was there given for prayer or for flight; They fell by the score, in the crash, hand to hand,

God

No

WAR.
And

377

they mingled their blood with the sloughing and sand.

Huzza
I

Great Heavens this bullet-hole gapes like a grave; A curse on the aiuj of the traitorous knave! Is there never a one of ye knows how to pray, Or speak for a man as his life ebbs away?

Pray

Prav!
(^ur Father
!

our Father
I

why

Can't you see

bleed!

am

dying?

don't ye proceed? Great God, how I

Ebbing away! Ebbing away The

!

light of day Is turning to gray.

Pray

Our Father
While
There
I
'11
I

the rest, stanch the hot blood from this hole in

in

Heaven,

boys,

Pray!
tell

me

my
's

breast.

something about the forgiveness of sin

in
!

Put that

])ut

that in and then

!

follow your words and say an amen.

Here, Morris, old fellow, get hold of my hand; And, Wilson, my comrade O, wasn't it grand When they came down the hill like a thunder-

Where
Can't

charged cloud 's Wilson, my comrade? down your head

!

Here, stoop

i/ou

say a short jtrayer for the dying and

I

dead

378
"

POEMH OF NATIONAL
Christ God,

SPIRIT.
all,

who

died for siuners

Hear thou

this suppliant wanderer's cry;

fall

Let not e'en this poor sparrow

Unheeded by thy gracious

"

eye.

Throw wide thy gates

to let

him
sin.

in,

And

take him, pleading, to thine arms;

Forgive,

Lord! his life-long

all his fierce

And
God
I

quiet

alarms."

bless you,

It is light to

am

dying

more

bend

my comrade, for saying that hymn my path when my eye has grown dim.
;

down

till

touch you once

])rosper this

Don't forget me, old fellow,

God

war

Confusion to traitors! And float the old flag

keei) hold of

my hand
!

o'er a i>ros[)erous land

JOHN W. WATSON.

SOMEBODY'S DARLING.
Into a ward of the whitewashed halls Where the dead and the dying lay. Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls, Somebody's darling Avas borne one day Somebody's darling, so young and brave; Wearing yet on his sweet pale face Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave The lingering light of his boyhood's grace.

Matted and damp are the curls of gold Kissing the snow of that fair young brow;

WAR.
I*ale are the lips of delicate

379

mould

Somebody's darHiig is dyiug now. Back from his beautiful blue-veiued brow lirush his waudei'iujj; waves of j;old; Cross his hands on his bosom now Somebody's darling is still and cold.

Kiss him once for somebody's sake, Murmur a prayer soft and low;

its fair mates take were somebody's pride, you know. They Somebody's hand hath rested here \\'as it a mother's, soft and white? Or have the lips of a sister fair Been baptized in their waves of light'?

One

bright curl from

Cod knows

best.

He

has somebody's love,

Somebody's heart enshrined him there,

Somebody wafts his name above, Night and morn, on the wings of prayer. Somebody wept when he marched away. Looking so handsome, brave, and grand;
Somebody's kiss on his foreliead
lay.

Somebody clung

to his parting hand.

Somebody

's walching and waiting for him, Yearning to hold him again to her heart;

And

there he lies with his blue eyes dim, An<l the smiling, childlike lips a])art. Tenderly bury the fair young dead

Pausing to drop on his grave a tear. Carve on the wooden slab o'er his head
"

''
:

Somebody's darling slumbers here." MARIA LA CONTE.

380

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP.

In the prison cell I sit, Thinking, mother dear, of you, And our bright and happy home so far away,

And the tears they fill my eyes, Spite of all that I can do, Tho' 1 try to cheer my comrades and be gay.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, the hoys are marching,
Oh, cheer up, comrades, they icilJ come. And beneath the starry flag ive shall breathe the
air again,

Of freedom

in

our oivn beloved home.

In the battle front

we stood
more,

When the fiercest charge they made. And they swept us off a hundred men or
But before we reached
their lines

They were beaten back dismayed,

And we

heard the cry of vict'ry o'er and

Chorus.

o'er.

So within the prison

cell

We
That

are waiting for the day

shall

come

to oien

wide the iron door,

And the hollow eye grows bright. And the poor heart almost gay. As we think of seeing friends and home
more.

once

Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching,

Oh, cheer up, comrades, they will come,

WAR.
And
Of
beneath the starry flag
air again, freedom in our

381

we

shall breathe (he

own

beloved home.

ANONYMOUS.

OUR ORDERS.
Weave no more
silks,

ye Lyous looms,

To deck our girls for gay delights! The crimson Hower of battle blooms,

Aud solemn marches

Weave but

fill

the night.

the flag whose bars to-day

Drooped heavy o'er our early dead, Aud homely garments, coarse aud gray, For orphans that must earn their bread

Keep back your

tunes, ye viols sweet.

That poured delight from other lands! Rouse there the dancer's restless feet The trumpet leads our warrior bands.
:

And

ye- that wage the war of words With mystic fauie and subtle power.

Go, chatter to the idle birds. Or teach the lesson of the hour

Ye Si])yl Arts, in one stern knot Be all your ofTices combined!

Btand close, while Courage draws the The destiny of human kind.
lot,

382

POEM^ OF NATIONAL
And
if

.SPIRIT.

that destinv could

fail,

The sun should darken in the sky, The eternal bloom of Nature pale, And God, and Truth, and Freedom die! JULIA WARD HOWE.

WHEN

THIS CRUEL
love,

WAR

IS

OYER.

Dearest

do you remember

When we

last did meet.

How

you told me that you loved mo Kneeling at my feet? Oh, how proud you stood before me In c vour suit of blue,
7

When you vowed

Ever to be
Chonts.

to

me

siud

country

true.

Weeping,

sad and lonely, and fears, Jioiv rain; Hopes Yet pray in <j Wlien this cruel war is over, Praying tliat ire meet again.
the

When

summer

breeze

is

sighing

Mournfully along.

Or when autumn

leaves are falling,

Sadly breathes the song. Oft in dreams I see tliee lying

On

the battle plain,

Ijonely,

wounded, even dying,

etc.

Chorus. Weeping, sad,

Calling, but in vain.

WAR.
If,

383

amid the din

of battle,
fall,

Kobly vou should

Far away from those who love jou, Xoue to hear you call. Who would whisper words of comfort? Who would soothe your pain?
Ah, the mauy cruel fancies Ever in my brain
Chorus.

Wicpin(j,

sad, etc.

But our country called you, darling. Angels cheer your way While our nation's sons are fighting.
!

We
Nobly
Let

can only pray.

strike for
all

God and country,

nations see
love the starry banner, of the free.

How we
Chorus.

Emblem

Weeping,
When

sad and lonely,

fears,

Hopes and
tliis

how vain;
is

Yet praying
cruel ivar
over,

Praying

tJiat ice

meet again.

ANONYMOUS.

SHERIDAN'S KIDE.
[September
19, 1864. J

Vv from

the South at break of day, bringing to ^\'inchester fresh disuuiy, Tlic iill'iighted air wilh a shudder bore,
J^iUc a herald in haste, to the chieftaiu's door,

384

POEMS OF NATIONAL S PIMIT.

terrible

The

Telling the battle

grumble and rmiible and was on once more,

away.

roar,

And

fc>heridan twent}^ miles

still

And wider

those billows of

war

Thnndered along the horizon's bar; And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
flaking the blood of the listener cold

As he thought of the stake in that flery With Sheridan twenty miles away.
But
there
is

fray,

good, broad highway, leading down; And there, through the flash of the morning light. A steed as black as the steeds of night

a road from Winchester town,

Was
As

if

He

seen to jniss as with eagle tlight. he knew the terrible need, stretched away with the utmost speed;

Hills rose

and

fell,

but

his heart

was

gay,

With Bheridan
Still

fifteen miles

away.

sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering

South,

The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth; Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. The heart of the steed and the heart of the master

Were

beating,

like

prisoners

assaulting

their

walls.

Impatient to be where the battlefield calls; Every nerve of the charger was strained to
play,

full

With Sheridan onlv

ten miles awav.

WAR.
Under his spurning feet, the road Like an arrowy Alpine river tiowed,
ihe landscape sped awa}- behind, Like an ocean Hying before the wind; And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace
on, with his wild eyes full of fire; But, lol he is noaring his heart's desire,

385

And

ire,

Swept

He

is snutting the smoke of the roaring With Sheridan only five miles away.

fray.

The first tliat the General saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; \Miat was done, what to do, a glance told him

both,

And, striking his spurs with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there,
because

The

"\^'ith

sight of the master compelled it to pause. foam and with dust the black charger

was

gray

Ky

He
"
I

the Hash of his eye, and his nostril's play, seemed to the whole great army to say,

have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down, to save the day!"

Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan! and man! And when tlicir statues are placed on high,
Hui-rali, hurrah, for horse

Tnder the dome of the L^nion sky, The American soldier's Tem])l(; of Fame,
There with the glorious General's name
VIII

25

38i;

POEMH OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Be it said in letters both bold and bright: " Here is the steed that saved the day

By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester, twenty miles away!" THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.

What, was
I

it

dream? am

T all

alone

In the dreary night and the drizzling rain? Hist ah, it was only the river's moan;

They have
slain.

left

me behind with

the

mangled

Yes,

now

remember

it all

too

Avell

We

met, from the battling ranks apart;

Together onr weapons flashed and fell, And mine was sheathed in his quivering heart.
In the cypress gloom, where the deed was done, It was all too dark to see his face;

But

And

heard his death-groans, one by one, he holds me still in a cold embrace.

He S]>oke l)nt once, and I could not hear The words he said for the cannon's roar; But my heart grew cold Avith a deadly fear, O God I had heard that voice before
!

Had

heard it before at our mother's knee, W^hen we lisped the words of our evening prayer
!

WAR.

3S7

My

would T liad died for tliee, This burdcu is more lliau mv soul can bear!
brother
I

pressed

my

lips to his death-cold cheek,

begged him to show me, by word or sign, That he knew and forgave me: he could not
speak,

Aud

But he nestled his poor cold face to mine.

fast from my wounded side, And then for a while I forgot my pain, And over the lakelet we seemed to glide

The blood flowed

In our

little boat,

two boys again.

And then, in my dream, we stood alone On a forest ])ath where the shadows fell; And 1 heard again the tremulous tone, And the tender words of his last farewell.
But that
jjartiug

was

years, long years ago,

He wandered away to a foreign land; And our dear old mother will never know
That he died to-night by his brother's hand.

The soldiers who buried the dead away

Disturbed not the clasp of that last embrace,

But laid them to Heart folded to

sleej) till

the judgment-day,

heart,

and face to face. SARAH TITTLE BOLTON.

388

POEMS OF 'NATIONAL

SPIRIT,

REQUIEM
FOR ONE SLAIN IN BATTLE.

Breathe^ trumpets, breathe Slow notes of saddest wailing,

Sadly responsive peal, ye muffled drums; Comrades, with downcast eyes And banners trailing, Attend him home, The youthful warrior comes.

Upon his shield. Upon his shield

Borne from the

returning,

field of
;

honor

Where he

fell

Glory and grief, together clasped In mourning, His fame, his fate

With

sobs exulting

tell.

Wrap round

his breast

The flag his breast defended, His country's flag.

For

In battle's front unrolled it he died

;

On

earth forever ended

life

His brave voung

Lives in each sacred fold.

With proud fond tears. By tinge of shame untainted, Bear him, and lay him
Gently in his grave:

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ

WAR.
Above the hero write, The youDg, ha If -sainted, His eouutrj asked his life,
His
life

389

he gave

GEORGE LUNT.

MUSIC IN CAMP.
Two
ariuies covered hill

and

plain,

waters Kan deeply crimsoned with the stain

^^'here Kappalianuock's

Uf

battle's recent slaughters.

like tents

The summer clouds lay pitched In meads of heavenly azure;

And

each dread gun of the elements Slept in its embrasure.

softly blew,
it

The breeze so

made

No forest leaf to quiver, And the smoke of the random cannonade

Kolled slowly from the river.

