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But while the west bin red to sce,
Came riding downe with might and main: He raised a shout as he drew on,
Till all the welkin rang again, " Elizabeth! Elizabeth ! (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath, Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.)
" The olde sea wall (he cried) is downe,
The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne
Go sailing uppe the market-place." He shook as one that looks on death: "God save you, mother!" straight he saith; “Where is my wife, Elizabeth?"
A lurid mark and dread to see;
From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed; And l-my sonne was at my side,
And yet the ruddy beacon glowed; And yet he moaned beneath his breath, "Oh, come in life, or come in death! Oh, lost ! my love, Elizabeth !" And didst thou visit him no more? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter
deare; The waters laid thee at his doore
Ere yet the early dawn was clear. Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. That flow stretched wrecks about the grass,
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea; A fatal ebbe and flow, alas!
To manye more than myne and mee. But each will mourn his own (she saith): And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.
"Good sonne, where Lindis winds away,
With her two bairns I marked her long; And ere yon bells beganne to play
Afar I heard her milking song.
With that he cried and beat his breast;
For, lo! along the river's bed A mighty eygre reared his crest,
And uppe the Lindis raging sped. It swept with thunderous noises loud; Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, Or like a demon in a shroud.
INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH
CAMP. (Supposed to be spoken by one of Napoleon's
And rearing Lindis, backward pressed,
Shook all her trembling bankes amaine; Then madly at the eygre's breast
Flung uppe her weltering walls again. Then bankes came downe with ruin and
rout Then beaten foam flew round about Then all the mighty floods were out!
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:
A mile or so away
Stood on our storming day;
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
Oppressive with its mind.
So farre, so fast the eygre drave,
The heart had hardly time to beat Before a shallow seething wave
Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet; The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea !
Upon the roofe we sate that night,
The noise of bells went sweeping by; I marked the lofty beacon-light Stream from the church tower, red and
Just as perhaps he mused, “My plans
That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall,”—
A rider, bound on bound
Untill he reached the mound.
Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
You hardly could suspect(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through) You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.
Were the promises divine
That were passed along the line,
Chanted glory to the Lord,
sword for battle drawn.
"Well,"cried he,“Emperor by God's grace
We've got you Ratisbon !
And you'll be there anon
Where I, to heart's desire,
his plans Soared up again like fire. The Chief's eye flashed; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother-eagle's eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes : "You're wounded !” “Nay," his soldier's
pride Touched to the quick, he said: “I'm killed, Sire!" "And, his Chief beside,
Smiling the boy fell dead.
Stealthily and darkly,
'Mid the rain and sleet;
Nor drum's tempestuous beat-
Where the British camp, asleep,
And the soldier breathing hard,
On the cold and sodden sward, Dreamed of victory and glory, or of home
and England dear.
Hark! heard ye not a rumbling
On the misty morning air,
When they shake the forest bare?
'Tis the crash of cannon-wheels, And“Toarms!" "To arms!” “Toarms!"
is the cry:
"'Tis the Russians on our flank !
Up, and arm each British rank ! And meet them, gallant Guardsmen, to
conquer or to die."
SEBASTOPOL lay shrouded
In thick Vovember gloom,
The guns had ceased to boom.
Beheld the Russian lights,
And heard a sound of bells
Wafted upwards through the dells, And a roar of mingling voices and of an
thems from the town.
Then rose the loud alarum
With a hurricane of sound,
Sprang each hero from the ground;
With a stern, determined face; [far, While the rousing drum and bugle echoed
And the crack of rifles rung,
And the cannon found a tongue, As down upon them bursting came the
avalanche of war !
They prayed the God of Justice
To aid them in the wrong, They consecrated Murder
With jubilee and song.. To the slain, the joys of heaven, To the living, sin forgiven,
Through the cold and foggy darkness
Sped the rocket's fiery breath, And the light of rapid volleys,
In haze of Living Death; But each British heart that day Throbbed impetuous for the fray
And our hosts undaunted stood | (May the splendour of their friendship
Beating back the raging flood, (sea,, never wane!)
With Cathcart and Lourmel,
Or lived with placid Raglan, avengers of The thunder-cloud above