And now, where

^^'ith

circling hills looked

down

cannon grimly planted. O'er listless caiiiii and silent town The ^^' "oldcn sunset slanted.

When

on the

strain

now

foi-vid air

there

came

rich,

now

The music seemed itself With day's departing splendor.

tender; aflame

390

POEM>i OF XATIONAL SPIRIT.

Federal band, which, eve and morn, Phiyed measures brave and nimble, Had just struck up, with flute and horn

And

lively clash of

cymbal.

Down
Till,

flocked the soldiers to the banks,

margined by

its pebbles,

One wooded shore was blue with " Yanks," And one was gray with " Rebels."
Then all was still, and then the band,. With movements light and tricks^'. Made slream and forest, hill and strand,
Keverberate with
"

Dixie."

The conscious stream with burnished glow

Went

i)roudly o'er its pebbles.

But thrilled throughout its deepest With yelling of the Rebels.

flow

Again a pause, and then again The trumpets pealed sonorous. And " Yankee Doodle " was the strain To which the shore gave chorus.

The laughing ri])ple shoreward flew, To kiss the shining pebbles; Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue
Defiance to the Rebels.

And

yet once more the bugle sang Above the stormy riot;

WAR.
No
shout 111)011 the evening rang There reigned a holy quiet.

391

The sad, slow stream its noiseless flood Poured o'er the glistening pebbles; All silent now the Yankees stood,

And

silent stood the Rebels.

No

unresponsive soul had heard That plaintive note's aitpealing, So deeply " Home, Sweet Home had stirred The hidden fount of feeling.
''

Or Blue, or Gray, As bv the wand

the soldier sees.

of fairv.
trees,

The cottage 'neath the live-oak The cabin by the prairie.

Or

cold, or waiin, his native skies,

llicii- beauty o'er him; Seen through the tear-mist in his eyes, Ills loved ones stand before him.

Jtend in

As

fades the

iris

after rain

In Ajtril's tearful weather,

The

vision vanished, as the strain

<lay light died together.

And
lint

memory, w aked by music's

stei-nest

art,

IOxpr<'ssed in simplest

Subdued the

numbers. Yankee's heart.

Made

light the Kebel's slumbers.

392

PO;j/*Sf

OF NATIONAL ^PimT.

And

fair the form of Music shiues, That bright celestial creature,

still,

Who

Gave

this

'mid war's embattled lines, one touch of Nature,

JOHN RANDOLPH THOMPSON.

UNDER THE SHADE OF THE TREES.

[The
last

cross the river

words of Stonewall Jackson* were: *'Let us and rest under the shade of the trees.'"]

What

are

the

thoughts that are stirring his

breast ?

What
^'

is the mystical vision he sees? Let us pass over the river, and rest Under the shade of the trees."

Has he grown

sick of his toils and his tasks? Sighs the worn spirit for respite or ease? Is it a moment's cool halt that he asks Under the shade of the trees?

Is

it the gurgle of water whose flow Ofttimes has come to him, borne on the breeze.

Memory

Under the shade

listens to, lapsing so low, of the trees ?

Nay

though the rasp of the

flesli

was

so sore,

Saw

Faith, that had yearnings far keener than these. the soft sheen of the Thitherward Shore

Under the shade

*

of the trees;

Major-General Thomas J. Jackson, a reconnoissance, May 10, 1863.

C. S. A., killed

on

WAR.

393

Caught the high psalm of ecstatic- delight Heard the harps harping, like soundings of
seas

Watched Under
Oh, was

earth's assoiled ones walking in white

the shade of the trees.

it

Touched
lie

strange he should pine for release. to the soul with such transports as

these,

so needed the balsam of peace, Under the shade of the trees?

who

Yea,

it

was noblest

for

him

it

was

best

(Questioning naught of our Father's decrees), There to pass over the river and rest

Under the shade

of the trees

MARGARET JUXKIN PRESTON.

THE BLACK REGIMENT.

[xMay 27, 1863.]

Dark

Kanked

as the clouds of even, in the western heaven,

Waiting the breath that lifts All the dead mass, and drifts Temi)est and falling brand Over a i-uincd land, So still and orderlv,

Arm

to arm, knee to knee,

Waiting the great event, Stands the black regiment.

394

POEJhS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

Down
And

the loug dusty line Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;

the bright bayonet,

Bristling and tiimly set,

Flashed with a purpose grand, Long ere the sharp command

Of the fierce rolling drum Told them their time had come, Told them what work was sent For the black regiment.
" "

Now," the flag-sergeant cried, Though death and hell betide,

Let the whole nation see If we are fit to be

Free in this laud; or bound Down, like the whiuing hound, Bound with red stripes of pain In our cold chains again " O, what a shout there went
!

From

the black regiment

"Charge!" Trump and drum awoke; Onward the bondmen broke; Bayonet and sabre-stroke
Vainly opposed their rush. Through the wild battle's crush, With but one thought aflush,
Driving their lords like chaff. In the guns' mouths they laugh Or at the slippery brands
;

Leaping with open hands,

Down

they tear

man and

horse,

WAR.
Down
in their

395

awful course;

Trampling with bloody heel Over the crashing steel, All their eves forward bent, Rushed the black rogiliient.

Freedom " their battle-crv, Freedom or leave to die " Ah and tliev meant the word. Not as with us 't is heard, Not a mere party shout
!

"
"

their spirits out, Trusted the end to God,

They gave

And on the gory sod Rolled in triumjthant blood. Glad to strike one free blow,
Whether
Glad
for weal or

woe

one free breath, Though on the lips of death; Praying, alas in vain! That they might fall again, So they could once more see That burst to liberty! " This was what freedom lent
to breathe

''

To the black regiment.

Hundreds on hundreds
fell;

rut they are resting well;

Scourges and shackles strong Never shall do ihnii w rung.

O, to
living few, Soldiers, be just and 1rue.'
I

lie

Ilail

them as comrades

tried;

SOG

P0E2hy

Ot"

NATIONAL
field

SPIRIT.

Fight with them side by side;

Never, in
or tent,
!

Scorn the black regiment GEORGE HENRY BOKER.

THE
"

C.

S.

ARMY'S COMMISSARY.
I. 1863.

" we sighing said, Well, this is bad While musing round the bivouac fire,
!

And dwelling with a fond desire, On home and comforts long since fled.
"

How
Our

gayly came

we

forth at first

spirits bigh, with new emprise, Ambitious of each exercise, And glowing with a martial thirst.

"

Equipped as for a holiday,

With bounteous store of everything To use or' comfort minist'ring. All cheerily we marched away.
"

But as the struggle fiercer grew, Light marching orders came apace,

And baggage-wagon soon gave

To that which
"

place

sterner uses knew.

Our
Are

tents

they went a year ago;

and as we can
fro.

Now

kettle, spider, frying-pan

lost to us,

We

live,

while marching to and

WAR.
"

397
at length,

Our food has

lessened,

till

E'en want's gaunt image seems to threat

foe to

Must

the bravest yet at last his knightly strength. yield

whom

"But

while we've meat and flour enough The bayonet shall be our spit The ramrod bake our dough on it

A
''

gum-cloth be our kneading trough,

We'll bear privation, danger dare, While even these are left to us

Be hopeful, faithful, emulous Of gallant deeds, though hard our fare! "
II. 18G4.
" Three years

When
As on

and more," we grimly said, " order came to " Rest at will
hill,

Beside the corn-field on the

a weary

march we sped^
foe

" Three vears

and more we 've met the On many a gory, hard-fought field. And still we swear we cannot yield
Fate shall bring some deeper woe.
've

Till

"

Three years and more we

torrid heat

struggled on,

Through chill, Nor baled aught of steadfast will. Though even hope seems almost gone.
"
111

and winter's

fed,

ill

clad,

and

shelterless,

ilow

little

cheer in health

we know!

598

POEMH OF XATIONAL
When wouuds and

^SPIRIT.

illness lay us low.

!

How

comfortless our sore distress

" These dimsy rags, that scarcely hide

Our forms, can naught discourage But Hunger ah it may be thus

us;

That Fortune
"

shall the strife decide.

But while the

corn-fields give supply We'll take, content, the roast ing-ear,

Nor vield us But still press

yet to craven fear, " on, to do or die!

ED.

POUTER THOMPSON.

THE HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBUKG.

[July
3,

1863.]

CLOUD possessed the hollow field, The gathering battle's smoky shield. Athwart the gloom the lightning fiashed, And through the cloud some horsemen dashed, And from the heights the thunder pealed.

Then at the brief command of Lee Moved out that matchless infantry, With Pickett leading grandly down, To rush against the roaring crown Of those dread heights of destiny.

Far heard above the angry guns

The

cry across the tumult runs, voice that rang through Shiloh's

woods

WAR.
Aud
The
(Jhickauiiniga's solitudes,
tierce

399

South cheeriug on her sons!

Ah, liow the witherinj? tempest blew

Aji|,ainst

the front of Pettiy;re\v

Khamsin wind that scorched and singed Like tiiat infernal Hame that fringed The lU'itish sfjuares at Waterloo!

A
A

thousand fell where Kemper led; thousand died where (larnett bled: In blinding llame and strangling smoke The remnant through the batt('ri(^s broke And crossed the works with Armistead.

"Once more

in (Jlory's

van with me!"

Virginia cried to Tennessee; " two together, come what may, Shall stand upon these woiks today!"

We

(The reddest day

in history.)

Brave Tennessee!

In reckless

way

Virginia heard her comrade say:

''Close round this rent and ritldled rag!"

What time she Amid the guns

set iier battle-llag of )oubleday.

I

But who shall break the guards that wait Before the awful face of Fat<>? The tattered standards
of the South
\\'ere shrivelled at the cannf>n"s

mouth,

And

all

her hoi)es were desolate.

400

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

In vain the Tennesseean set His breast against the bayonet!

In vain Virginia charged and raged, tigress in her wrath uncaged,

Till all the hill

was red and wet!

Above the bayonets, mixed and crossed, Men saw a gray, gigantic ghost

And

Receding through the battle-cloud, heard across the tempest loud

of a nation lost
!

The death-cry

The brave went down Without disgrace They leaped to Kuin's red embrace. They only heard Fame's thunders wake, And saw the dazzling sun-burst break
!

In smiles on Glory's bloody face!

They

fell,

who

lifted

up a hand
!

And bade

the sun in heaven to stand

fell,

They smote and

who

set the bars

And

Against the progress of the stars, stayed the march of Motherland

stood,

They

who saw

the future

come

the fight's delirium! smote and stood, who held the hope They Of nations on that slippery slope

On through

Amid
God

the cheers of Christendom.

lives!

He

forged the iron will

That clutched and held that trembling hill. God lives and reigns He built and lent
!

WAR.
The heights
for Fieedonrs battloiiient

401

Where

floats her flag in

triumph

still

Fold up the banners Smelt the guns Love rules. Her gentler j)urpose runs. A mighty mother turns in tears
!

The pages Lamenting

of her battle years, all her fallen sons!

WILL HENRY TlIOMl'SON,

LEE TO THE KEAR.

[An incident
tlie

in one of the battles in the Wilderness at beginning of the campaign of 1864.]

I)Awx of a pleasant morning in May Broke through the Wilderness cool and gray;
AVhile perched in the tallest tree-tops, the birds

Were

carolling

Mendelssohn's

"

Songs without

Words."

Far from the haunts of men remote, The brook brawled on with a liquid note; And Nature, all trancjuil and lovely, wore The smile of the spring, as in Eden of yore.
Little bv little, as davlight increased,

And

d('('i)ened

the roseate^ Hush in the East

Little by little did

morning reveal

Two

long glittering lines of steel;

two hundred thousand bayonets gleam, Tipped with the light of the earliest beam,
\Vh(M'o
VIII

20

402

POEMH OF NATIONAL
the faces are sullen

SPIRIT.
to see

And

and grim

In the hostile armies of Grant and Lee.

All of a sudden, ere rose the sun, Pealed on the silence the opening gun A little white putf of smoke there came,

And anon

the valley

was wreathed

in flame.

Down on
Where

the left of the Rebel lines.

a breastwork stands in a copse of pines, Before the Rebels their ranks can form,

The Yankees have carried the place by storm.

Stars and Stripes on the salient wave, Where many a hero has found a grave.

And

the gallant Confederates strive in vain

their bloody

The ground they have drenched with

to regain.

Yet louder the thunder of battle roared Yet a deadlier fire on the columns poured; Slaughter infernal rode with Despair, Furies twain, through the murky air.

Not

far

off,

in the saddle there sat

gray-bearded

man

in a black slouched hat;

he.

Not much moved by the fire was Calm and resolute Robert Lee.
Quick and watchful he kept

On

his eye the bold Rebel brigades close by, Reserves that were standing (and dying) at ease. While the tempest of wrath toppled over the trees.

WAR.
For still with their loud, deep, bull-dog bay, The Yaukee batteries blazed away, And with every murderous second that sped

403

dozen brave fellows, alas

fell

dead.

The grand old graybeard rode to the space Where Death and his victims stood face to And silently waved his old slouched hat A world of meaning there was in that!

face,

"

" A\'e "11 save the day Steady This was what he seemed to say;

Follow me

And

to the light of his glorious eye

:

The bold brigades thus made reply

''

^ye

And Go to the rear, and we '11 send them to hell And the sound of the battle was lost in their
'*

" go forward, but you must go back they moved not an inch in the perilous track:
'11

"
!

yell.

Turning Kode to

his bridle,

Robert Lee
Like waves of the sea,

the rear.

liursting the dikes in their overllow. Madly his veterans dashed on the foe.

And backward

in terror

that foe

was

driven,

Their banners rent and their coltnims riven,

Wherever the tide of battle rolled Over the Wilderness, wood and wold.
Sunset out of a crimson sky Streamed o'er a Held of ruddier dye,

404

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

And the brook ran From the blood of

on with a purple stain,

ten thousand foemen shiin.

Seasons have passed since that da}' and year Again o'er its pebbles the brook runs clear, And the field in a richer green is drest

Where

the dead of a terrible conflict rest.

Hushed is the roll of the Rebel drum, The sabres are sheathed, and the cannon are

dumb

And

Fate, with his pitiless hand, has furled The flag that once challenged the gaze of the

world

But the fame

And down

Calm and The gray-bearded man in the black slouched hat. JOHN RANDOLPH THOMPSON.

of the Wilderness fight abides; into history grandly rides. unmoved as in battle he sat.

DRIVING HOME THE COWS.

Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass He turned them into the river-lane;
One after another he let them pass, Then fastened the meadow bars again.
Under the willows, and over the
hill,

He
The

patiently followed their sober pace; merry whistle for once was still,

And something shadowed

Only a boy! and
his father
let his

the sunny face.

had said

He

never could

youngest go;

WAR.
Tw o already were lyiug dead Under the feet of the trauipliug
But
foe.

405

And

after the evening- work was done. the frogs were loud lu the meadow-swamp,
stealthily followed the foot-path

Over his shoulder he slung his gun

And

damp,

Across the clover and through the wheat With resolute heart and purpose grim, Though cold was the dew on his hurrying

feet,

And

the blind bat's Hitting startled him.

Thrice since then had the lanes been white. And the orchards sweet with a[)i)le-bloom;

And now, when

The

the cows

feeble father drove

came back at them home.

night,

For news had come to the lonely farm That three were lying where two had

lain;

And

the old man's tremulous, palsied Could never lean on a son's again.

arm

The summer day grew cool and late, lie went for the cows when the work was done; r>ut down the lane, as he opened the gate, He saw them coming one by one,

Ebony, ?<peckle, and Bess, Shaking their horns in the evening wind; Cropping the buttercups out of the grass, But who was it following close behind?
ISriudle,

Loosely

swung

in the idle air

The empty sleeve of army blue; And worn and pale, from the crisjiing hair. Looked out a face that the father knew.

40G

POEMS OF NATIONAL
will

SPIRIT.

For gloomy prisons

sometimes yawn,
:

And yield And the day

their dead unto life again

that conies with a cloudy In golden glory at last may wane.

dawn

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes, For the heart mnst speak when the lips are

dumb And under the

;

silent evening skies Together they followed Ihe cattle home.

KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD.

SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA.*

[May
4 to

December

21, ISGl.]

Our

cami>-fires shone bright on the mountains That frowned on the river below, While we stood by our guns in the morning And eagerly watched for the foe,
'*This song

diers after the

was sang by march, and

it

tliousaiids of
liad

Sherman's

sol-

name

to the

campaign

the lienor of giving its celebrates. Its author liad been

one of Sherman's army, and was cajitured at tlie battle of Chattanooga. AVhile a prisoner he escaped, disguised himself in a Confederate uniform, went to tlie Southern army, and witnessed some of the fierce figliting about Atlanta. He was discovered and sent back to prison at Columbia, S. C, where he wrote the song. He soon escaped again, ireioined Sherman's army, and for a time served on GenFrom Cape Fear River he was sent eral Slierman's staff. North with despatches to Grant and President Lincoln, bringing the first news of Sherman's successes in the
Caroliuas.

WAR.
came out of the darkuess That hung over the mouutain aud tree, And shouted, " Boys, up aud be read}' For Shermau will march to the sea."
^Vlleu a rider
!

407

upon cheer for bold Sliernian up from each valley and glen, Aud the bugles re-echoed the music That came from the lips of the men For we knew that the stars in our banner More bright in their splendor would be, xVnd that blessings from Northland would greet
^^'ent
;

Tiien cheer

us

When Sherman marched down

to the sea.

Then forward, boys, forward to battle, We marched on our wearisome way,

We

stormed the wild

bless those

hills of
fell

God

who

Resaca; on that day!

Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory. Frowned down on the Hag of the free, But (he lOast and the West bore our standards, And Sherman marched on to the sea.
Still

onward we

pressed,

lili

our banners

Swept out from Atlanta's grim walls,' Aud the blood of the patriot dampened

The

soil

where the traitor Hag

falls;

Yet we paused not to weep foi- tiie fallen. Who slept by each river and tree; We twined them a wreath of the laurel

As Sherman marched down

Oil
I

to the sea.

proud was our army that morning. That stood where the pine darkly towers.

408

POEMS OF NATIOXAL

SPIRIT.

said: "Boys, you are weary; This day fair Savannah is ours " Then sang we a song for our chieftain,
!

When Sherman

That echoed

o'er river

and

lea,

And the stars in our banner shone When Sherman marched down to
SAMUEL

brighter the sea.

H. M. BYERS.

ARMY CORRESPONDENT'S LAST

FIVE FORKS, APRIL
1,

RIDE.

1865.

Ho

pony. Down the lonely road Strike now your cheeriest pace
!

The woods on fire do not burn higher Than burns my anxious face; Far have you sped, but all this night Must feel my nervous spur; If we be late, the world must wait The tidings Ave aver: To home and hamlet, town and hearth, To thrill child, mother, man, I carry to the waiting North Great news from Sheridan

The birds are dead among the

pines,

Slain by the battle fright, Prone in the road the steed reclines

That never reached the fight Yet on we go, the wreck below Of many a tumbled wain, By ghastly pools where stranded mules

Die, drinking of the rain;

WAR.
With but my
I
list

400

of killed

and missed
tryst,

spur

my

stumbling nag,

To tell of death at many a But victory to the flag! *&

"Haiti who conies there? " A friend." " Advance

How
'

goes
:

it,

say?"
!

Pass on And ]arts the darkness on before, And down the mire we tramp,

Huzza

We won the day!" " Good-night "

'^ '"
!

The countersign!" The fight,

And

the black sky

is

painted o'er

With many a pulsing camp; O'er stumps and ruts, by ruined huts. Where ghosts look through the gloam,
Behind my tread I hear the dead Follow the news toward home!

The hunted souls In swamp and

see behind.

in ravine.

Whose

cry for mercy thrills the wind Till cracks the sure carbine;

The moving lights, which scare the dark, And show the trampled place Where, in his blood, some mother's bud Turns up his young, dead face; The ca])tives spent, whose standards rent The confjuci-or parades, As at the I'"'ive Forks roads arrive The General's dashing aides.

O wondrous Youth! through this Iluns my boy's life its thread;

grand ruth

410

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

The General's fame, tlie battle's name, The rolls of maimed and dead
with my thrilled soul astir, And lonely thoughts and fears; And am but History's courier
I bear,

To bind the conquering years;

To

battle-ray, through ages gray light to deeds sublime,

And flash the lustre of this day Down all the aisles of Time!
Ho! pony,
't is the signal gun The night-assault decreed
;

On

Petersburg the thunderbolts Crash from the lines of Meade;

pale, frightened stars o'erhead, shrieks the bursting air;

Fade the

And
The

forest foliage, tinted red,

last hours,

Grows ghastlier in the glare; Though in her towers, reached her

Rocks proud Rebellion's crest The world may sag, if but my nag Get in before the rest
!

With bloody

flank,

and fetlocks dank,

goad, and lash, and shoutGreat God! as every hoof-beat falls

And

hundred

lives beat

out

As weary as this broken steed Reels down the cordui'ovs,

So, weary, fight for

morning

light

Our hot and grimy boys; Through ditches wet, o'er })arapet

And guns

barbette, they catch

WAR.
The last, lost breticli and I, I reach The mail with my despatch!
;

411

Sure

it

As sped
The shot
This

shall speed, the laud to read, the happiest shell

!

send strike the world's end;

tells

my

pony's knell;

His long race run, the long war done,

occupation gone, Above his bier, prone on the pier,

My

The vultures

tleck the

Still, rest his bones

dawn. where soldiers dwell,

Till the l.ong Roll they catch.

He fell the day And took the

that
first

Richmond
!

fell.

despatch GEORGE ALFUEU TOWNSEND.

THE YEAR OF JUBILEE.*

Say, darkeys, hab you seen de raassa, Wid de mutlstash on he face.

Go

long de road some time dis moruin', Like he gwine leabe de place?
see de

He

smoke way up de ribber

Whar He took And

*

de Liucum gunboats lay; he liat an' lelT berry sudden. I spose he 's ruuned away.

Sung by iifj;ro truups wlicu ciiloiiiig Riflinioiid. George Cary Egglestoii, in iiis collection of "American

War

liallads," says that it soon f<nind favor among the " was sung with applause by young men and people ami maidens in well iiigii every house in Virginia."

412

POEi\W OF NATIONAL SPIRIT, De massa run, ha, ha De darkey stay, ho, ho It mils' be now de kingdiim comiu',
! !

An' de yar ob

Jubilo.

six foot one way an' two foot todder, An' he weigh six hundred poiin' His coat so big he couldn't pay de tailor, An' it won't reach half roun'
;

He

git so mighty tanned, I spec he 'II try to fool dem Yankees, For to tink he contraband.

He drill An he

way

so

much dey

calls

him

cap'n,

De massa run, ha, ha De darkey stay, ho, ho It mus' be now de kingdum

! !

comin'

An' de yar ob

Jubilo,

darkeys got so lonesome libb'n In de log hut on de lawn, Dey moved dere tings into massa's parlor For to keep it while he gone.

De

Dar

's wine an' cider An' de darkeys dey

in de kitchin, liab some,

I spec it will be all fiscated.

When

de

Lincum

sojers come.
!

De massa run, ha, ha De darkey stay, ho, ho It mus' be now de kingdum

!

An' deyar ob

comin',

jubilo.

De

oberseer he makes us trubble, An' he dribe us roun' a apell,

WAR.

413
cellar,

We

lock

him up

in de

Wid de key De whip am

tlimg in
lost,

smoke-house de well.

de han'-euff broke,

But de massy hab his pay; He big an' ole enough for to know better Dan to went an' run away. De massa run, ha, ha
!

De darkey
It

stay, ho,

ho

mus' be now de kiugdum comin', An' de yar ob jubilo.

ANONYMOUS.

THE CONQUERED BANNER.

Furl that Banner, for 't is weary; Round its staff 't is drooping dreary:
Furl
it,

fold

it,

it is

best;

For there

's

not a

man

to

wave

it,
it,

And And
And

there there

's 's

not a sword to save

not one left to lave it Tn the blood which heroes gave it,
its

foes
it,

now
hide

scorn and brave

it,

Furl

it:

let it rest!

Take that Banner down! 't is tattered; J>roken is its staff and shattered;

And
Oh,

the valiant hosts are scattered,

Over
't

whom

is !i:u-d

it floated high. for us to fold it,

's

Hard Hard

to think there

none to hold
unrolled

it,

that those

who once

it

Now must

furl it

with a sigh!

414

POEjihS

OF NATIONAL

^^PIRIT.
I

Furl that Banner furl it sadly Once ten thousands hailed it gladl}', And ten thousands wildly, madly, Swore it should forever wave; Swore that foeman's sword should never Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, Till that flag should float forever O'er their freedom or their grave
!

Furl

it!

for the

hands that grasped

it,

And And

the hearts that fondly clasped Cold and dead are lying low;

it,

that lianner

it is

trailing,

While around it sounds the wailing Of its i)eop]e in their woe.

For, tho'ugh conquered, they adore it, Love the cold, dead hands that bore it,

Weep

for those

who

fell

before

it.

Pardon those who

trailed

and tore

it;

And

oh, wildly they deplore it, Now to furl and fold it so!

Furl that Banner! True, 't is gory. Yet 't is wreathed around with glory.

And

't

will live in

song and story

Though its folds are in the dust! For its fame on bi'ightest pages, Penned by poets and by sages,
Shall go sounding down the ages Furl its folds though now we must.

Furl that Banner, softly, slowly Treat it gently it is holy,

For

it

droops above the dead.

WAR.
Touch
Let
it
it never; furled forever, droop there, For its people's hopes are tied it

415

not

unfold

ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN.

ALL.
There hangs a sabre, and there a rein, With a rustj buckle and green curb chain;

And

pair of sinirs on the old gray wall, a mouldy saddle well, that is all.

Come

out to the stable

it is

not far;

The moss grown door is hanging ajar. Look within! There 's an empty stall, Where once stood a charger, and that is

all.

The good bhick horse came

riderless home, Flecked with blood drops as well as foam; See 3'onder hillock where dead leaves fall;

The good black horse pined

All?
O,

to death

that

's all.

God

it

Question me not I am old and weak; His sabre and his saddle hang on the wall. And his horse pined to death I have told you

is all

can

8i)eak.

all.

FBANX'IS

ALEXANDER DURIVAGE.

416

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

THE CLOSING SCENE.

Within
the sober realm of leafless trees,

The russet year inhaled the dreamy air; Like some tanned reaper, in his hour of ease, When all the fields are lying brown and bare.

The gray barns looking from their hazy hills, O'er the dun waters widening in the vales, Sent down the air a greeting to the mills

On

the dull thunder of alternate

flails.

All sights were mellowed and all sounds subdued, The hills seemed further and the stream sang
low,

As

in a

dream the distant woodman hewed

His winter log with many a muffled blow.

The embattled

forests, erewhile armed with gold, Their banners bright with every martial hue. Now stood like some sad, beaten host of old,

Withdrawn afar

in Time's remotest blue.

On

The dove scarce heard

plnint;

slumb'rous wings the vulture held his flight; its sighing mate's com-

And, like a star slow drowning in the light. The village church-vane seemed to pale and
faint.

The sentinel-cock upon the hillside crew, Crew thrice, and all was stiller than before;

WAR.
Silent,

417

till some replying warden blew His alien horn, and then was heard no more.

Where erst the jay, within the elm's tall crest, Made garrulous trouble round her unfledged
young
;

And where the oriole hung her swaying nest, By every light wind like a censer swung;
Where sang
the noisy martens of the eaves, The busy swallows circling ever near, Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes. An early harvest and a plenteous year;

Where every
morn,

bird which cliarmed the vernal feast Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at

To warn the reaper of the rosy east All now was sunless, empty, and

forlorn.

Alone from out the stubble piped the quail, And croaked the crow through all the dreamy

gloom Alone the pheasant, drumming

;

in the vale.

Made echo

to the distant cottage-loom.

There was no bud. no bloom upon the bowers; The spiders moved their thin shrouds night by
night.

The thistle-down, the only ghost of

Sailed slowly by,
VIII

27

passed noiseless out of sight.

flowers,

418

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.
air,

Amid all this And where

in

this

most cheerless

the woodbine shed upon the porch Its crimson leaves, as if the Year stood there

Firing the floor with his inverted torch,

Amid

all this,

the centre of the scene,

The white-haired matron with monotonous tread Plied the swift wheel, and with her joyless mien Sat, like a fate, and watched the flying thread.
She had known Sorrow,
her.

he

had walked with

Oft supped, and broke the bitter ashen crust; And in the dead leaves still she heard the stir

Of

his black

mantle trailing '&

in the dust.

While

\Qt

her cheek was bright with

summer

bloom,

Uer country summoned iiud she gave her all; And twice War bowed to her his sable plume,
Ive-gave the

swords

to rust

upon the

wall.

Re-gave the swords, but not the hand that drew And struck for Libert}' the dying blow;

Nor him who,

Fell

to his sire

mid the ranks

and country true, of the invading foe.

Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on, Like the low murmur of a hive at noon; Long, but not loud, the iiK^iiory of the gone Breathed through her lips a sad and tremulous
tune.

WAR.
At
last the thread

419

was snapped; her head was

bowed

And

Life dropt the distaff through his hauds serene; loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud,
scene.

While Death and Winter closed the autumn

THOMAS BUCHANAN

READ.

THE MEN P.EHIND THE GUNS.

[The Spanish-American AVar, 1898.]

CHEER and salute for the Admiral, and here

to the

's

Captain bold,

And

never forget the Commodore's debt

when the

deeds of might are told! They stand to the deck through the battle's wreck

when the great

xVnd never they fear
tise

shells roar

and screech

But

otf

when the foe is near to pracwhat they preach with your hat and three times three for
:

Columbia's true-blue sons,

The men below who batter the

hind the guns!

foe

the

men

be-

Oh,

and merry of heart are they when they swing into iort once more, \Vheii, with iiutrc than enough of the "greenliglit

backed
siiorc
;

sliilV,"

hey start for their leave-o'-

And you M

think. p('rha]s, Ihat the blue-bloused

loll

chaps who

akuig

tiie

street

420

POEMB OF NATIONAL
bit,

SPIRIT.
for

Are a tender
"

with salt on

mustaclie " to eat

bold,

it,

some

fierce

Some warrior
dazzles

and

with straps of gold, who fairly stuns

The modest

Avorth of the sailor boys

the

lads

who

serve the guns.

till

But say not a word

tells

the shot

is

heard that

the fight

is

on,

Till

the long, deep roar grows more and more from the ships of '' Yank " and " Don,"

Till

over the deep the tempests sweep of

fire

and

bursting shell. And the very air is a

of a living hell
;

mad Despair

in the throes

Then down, deep down, in the mighty by the midday suns.

ship,

unseen

You

chaps who are giving the raps the men behind the guns!
'11

find the

Oh, well they know how the cyclones blow that they loose from their cloud of death, And they know is heard the thunder-word their
fierce ten-incher saith!

The

steel

decks rock with the lightning shock, and

And

Avith the great recoil, the sea grows red with the blood of the dead and reaches for his spoil

shake

But not

till

the foe has gone below or turns his

runs. Shall the voice of peace bring sweet release to the men behind the guns!

prow and

JOHN JEROME ROONEY.

WAR,

421

THE BATTLE OF MANILA.

A FRAGMENT.
[May
1,

1898.]

By
'T

Cavite ou the bay

was the Spanish squadron lay; And tlie red dawn was creeping
O'er
tlie

To the

city that lay sleeping east, like a bride, in the

May.

There was peace at Manila, In the ]May morn at ]\Iimila,^ >Vhen ho, the Spanish admiral Awoke to find our line

Had Had And

passed by gray Corregidor, laughed at shoal and mine, liung to the sky its banners
"

With

Remember
shijts of

" for the sign

With the

Spain before

In the shelter of the shore, And the forts on the right.

They drew forward to the

fight.

And

the first

was the gallant Commodore;

Jn the bav of ^.lauila, In (he doomed bay of Manila

With succor

half the world away,

No

port beneath that sky, With notliing but their ships and guns And Yaidcee ]lu(k to try,

They had left retreat beliind them, They had come to win or die!

422

POEMi^ OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

For we spoke at Manila,

We said

it

at Manila,

Or be ye brave, or be ye strong. Ye build your ships in vain; The children of the sea queen's brood Will not give up the main
;

We
As

hold the sea against the world we held it against Spain.

Be warned by Manila, Take warning by Manila,

Ye may trade by land, ye may Ye may hold the land in fee; But not go down to the sea in To battle with the free;
For England and America
Will keep and hold the sea
!

fight

by land,

ships

RICHARD HOVEY.

IV.

PEACE.

ODE TO PEACE.
Daughter of God Amid the dances of
I

that sitt'st on high the sky,

jjuidest with thy gentle sway The phuiets on their tuneful way; Sweet l*eace! shall ne'er again The smile of thy most holy face,

And

From

thine ethereal dwelling-place, Rejoice the wretched, weary race

Of discord-breathing men? Too long, O gladness-giving Queen! Thy tarrying in heaven has been Too long o'er this fair blooming world The Mag of blood has been unfurled,
;

Polluting (lod's pure day; Whilst, as each maddening i)eoj)le reels, ^N'ar onward drives his scvthed wheels.

And

at his horses' bloody heels Shriek Murder and Dismay.

lo IicMr the cry

Ofl

Ii;i\('

\\o])i

Of widow wailing

bitterly;
40:5

424

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT,

To see the parent's silent tear For children fallen beneath the spear;

And

have

felt so sore

The sense of human guilt and woe, That 1, in Virtue's passioned glov/, Have cursed (my soul was wounded The shape of man I bore Then come from thy serene abode, Thou gladness-giving child of God!
!

so)

And And

cease the world's ensanguined strife, reconcile my soul to life;

For much I long to see. Ere I shall to the grave descend, Thy hand its blessed branch extend,

And to the world's remotest end Wave Love and Harmony

!

WILLIAM TENNANT.

END OF THE CIVIL WAR.

FROM KING RICHARD
III.,

ACT

I.

SC.

1.

Now

is

the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that lowered upon our house

Now are our brows bound

In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;

Our stern alarums changed to merr}' meetings. Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

PEACE.
Grini-visaged
front.

425

War

hath smoothed his wrinkled

And now,
To
friglit

instead of mounting barbed steeds

the souls of fearful adversaries,

He
To

capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

SHAKESPEx\.RE.

DISARMAMENT.
"

Put

u\>

the sword

"
I

the voice of Christ once

more
Sieaks, in the pauses of the cannon's roar,

O'er fields of corn by fiery sickles reaped And left dry ashes; over trenches heaped
^Yith nameless dead; o'er cities starving slow Under a rain of fire; through wards of woe
'

Down
From

which a groaning diapason runs tortured brothers, husbands, lovers, sons Of desolate women in their far-off homes. Waiting to hear the step that never comes! O men and brothers! let that voice be heard. War fails, try peace; put up the useless sword!

Fear not the end.

There

is

a story told

In Eastern tents, when autumn nights grow cold, And round the fire the Mongol shepherds sit W^ith grave responses listening unto it:

Once on the errands of his mercy bent, Buddha, the holy and benevolent. Met a fell monster, Imge and fuM-ce of look, .Whose awful voice the hills and forests shook.

426

POEMH OF NATIONAL
and love

SPIRIT.
"
tliy

"O

sou of peace!" the giaut cried,

fate

Is sealed at last,

shall yield to hate."

The unarmed Buddha looking, with no trace Of fear or anger, in the monster's face,
In pity said, " I'oor fiend, even thee 1 love." Lo as he spake the sky-tall terror sank To hand-breadth size the huge abhorrence shrank Into the form and fashion of a dove;
!

And where
'*

Circling above
"

the thunder of its rage was heard. him sweetly sang the bird:
for love," so ran the song,
"
!

Hate hath no harm

And

peace unweapoued conquers every wrong JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

TUBAL CAIN.
Old Tubal Cain was a man of might, In the days when earth was young;

By

The strokes

the fierce red light of his furnace bright, of his hammer rung:

And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear,
Till the

sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,

"

As he fashioned the sword and the spear. And he sang: Hurrah for my handiwork! Hurrah for the spear and the sword Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well,
!

F'or

he shall be king and lord."

To Tubal Cain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire,

And
As

each one prayed for a strong

the crown of his desire:

steel

blade

PEACE.
AdJ
he

427
strong,

made tbem weapons sharp aud

shouted loud for
glee.

Till they

And gave him gifts of pearl aud gold, And spoils of the forest free. And they sang " Hurrah for Tubal Cain,
:

hath given us strength anew Hurrah for the smith, hurrah for the Aud hurrah for the metal true!"
!

Who

fire,

But a sudden change came

o'er his heart,

Ere the setting of the sun, And Tubal Cain was tilled with pain For the (^vil ho bad done; He saw that men, with rage and bate.

Made war

u[)on their kind.

That the land was red with the blood they shed,

And

In their lust for carnage blind. he said: "Alas! that ever I made, Or that skill of mine should plan.
for

The spear and the sword

Is to slay their

men whose

joy

fellow-man!"

And

for many a day old Tubal Cain Kat brooding o'er his woe; And his hand forbore to smite the ore, And bis furnace smouldered low.

But he

rose at last with a cheerful face.

for work,

And a lu-igbt courageous eye. And bared his strong right arm
\N'hile the (piick
'*

llames mounted high.

"
,

And he sang: Hurrah for my handiwork! And the red sparks lit the air;

428
"

POEMH OF NATIONAL
for the blade

SPIRIT.
steel

Not alone

made," And he fashioned the

was the bright

ploughshare.

first

And men,

taught wisdom from the past, In friendship joined their hands,

the wall,

Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on And ploughed the willing lands; And sang " Hurrah for Tubal Cain
:

Our stanch good

friend

is

he;

And

for the ploughshare and the plough To him our praise shall be.

But while oppression lifts its head, Or a tyrant would be lord, Though we may thank him for the plough,

We

'11

not forget the sword "

!

CHARLES MACKAY.

THE KNIGHT'S TOMB.

Where
is

the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?

Where may the grave of that good man be ? By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellj'n,
Under the twigs of a young birch-tree The oak that in summer was sweet to hear,
!

And And

rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,

whistled and roared in the winter alone, Is gone, and the birch in its stead is grown.

The knight's bones are

dust.

And

good sword rust; His soul is with the saints,

his

I trust.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE,

PEACE,

429

NOT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.

"To
try,

that would not be hard." The Neighbors.

No^ no,

fall

ou the battle-field

figliting for

my

dear coun-

let

me

lie

Not on a

field of

battle

when

I die!

Let not the iron tread

Of the mad war-horse crush my helmed head; Nor let the reeking knife. That I have drawn against a brother's life, Be in my hand when Death Thunders along, and tramples me beneath
His heavy squadron's
heels,

Or gory

felloes of his

cannon's wheels.

From such
Though
The
o'er
it

a dying bed.

float the stripes of

white and red,

the bald eagle brings clustered stars upon his wide-spread wings

And

To sparkle
O, never let
1

in

my

sight,

my

spirit take her flight!

know

that beauty's eye

Is all the brighter

where gay pennants

fly,

And
And

brazen helmets dance, sunshine Mashes on the lifted Innce; I know that bards have sung.
people shouted till the welkin rung. In honor of the bi-nve

And

Who

on the
I

l)Mttle-field

hnve found a grave;

know

that o'er their bones

430

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

How

grateful hands piled nionumental stones. Some of those piles I 've seen
:

The one at Lexington upon the green Where the first blood was shed,

And
The

to
"

my And

country's independence led;

others, on our shore, "

Battle

And

Monument at Baltimore, that on Bunker's Hill.

;

Ay, and abroad, a few more famous still Thy tomb," Themistocles, That looks out yet upon the Grecian seas, And which the waters kiss
"

That issue from the gulf

of Salamis.

And thine, too, have I seen. Thy mound of earth, Fatroclus, robed

in green,

That, like a natural knoll. Sheep climb and nibble over as they stroll.

Watched

b}'

some turbaned boy,

Upon
I

the margin of the plain of Troy. Such honors grace the bed,
his head.

know, whereon the warrior lays

And

hears, as

life

ebbs out,

The conquered flying, and the conqueror's shout; But as his eye grows dim, What is a column or a mound to him?
What, to the parting soul. The mellow note of bugles? What the Of drums? No, let me die
roll.

Where
As
it

the blue heaven bends o'er

me

lovingly,

And

the soft

summer

air.

goes by me, stirs my thin white hair. And from my forehead dries
it

The death-damp as

gathers,

and the

skies

PEACE.
Seem waiting
to receive
I

431

Or let me leave The world when round my bed Wife, children, weeping friends are gathered,

My

soul to their clear depths

And

the calm voice of prayer holy hymning shall my soul prepare To go and be at rest

And

With kindred spirits, spirits who have blessed The human brotherhood By labors, cares, and counsels for their good. JOHN PIERPONT.

THE DAY
Come
for a tale there
is

IS

COMING.

hither lads and hearken,

to tell.

Of the wonderful days a-coining, when all shall be better than well.

And
And

the tale shall be told of a country,

folk shall call
it

a land in the midst of the sea,

ICngland
be.

in the

days that are going to

There more than one

in tlie

in a thousand, days that are yet to come, Shall have some hope of the morrow, some joy of the ancient home.

For then
to
lliis

laugh not, but

;ii('

lislou

strange tale of mine

in i^ngl.ind
fli:iii

swine.

All folk tlmt

sIkiII

be better lodgeil

432

POEMS OP NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Then a man shall work and bethink him, and rejoice in the deeds of his hand; Nor yet come home in the even too faint and weary to stand.

Men

in that time

a-eoming

shall

work and have no fear

For to-morrow's lack of earning, and the hunger-Wolf anear.

I tell

YOU

this for a

that no

man

wonder, then shall be glad

Of

his fellow's fall

to snatch at the

and mishap, work he had.

For that which the worker winneth

Nor

shall then be his indeed, shall half be reaped for nothing by him that sowed no seed.

Oh, strange new wonderful justice!

But for whom shall we gather the gain? For ourselves and for each of our fellows, and no hand shall labor in vain.
Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours, and no more shall any man crave For riches that serve for nothing
but to fetter a friend for a slave.

And what

wealth then shall be

shall gather gold

left us,

when none

PEACE.
To buv his friend in the market, and pinch and pine the sold?

433

Nay, what save the lovelj- city, and the little house on the hill, And the wastes and the woodland beauty, and the happy fields we till
;

And

the

homes

of ancient stories,

the tombs of the mighty dead; And the wise men seeking out marvels, and the poet's teeming head;

And And

the painter's hand of wonder, and the marvellous fiddle-bow.

the banded choirs of music:

all

those that do and know.

For

all these shall be ours and all men's; nor shall any lack a shai-e Of the toil and the gain of living, in the days when the world grows fair.

Ah! such are the days that shall be! IJut what are the deeds of to-day. In the days of the years we dwell in, that wear our lives awav?

Why,

then, and for what are we waiting? There are three words to speak Wc u-ill if, and what is the foeman but the dream-strong wakened and weak?
:

VIII

28

434

POEMH OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Ob, why and for what are we waiting, while our brothers droop and die,

And on

every wind of the heavens a wasted life goes by?

How

long shall they reproach us,

where crowd on crowd they dwell, Poor ghosts of the wicked city,
the gold-crushed hungry hell?

Through squalid

life

they labored,

in sordid grief they died, Those sons of a mighty mother,

-

those props of England's pride.

there is none can undo nor save our souls from the curse: But many a million cometh, and shall thev be better or worse?

They are gone

it,

we must answer and hasten, and open wide the door For the rich man's hurrying terror, and the slow-foot hope of the poor.
It is

Yea, the voiceless wrath of the wretched, and their unlearned discontent,

We

must

till

give the w^aiting-tide be spent.

it

voice

and wisdom

Come

then, since all things call us,

the living

and the dead,

PEACE.
And
o'er tlie weltering tangle a glinimei-iug light is shed.
let

435

Coine then,

ns cast

off fooling,

and put by ease and rest, For the Cause alone is woi-thy till the good days bring the ])est.

Come, join

in the

only batlle
fail.

wlierein no

man can

Where

wlioso fadeth and dieth,

still

yet his deed shall

])revail.

Ah! come,

cast off all fooling,

for this, at least,

we know:

That the dawn and the day is coming, and foi'th the bannei-s go. WII.MAM MUllRIS.

TPII"]

GK.VVi:
barren
isle,

OF
\\

P.ONAPARTI-:.
here the wild

Ox

lone

roaring

billows
Assail the s<ern rock, and the loud tempests
rave,

The hero
lows,

lies

still,

while the dew-drooping wil-

Like

fond

weejting

mourners,

lean

over

the

grave.

The lightnings may

rattle:

flash,

and the loud tlnniders

's

He

hee<ls not, he hears not, he

;

pain

free

from

all

430

P0E3IS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

sleeps his last sleei)lie lias fought his last battle
!

He

No sound can awake him

to glory again!

shade of the mighty, where now are the legions That rushed but to conquer when thou led'st them on?

Alas! they have perished in far hilly regions, And all save the fame of their triumph is gone
rattle
!

The trumpet may sound, and the loud cannon

They heed
all

not, they hear not, they 're free

:

from

pain

They

sleep their last sleep, they have fought their

last battle!

No sound

can awake them to glory again!

Yet, spirit immortal, the tomb cannot bind thee, For, like thine own eagle that soared to the
sun.

Thou springest from bondage and

thee

leavest behind

A name
rattle.

Though nations

which before thee no mortal had won. may combat, and war's thunders
the steed wilt thou sweep o'er the

No more on
plain
:

Thou

sleep'st thy last sleep,

!

thou hast fought thy

!

last battle

No sound

can awake thee to glory again LEONARD HEATH.

PEACE.

437

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

between the English and of IMarlborougli and Prince Eugene, and the French and Bavarians on the oilier side, led by Marshal TaUart and the Elector of Bavaria. The latter part}" was defeated, and the schemes of Louis XIV. of France were materially checked.)
[In Bavaria, August 13, 1704, Austriaiis on one side, under the

Duke

It

was

a suniinoi- evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done, And lie before bis cottaoe door Was sitting in tbe snn And bv bini sported on tbe green His little grandcliild Wilbelmine.
;

She saw ber brotber Peterkin Roll soinetbing large and round,

Which he

beside the rivulet,

In playing there, had found; He came to ask what he had found

That was so large and smooth and round.

Old Kaspar took it from tbe boy, Who stood expectant by; And then tbe old man shook bis bead, And, with a natural sigh,

" 'T

is

some

"Who
"I

jtoor fellow's skull," said he, fell in tbe great victory.

find them in fho garden. For there's many liereabout;

438

POEiMS OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

And

often, when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out; For many thousand men," said he,
"

Were

slain in the great victory."

"

tell us what 't was all about." Young Peterkin he cries; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes,

Now

"

Now

tell

us

And what
" It
"

all about the war. they fought each other for."

was the English/' Kaspar

cried,
;

put the French to rout But what they fought each other for I could not well make out;
"

Who

But everybody said/' quoth he, That 't was a famous victory.

"

My

father lived at Blenheim then.

little stream hard by; burnt his dwelling to the ground, They

Yon

And

he was forced to

fly;

So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head.
"

With

fire

and sword the country round

;

Was wasted far and wide And many a childing mother

And new-born baby
died
;

there,

But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory.

PEACE.
"

439
sight

Thej sav
After the

it

tield

was a shocking was won,

For nianv thousand bodies

liere

Lay rotting in the sun; But things liice tliat, you linow must be After a famous victory.
Great praise tiie Duke of Marlborough won, And oiu' good I'rince Eugene." " " Wliy, 't was a very wicked thing! Said little Wilhelmine.
'*

"

Nay, nay, my little girl quoth "It was a famous victor}'.

!

"

he,

"

And everybody

]>raised the

duke

Who
"

tliis

But what
Quoth

great fight did win." good came of it at last?"

Peterkin.
I

little

''Why. that
"

cannot

tell,"

said he;

But

't

was a famous

victory."

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

AT GIBRALTAR.
I.

England, Not all

1

stand on thy imperial ground

a stranger; as thy bugles blow, feci witliin my blood old battles flow,

know

Tlie Ithtod
Still

whose ancient founts ar( in thee found surging daik against the Christian bound
Isliiiii

Wliilf

presses; well its j)eoi>les

440

POEiVS OF NATIONAL
how Luckuow heard

.SPIRIT.

Thy heights
I

that watch them wandering below:

their

thinlj

gathering

sound.
I

turn and meet the cruel, turbaned face. England 't is sweet to be so much thy son!
!

I feel

my blood and race; Last night Trafalgar awed me, and to-day Gibraltar wakened; hark, thy evening gun Startles the desei't over Africa.
the conqueror in
II.

art the rock of empire set mid-seas Between the East and West, that God has Advance thy Roman borders where thou While run thy armies true with his decrees;

Thou

built;
wilt,

Law,

justice, libert}',-

Watch
spilt,

great gifts are these. that they spread where English blood
sullied

is

Lest,

mixed and

with

his

country's
dis-

The

guilt soldier's life-stream

flow,

and Heaven

please

Two swords

there are one naked, apt to smite, blade of war; and, battle-storied, one Thy in the sheath, and hides from light. Rejoices
:

American

am; would wars were done!

Now

westward, look, my country bids good night, Peace to the world, from ports without a gun! GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY.

PEACE,

441

THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD.

[Dedication
of

monument

to

Kentucky

volunteers,

killed at Biiena Vista, Mexico,]

The

muffled dium's sad roll has beat

The soldier's last tattoo; No more on Life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few.

On Fame's

eternal camping-ground

Their silent tents are si)read, And Glory guards, with solemn round, The bivouac of the dead.

Ko rumor

of the foe's advance

Now
No

swells

upon the wind;

;

troubled thought at midnight haunts Of loved ones left behind

vision of the

No

morrow's

strife

The warrior's dreaui alarms; No braying horn nor screaming At dawn shall call to arms.

fife

Thcii- shivered

swords are red with

rust,

Their })lumcd heads are bowed; Tiicir lianghty banner, trailed in dust, Is now llicir martial shroud.

And

The red stains

jdenteous funeral tears have washed fi-om eacli brow.

the proud forms.
free
ly

And

battle gashed.

Are

from anguish now.

442

POEMii OF NATIONAL

,<iPIRIT.

The neighing troop, the flashing blade, The bugle's stirring blast, The charge, the dreadful eannouade, The din and shout, are past;

Nor war's wild note nor

glory's peal Shall thrill with fierce delight Those breasts that nevermore may feel

The rapture
Like the
fierce

of the fight.

northern hurricane

That sweeps his great plateau, Flushed Vvith the triumph yet to gain,

Came down

the serried foe.

\Yho heard the thunder of the fray Break o'er the field beneath,

Knew Avell the watchword of Was " Victory or Death."

Long had the doubtful
O'er
all

that day

conflict
]lain.

raged

that stricken

For never fiercer fight had waged The vengeful blood of Spain;

And

the storm of battle blew. swelled the gory tide; Not long, our stout old chieftain knew, Such odds his strength could bide.
still

Still

'T

was

in that

hour his stern command

Called to a martyr's grave The flowci' of his beloved land,

The nation's

By

flag to save. rivers of their fathers' gore

His

first-born laurels grew,

PEACE.
And
well he

443
ioui'

deemed the sons would

Their lives for glory too.

Full

many

a norther's breath

has swept

O'er Angostura's plain, And long the ])i tying sky has wept

Above its mouldered shiin. The raven's scream, or eagle's tlight, Or shepherd's pensive lay. Alone awakes each sullen heiglit That frowned o'er that dread fray.
Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground, Ye must not slumber there, Where stranger steps and tongues resound

Along the hecnlless air. Your own i)rou(l land's heroic

soil

Shall be your fitter grave: She claims from war his richest spoil The ashes of her brave.

Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest, Far from the gory field, Borne to a Spartan mother's breast

On many

a bloody shield

The sunshine of

their native sky

And

Smiles sadly on them iiei-e. kindred eyes and hearts watch by

The heroes' sepulchre.

liesl on,

embalmed and sainled dead!

(lie

I)ear as

blood

yt^

gave;

444

POEMS OF NATIONAL
No
;

SPIRIT.

imijious footstep here shall tread

The herbage of your grave Nor shall your glory be forgot While Fame her record keeps, Or HoDor poiuts the hallowed spot

Where Valor proudly

sleeps.

Yon marble

minstrel's voiceless stone

In deathless song shall tell, When man}' a vanished age hath flown,

The story how ye fell Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's Nor Time's remorseless doom,
;

blight.

Shall dim one ray of glory's light That gilds your deathless tomb.

THEODORE o'hARA.

THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD.

This
is

the arsenal.

From

floor to ceiling,

Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;

But from

their silent pipes no anthem pealing Startles the villages with strange alarms.
will
rise

Ah! what a sound

dreary

how

wild and
keys

When the death-angel touches those swift What loud lament and dismal miserere

Will mingle with their awful symphonies!

I

hear even

now

the infinite fierce chorus

The

cries of agony, the endless groan.

PEACE.

445

Which, llirough the ages that have gone before

us,
111

long reveibeiatious reach our own.

luirnoss rings the Saxon haminer; Ciuibric forest roars the Norseman's

On helm and
Through
song
:

And

loud amid the universal clamor. O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.

hear the Florentine, who from his palace Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din; And Aztec i)riests upon their teocallis Beat the wild war-drums made of serpents'
I

skin;

The tumult of each sacked and burning village; The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns; The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage; The wail of famine in beleaguered towns; The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, The rattling musketry, the clashing blade And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, The diapason of the cannonade.

it, () man. with such discordant noises, With such accursed instruments as these, Thou drownest nature's sweet and kindly voices.

Ts

And
Were

jarrest the celestial harmonies?

half the

power that

fills

the world with ter-

ror,

446

POEMS OF NATIONAL
half the wealth
courts,

SPIRIT.

Were

bestowed ou camps and

Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals nor forts
;

The warrior's name would be

a name abhorred; every nation that should lift aji;ain Its hand against a brother, on its forehead

And

Would wear forevermbre

the curse of Cain

Down

The echoing sounds grow

cease
;

the dark future, through long generations. fainter and then

And
I

like

bell,

with solemn, sweet vibrations,

hear once
''

more the voice

of

Christ

say,

Peace

"
!

Peace!

and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies;

But, beautiful as songs of the immortals. The holy melodies of love arise.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

AN OLD BATTLE-FIELD.
The And
softest whisperings of the scented South, rust and roses in the cannon's mouth
;

And, where the thunders of the fight were born. The wind's sweet tenor in the standing corn
;

With song

And

of larks, low-lingering in the loam, blue skies bending over love and home.

PEACE.
But
still

447

the

tliouglit:

Somewhere,

upon

the

hills,

Or where

the vales ring with the whip-poor-wills,

Sad wistful eyes and broken hearts that beat For the loved sound of uureturuiug feet.
And, when the oaks their leafy banners wave, Dream of the battle and an unmarked grave!

FRANK

LKliliY

STANTON.

THE BATTLE-FIELD.
Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands. Were trampled by a hwrrying crowd. And fiery hearts and armed hands
Encountered
in

(he battle-cloud.

Alii never shall the land forget gushed the life-blood of her brave,

How

(iushed,

warm

Ujion the

soil

with hope and courage yet, they fought to save.

all is calm and fresh and still; Alone the chirp of Hitting bird. And talk of children on the hill.

Now

And

bell

of wandei-iiig kine, are heard.

No solemn
Men

host goes trailing by

tlic

The biack-montlied gun and staggering wain;

stall udt al
it

battle-cry,
I

O, be

never heard again

448

POEMS OF NATIONAL
;

SPIRIT.
but thou

Soon rested those who fongUt

>V'ho mingiest in the harder strife

For truths

whicli

men

receive not now.

life.

Thy warfare only ends with

A A

friendless warfare

lingering long

Through weary day and weary year; wild and many-weaponed throng Hang on thy front and flank and rear.
spirit to the proof,
;

Yet nerve thy

blench not at thy chosen lot The timid good may stand aloof,

And

The sage may frown,

yet faint thou not.

Nor heed

the shaft too surely cast,

The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; For with thy side shall dwell, at last, The victory of endurance born.
Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again,

The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain,

And

dies

among

his worshii)pers.

Yea, though thou

lie

upon the
thee

dust,
floe in fear,

When

they

who helped

Die full of ho[)e and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here!

Another hand thv sword shall wield. Another hand the standard wave. Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er tln^ gr.ave. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

PEACE.

4i9

HOW
How
By When
all

SLEEP THE BRAVE.

sleep the brave who sink to rest their country's wishes blest!

Spring', with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mold, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay;

And Freedom

shall awhile repair,

To dwell a weeping hermit

there

WILLIAM COLLINS.

OUR FALLEN HEROES.

The
Has wreathed with
angel of the nation's peace flowers the battle-drum

We

see the fruiting fields increase Where sound of war no more shall come.

The swallow skims the Tennessee, Soft winds play o'er the Rapidan;
There only echo notes of glee, Where gleamed a mighty army's van!
Fair Chattanooga's wooded slope

With summer
VIII

airs

is

29

lightly stirred,

450

POEMS OF NATIONAL
a heart
is

.SPIRIT.

And many

warm with hope

was heard.

Where once

the deep-mouthed gun

stainless rolls,

The blue Potomac

And Mission Ridge is gemmed with On man}^ a height sleep gallant souls, And still the blooming ' vears return.
Thank God unseen to outward eye, But felt in every freeman's breast,
!

fern;

From

graves where fallen comrades lie Ascends at Nature's wise behest.

With springing grass and blossoms new,

prayer to bless the nation's

life,

To freedom's

And

flower give brighter hue, hide the awful stains of strife.

O, Boys in Blue, we turn to you, The scarred and mangled who survive;

No more we meet
But
Still
all

in grand review, the arts of freedom thrive.

glows the jewel in its shrine. where the James now tranquil Its wealth for all, the glory thine,

Won

rolls;

O memory

of heroic souls!

GEORGE BANCROFT GRIFFITH.

PEACE.

451

THE CAUSE OF THE SOUTH.

FROM
'"'^SENTIXKL

SONGS."

The

fallen cause still

waits,

bard has not come yet, His song through one of to-morrow's gates Shall shine but never set.
Its

he '11 sweep tears all stringed, with harp And the ver^- notes he sti-ikes will weep. As they come, from his hand, woe-winged.

But when he comes

Ah! grand

sliall

be his strain,

And his songs shall fill all climes, And the Rebels shall rise and march again Down the lines of his glorious rhymes.
his verse shall gleam The swords that (lashed in vain, And the men who wore the gray shall seem To be marshalling again.
IJut

And through

hush! between his words Tccr faces sad and i)ale.

hear the sound of broken chorda Beat through the poet's wail.

And you

Through his verse the orphans cry The terrible undertone

!

452

POEMS OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.
sigh;

And the father's curse and the mother's And the desolate young wife's moan.

I sing,

with a voice too low To be heard beyond to-day, In minor keys of my peoj^le's woe; And my songs pass away.

To-morrow hears them not To-morrow belongs to fame:

My

songs

like the

birds' will
my

be forgot,

And And

forgotten shall be
!

name.

yet who knows betimes The grandest songs depart, While the gentle, humble, and low-toned rhymea Will echo from heart to heart. ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN.

SENTINEL SONGS.

When

falls the soldier

Dead at the feet of wrong, The poet sings, and guards his grave With sentinels of song.
Songs, march
!

brave

Keep The living and dead of the Conquered Land Have now no guards save you.
;

faithful

he gives command. watch and true

Grave Ballads! mark ye well! Thrice holv is vour trust!

PEACE,
Go
!

453
fell,

halt

by the

fields

where warriors

Rest arms: aud guard their dust

SoDgsI your watch is long! soldiers' guard was brief. Whilst right is right, and wrong is wrong,
List,

The

Ye may not

seek relief.

Go! wearing the gray of grief! Go watch o'er the Dead in Gray! Go guard the private aud guard the
I

chief,

Aud

sentinel their clay

And the songs, in stately rhyme, And wilh softly sounding tread. Go forth, to watch for a time a time,
"Where sleep the Deathless Dead.

And

the songs, like funeral dirge, In music soft and low,

Sing round the graves.

whilst

hot tears surge

From

hearts that are homes of woe.

What

thouijh no sculptured shaft Immoitalize each bravo? Wliat thougli no monument epitaphed Be built above each grave? &

When maiblo wears away. And Tiioiinments ;irc diisf,The

s()n;s
<h;i<^

jruard

our

soldiers' clay

Will

still fulfil

their trust.

454

P0E3IS OF NATIOXAL SPIRIT.

lifted head, and steady tread, Like stars that guard the skies, Go watch each bed, where rest the dead,

With

Brave Songs with sleepless eyes. ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN.

!

ODE.
[Sung on the occasion of decorating tlie graves of the Confederate dead, at Magnolia Cenieter}^ Charleston, S. C]

Sleep sweetly in your humble graves, Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause Though yet no marble column craves The pilgrim here to pause,
!

In seeds of laurel in the earth

The blossom

of your

fame

is

blown.

And somewhere,
The shaft

waiting for
the stone!

its birth,

is in

Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years Which keep in trust your storied tombs, Behold! your sisters bring their tears, And these memorial blooms.

Small tributes! but your shades will smile More proudly on these wreaths to-day, Then when some cannon-moulded pile
Shall overlook this bay.

Stoop, angels, hither from the skies!

There

is

no holier spot of ground

PEACE.

455

Than where defeated valor lies, Bv mourn iug beauty crowned HEXRY TIMROD.
!

TDE BLUE AND THE GRAY.

[Tlie women of Coliinibus, Mississippi, strewed flowers alike on the graves of the Confederate and the National

soldiers.]

By the How of Whence the

Where

the inland river,

Meets of iron have
fled.

the blades of the j^rave-grass (]uiver Asleep are the ranks of the dead ;

Under the sod and

tlie

dew.

Waiting; the jud.i>nient-dav; Under the one, the Blue;

Under the

other, the Gray.

These in the robiuj^ of liiorv. Those in the mlooin of defeat.

All
\\illi

tlie

battle-blood i;or\

In the dusk of eternity meet; Under the sod and the dew, Tender the
laui-el.

Waitinj"- the judi;inent-day

the Blue;

Under

the willow, the Gi-ay.

From
The

llic

silence of sorrowful hours

desolat(

mourners

^o,

Lovinjily laden with flowers Alike for the fi-iend nnd the foe, Undei- (he sod and the dew,
Waitiiiii llie Jiid.uiiient-day

450

POEM^ OF NATIONAL

SPIRIT.

Under the roses, the Blue; Under the lilies, the Gray.
So with an equal splendor The morning sun-rays fall,

With

On

Under the sod and the dew. Waiting the judgment-day;

a touch, impartially tender, the blossoms blooming for all;

'Broidered with gold, the Blue; Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

So when the summer calleth, On forest and field of grain With an equal murmur falleth The cooling drip of the rain; Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment-day;

Wet with the rain, the Blue; Wet with the rain, the Gray.
Sadly, but not with upbraiding.

The generous deed was done In the storm of the years that are fading, No braver battle was won
; ;

Under the sod and the dew,

W^aiting the judgment-day; Under the blossoms, the Blue; Under the garlands, the Gray.

No more

shall the war-cry sever.

Or the winding

rivers be red

They banish our anger forever When they laurel the graves of our dead

PEACE.
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting- the judgnient-day Love and tears for the Blue,
;

457

Tears and love for the Gray. FRANCIS MILES FINCH.

CENTENNIAL HYMN.
[1876.]

Ouu

fathers'

God

from out whose hand

grains of sand,

The centuries

fall like

We

meet to-day, united, free, And loyal to our land and Thee, To thank Thee for the era done. And trust Thee for the oi)ening one.

Here, where of old, by Thy design. The fathers spake that word of Thine Whose echo is the glad refrain Of rended bolt and falling chain. To grace our festal time, from all

The zones

of earth our guests

we

call.

Be with us while the New World The Old World thronging all its
Unveiling

greets
streets,

By And unto common good

the trium]>hs won art or toil beneath the sun

all
;

ordain

This rivalshij) of hand and brain.

Thou,

who

hast here in concord furled

The war

(lags of a

gathered world.

458

POEMH OF NATIONAL
Beneath our Western skies

SPIRIT.

fulfil

Tlie Orient's mission of good-will, And, freighted with love's Golden Fleece,

Send back

its

Argonauts of peace.

For art and labor met in truce, For beauty made the bride of use, We thank Thee; but, withal, we crave The austere virtues strong to save, The honor proof to place or gold, The manhood never bought nor sold
!

us, through centuries long, In peace secure, in justice strong; Around our gift of freedom draw

Oh make Thou

The safeguards of thy righteous law And, cast in some diviner mould. Let the new cycle shame the old JOHN GREENLEAP WHITTIER.
: !

HYMN OF THE
world's pair,
ST.
[1904.]

^VEST.*
LOUIS.

Thou, whose glorious orbs on high Engird the earth with splendor round.
out Thy secret place draw nigh
of this

From

The courts and temples

ground;

Eternal Light, Fill with Thy might

*

Copyright 1904 by Robert Allan Reid.

PEACE.
These domes that
in Tli y

459

purpose grew,

And

lift

a nation's heart anew!

Illumine Thou each ])athway here, To show the marvels God hath wrought
Since
first Thy ]>eo]le's chief and seer Looked up with lliat ]trophetic tiiought, JJade Time unroll The faleful scroll, And empire unto Freedom gave

From cloudland

height to tropic wave.

Poured through Ihe gateways of the North Thy mighty rivei-s join their tide, And on the wings of morn sent forth
Their mists the
far-oil"

peaks divide.

IJy Thee unsealed, The mountains yield

Ores that the wealth of

Oi)]iir

shame,

And gems euwrought

Lo, through

of seven-hued tiame.

what years the soil hath lain, At Thine own time to give increase The greater and the lesser grain. The ripening holl, the myriad ileece!

Thy creatures graze

Appointed ways; League after league across the land

The

ceaseless herds obey

Thy hand.

Thou, wliosc

liigli ai-cliw ays shine most clear Above the plenteous wcstci-n plain. Thine ancicnl hihcs from inninl tlic sphere

To

bi-eatlic its (]uicl<ening aii-

are fain;

4G0

POEM.S OF NATIONAL SPIRIT.

And
To
Their

smiles the sun

see

made one
throughout
Earth's
greenest

brood
of the

sfjace,

Land

new and lordlier race EDMUND CLARENCE

STEDMxiN.

[The foregoing was the official hymn of the Louisiana Purchase Exposition at St. Louis in 1904. It was written upon invitation of the Exposition authorities, and was sung at the opening of tlie Fair by a chorus of five hundred voices, to music written for it, also u^wn official invitation, by Professor John K. Paine, of Harvard University. It
fitly

concludes the poems of Peace, in this volume of National Spirit."]

INDEX: AUTHORS AND TITLES;

INDEX

OF AUTHORS AND
TITLES.

For occupation,
can
publishers
of

nativity, etc., of authors, and the AmeriAi)icrican poetical works, sec General

Index of Authors, Volume X.

ADDISON, JOSEPH.
Sempionius'
Speech for

War

(Cato)

page. 193

ALLSTON, WASHINGTON.
America
to Great Britain

27

ALTKXJURG, MICHAEL.
iJattle-Song of Gustavus Adolphu.s.

The (Trans.)... 210

7G 74

ARNDT. ERNST MORITZ.

J'atriotic
'

Song
tlic

IVanslation

\\li;it

is

German's Fatherhind " {Translation)

AYTOLX. \MLLIA.M KD.MOXSTOUNE.

Execution of Montrose, The
43

liARIilER, AUGUSTS. Rronze Statue of Napoleon, The

l!.\l;l;^.
J'hic(!

232

mktiael Joseph.
wiicre

Man

should Die, Tlie

Ill

P.AP.TOX. BERNARD. Bruce and tlie Spider Caractacus

302 IPO
"

BKKRS. ETHELINDA ELLIOTT

'

(Ethel Lynn).

All quiet along the

Potomac

350

BENNETT, HENItY IIOLCOMB.

Fhig goes
l.y,

riu-

108

BEltKELEY, BISHOP GEORGE

On
tlie

ProsjM'ct

<it'

Plant

itig

ArN

niid

Learning

in

.Aiiifrica

01

BOKKi;. GKojMiK IIKNRY. P.lncU itegi "< The

Dirge fur
:i

Suldicr

303 370

4G3

464

AUTTIOBS AND TITLES.

tAGE.
3S(j

BOLTON, SARAH TITTLE.

Left on the Battle-Field

BOUCTCAULT, DION.
Wearing
]\Ien

of the Green,

The

57

BROOKS, CHARLES TIMOTHY.

and Boys
(

Sword Song
The
hills

German of Korner) German of Korner)

(

78

217
139

WILLIAM GOLDSMITH. BROWN, "

BROWNELL, HENRY HOWARD.
Coming Words for the
"

were made for freedom "

" Hallelujah Chorus

838 171

BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT. Court Lady, A

Parting Lovers

14(1

85

BROWNING, ROBERT.
C4ive a

Rouse
tlie

Incident of

French

Camp

271 230
1G8

BRYANT, JOHN HOWARD.

Little Cloud,

The

BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN.

America
Antiquity of Freedom, The
Battle Field, The Our Country's Call 88 115 447 98

Song

of Marion's

Men
"

330
304 39

BURNS, ROBERT.
Bannockburn
"

My

heart's in the Highlands

BYERS, SAMUEL

HAWKINS MARSHALL.
400
183 125 127 130

Sherman's March to the Sea

BYRON, GEORGE NOEL GORDON, LORD.

Destruction of Sennacherib, The (Hebrew Melodies) Fallen Greece Giaour) Greece Enslaved Childe Harold) Song of the Greek Poet {Don Jxian) Waterloo (Childe Harold)
( (
.

287
281 67 118 225 144 197

CAMPBELL, THOMAS.
Battle of the Baltic Exile of Erin

Hallowed Ground Hohenlinden Poland Pleasures of Hope) Song of the Greeks

(

AUTHORS AND
CARFA'.

TITLES.

465
page.
18

HENRY.
"'

UlkI save the king

COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR.

Kiiiylifb

Tomb, The
"

428

COLLINS. W 1L1>1AM. How sleop Ihf bravo

'

449

COWJ'ER. \MLLL\M.
The aak Slavery (The Task)

Englaml

'I

10 135

CRAIK, DINAH MARIA MULOCK. V.y the Alma River

292

CRAWFORD. JOHN ^LVRTIN.

rrocm
to
tiio

Kalcvala (From the Finnish)

81

CROLY, GEORGE.
Catiline to the Riiinaii Army (Catiline) Deatli of Leonidas, The

188 194

DAVIS.

THOMAS OSBORNE.
277

Eontciuty

DlJiDlX,

THOMAS

JuilN.

Snug

Little Island,

The

1.5

DOBELL, SYDNEY THOMPSON.

England
to

America

92

DOVLi:. SIR .Mrnu'R

conan.
Company)
12

Bo\vmon".s Sung. Tlie (The While

DOVLK, SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS.

Private of
tiie

Bluffs,

The

20

DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN.

American Flag, The
152

DR.VYTON. MICIfAKL.
Ballad of A-ineourt, Tlic

2G4

DURIVAGE. FR.XNCIS ALEXANDER.

All

413
80
"

DWIGTIT. TnrOTIlY.
Columbia

EMERSON. PALI'II WALDO. " Hymn By the rude bridge

:

320
13

FIELDING, IIE^|:^
Roast Beef
of
<

ld

England. The

466

AUTHOBS AND

TITLES.
page.

FINCH, FRANCIS MILES.

Blue and the Gray, The Natlian Hale

455 328

GARRISON, WILLIAM LLOYD.

Freedom
of the

Mind
H.

161

GASSAWAY, FRANK
Bay
Billy

371

JAMES SLOANE. GIBBONS, "

GILFILLAN, ROBERT.
Exile's Song,

Three Hundred Thousand More "

356

The
The Traveller)

51

GOLDSMITH. OLIVER.
East, West, Home's Best
(

GRAY",

THOMAS.
34

Bard, The

GRIFFITH. GEORGE BANCROFT.

Our Fallen Heroes
449

HALLECK. FITZ-GREENE.
Marco Bozzaris
200

HARRINGTON, SIR JOHN.

Of the Warres in Ireland (Epigrammes)
237

HAWKER, ROBERT STEPHEN.

Song
of the

Western Men

136

HAY, JOHN.
Liberty
112

EAZEWELL, EDWARD WENTWORTH.

Veteran and Recruit
19

HEATH, LEONARD.
Grave of Bonaparte, The
435

HEMANS, FELICIA DOROTHEA BROWNE.

Landing
of the Pilgrim Fathers

150

HERWEGH, GEORG.
Trooper's Death, The (HaymonfVs Translation)

220 336

HOFFMAN, CHARLES FENNO.

Monterey

HOLMES. OLIVER WENDELL.

Brother Jonathan's Lament for Sister Caroline Old Ironsides 344 96

AUTHORS AND
UOVEY, RICHARD.
Battle of :Manila, The

TITLES.

46?
pack. 421

HOWE, JULIA WARD.

IJattlc-Hynin of the Republic
(.)ur

172
:i81

Orders

HOWELL.s, WILLIA.M DEAN. Two Wives, The

JONES. SIR WILLIAM.

355

AVhat constitutes a state? "

'

K EX X

!:

\)y.

H A ^LM( >XD.

Nations

J'raycr,

The

102

KEY, FRANCIS SCOTT.

Star-Spangled Banner, The
154

KIPLING. RUDYARD. Danny Deover

Recessional

20!)

31

KLOPSTOCK. FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB.

Herman and Thusnehla
(

Translation)

215

KNOWLES, JAMES SHERIDAN.

Switzerland (William Tell)
140

KORNER. KARL THEODOR.

Men ami
I(iys
(

//oo/,-.s'

Translation)

Sword Song {Brooks' Translation)

78 217

LA CONTE, MARIA.
Somebody's Darling
378

LA FONTAINE. JEAN
LASCELLES, SIR

DE. Wolf and the Dog, The Wriglit's Translation)

(

121

FRANK CAVENDISH.
208

Hakon's Defiance {Danish of Oehlenschldger)

LAZARUS, EMMA.
Gifts
8

LINTON. WILLIAM JAMES.

Patien<e
114

LOCKIL\RT. JOHN GIBSON.

Lord
of Butrago.

The

20G

LONGFRLLOW. HENRY WADSWORTH.

Repul)lic,

Arsenal at SprinL'field. The The {The liuiUUng of the Ship)

444 94

468
Altiiea

AV Til on 8 AND
from Prison, To

TITLES.
page
133

LOVELACE, COLONEL RICHARD.

LOVER, SAMUEL.
Father Laud and Motlier Tongue

LOVERIDGE, RICHARD. "

Stanzas added to

The Roast Beef

of

Old England."

13

LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL.

Jonathan to John Present Crisis, The
346
162

LOWELL, ROBERT TRAIL SPENCE.

Relief of Lucknow,

The

296

LUXT, GEORGE.
Requiem
388

MacCARTHY, DENIS FLORENCE.

" Bless the dear old Acrdant land " Ireland

60 62

MACKAY, CHARLES.
Tubal Cain
426

McLELLAN, ISAAC. New England's Dead

:^L\CMANUS,

156

ANNA JOHNSTON
.

(MRS. SEUMAS)
54

(Ethna Carhcry) Turlough MacSweeney

McMASTER, GUY HUMPHREY.

Carmen Bellicosum
332

MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD.

Ivry

Naseby

226 272

MARLOW^E, CHRISTOPHER.
School of War, The (Tamhurlaine)
185

MELLEN. GRENVILLE.
"

The lonely bugle grieves "

327

MILTON, JOHxV.
Battle of the Angels {Paradise Lost)
170

lillTFORD,

MARY RUSSELL.
Romans
(Rienzi)

Rienzi to the

123

JAMES. MONTGOMERY, " "

Make way
for Liberty

My

Country

140 5

AUTHOnS AND
MOORE, TKOMAS.
" "

TITLES.

4G9
page. 138 138

As by the shore at break of clay " The harp that once through Tara's Halls
is

"

MORRIS, WILLIA^I.
Day
Couiing, The

431

MOTHERWELL, WILLIAM.
Cavalier's Song,
"

The
(Orpheus C. Kerr).

270

NEWELL, ROBERT HENRY "

Picciola

285
S.

NORTON, CAROLINE E. STIRLING-MAXWELL)

Bingen on the Rhine

SHERIDAN

(LADY
221

O'CONOR. JOSEPH.
Generals Death, The
3G9

O'DONNELL. JOHN FRANCIS. Spinning Song, A

56

OEHLENSCHAGER, ADAM GOTTLOB.

Hakon's Defiance (Lascclles' Translation)
208

O'HARA, THEODORE.
Bivouac of the Dead
441
"

OLIPHANT, "
O'REILLY,

THOJtLVS.
the

Where are

men

(Welsh of Taliessin)

301

JOHN BOYLE.
Land
(From the Spanish)
59

Aly Native

ORMSBV. JOHN.
Battle Scene

205

ORR, JAMES.
Irishman, The
,

52

OSGOOD, KATE PUTNAM. Driving Home the Cowg

PAINE. THOMAS,
Libtjriy

404
324

Tree

I'AT/JRAVE, FRANCIS Danish Barrow, A

Stonewall .Jackson's

TURNER.
21.1

I'ALMHR. JOII.V WILLIAMSON.

Way

.^00

PAR.VELL,

FRANCES ISABELL.
G8

After Death

470
PIATT,

AUTHORS AND
JOHN JAMES.

TITLES.
page. 66

Ireland.

PIERPONT, JOHN.
Not on the Battle-Field Warren's Address
429 326

PIKE, ALBERT.
Dixie
106

MARGARET JUNKIN. PRESTON, " "

Under the shade
of the trees

392

PROCTOR, EDNA DEAN,

Heroes
174

RANDALL. JAMES RYDER.

My Maryland RAYMOND, ROSSITER WORTHINGTON.

Cavalry Song Trooper's Death, The (German of Herwegh)

103

366 220

READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN.

Brave at Home. Tlie Closing Scene, The Sheridan's Ride
109

416 383

REALP, RICHARD.
Holy Nation,
Old

178

RILEY, JAjNIES WHITCOMB.

Man and

Jim, The

357

ROBERTS, CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS.

Canada
71

JOHN JEROME. ROONEY, "

ROUGET DE
Marseillaise,

The men behind the guns "

419

LISLE, The {Abbreviated Translation)

(Father Ryan).

CLAUDE JOSEPH.

143

RYAN, ABRAM JOSEPH

Cause of the South, The Conquered Banner, The Sentinel Songs

451 413 452

SCHNECKENBURGER. MAX.
Watch on
the Rhine, The (Translation)

80

SCHUYLER-LIGHTHALL, WILLIAM DOUW.

Canada Not Last
70

AUTHORS AND
SCOTT, SIR WALTER. Bear an Dhuiiie (Lady

TITLES.

4/1
page. 307 322

of the Lake)

BoniU'ts of Bonnie Dundee. The Bonier Ballad "' '' Breathes there the man [Lay of ihe Last Minstrel)

50
4

Flodden Field Mannion) Pibroch uf Donuil I)hu Scotland Song of Clan-Alpine (Lady of the Lake)
(

312 311
33

305

SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM.
End of the King to his
Civil War (King Richard) soldiers before Harfieur, The

424

(Henry V.), 2G8

353

6HANLY, CHARLES DAWSOX. Civil War

,

SMITH,

SAMUEL FRANCIS.
95

America

SOUTHEY, ROBERT.
Battle of Blenheim, Tlie

437

STANTOX. FRANK LEBBY.

Old Battle-Field,

An

446

STEDMAX, EDMUXD CLARENCE.

Cavalry Song (Alice of Monmouth) of the West (iS'f. Louis Expositio7i) Kearny at Seven Pines

Hymn

3G5 458 36?

STERLIXG, JOHX.
Alfred the Harper

238

STEVENSOX, ROBERT LOUIS BALFOUR.

Heather Ale:

Galloway Legend

40

STODDARD. HlCHAin) IIFXRY.

Men
uf the

North and West

97

TALIKSSIN. " Where are

the

men

"

(OliphanVs Translation)

....

301

TENNAXT. WILLIAM.
Peace, Ode to

423

TKNXYSOX, ALFRED. LORD.

Charge

Hands

all

of tlie l-,ight Brigade l{ouiid

294
2!l

TlIA^Ki;. WILLIAM Last Hunt, The

ROSCOK

(/'</,//

lUrm&s).
.^.

202

473
C. S.

AUTH0R8 AND
Army's Commissary, The

TITLES.
page. 390

THOMPSON, ED. PORTER.

THOMPSON, JOHN RANDOLPH.

Lee.to the Rear

401
381)

Music

in

Camp

THOMPSON, WILL HENRY."

High Tide at Gettysburg, The
398

THOMSON, JAMES.
Rule Britannia (Alfred)
11

THORNBURY, GEORGE WALTER,

Jacobite on Tower Hill, The
17
27fi

three Scars, The

TIMROD, HENRY.
Cry Ode
to

Arms,

100 454

TOWNSEND, GEORGE ALFRED.

Army
Correspondent's Last Ride

408

TRENCH, RICHARD CHENEVIX.

Harmosan
203

WATSON, JOHN WHITTAKER.

Wounded
to

Death
'

375

WATSON, WILLIAM.

England and her Colonies Turk in Armenia, The (The Purple East)

32

22

WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF.

Barbara Frietchie Brown of Ossawatomie
Centennial

362
109
4.57

Hymn

Disarmament John Charles Fremont Laus Deo Our State Reformer, The

425
17,3

176 93 157

WILDE, OSCAR FINGALL O'FLAHERTIE WILLS.

Ave Imperatrix
22

WILLSON, [BYRON] FORCEYTHE.

In State
^SS,

WOLFE, CHARLES.
Burial of Sir John Moore
,
...,.,

28.3;

AUTJI0E8 AND TITLES,

WOODBERRY, GEORGE EDWARD.
At Gibraltar

473
page.
43!)

WRIGHT, ELIZUR.
Wolf and the Dog, The {French " ANONYMOUS.
Chevy-Cliace Countersign, The Dance, The Douglas Tragedy, The Sir Patrick Spens
of

La Fontaine)

121

244
.3.52

334
2.58

2.54

Tramp. Tramp. Tramp When this cruel war is over " Year of Jubilee, The
"

380 382
411*

..-

l:^orld_Ls_bes^_roetry

PR
Vorl^. s be st
'

pD- try-

1175
.W6

V.4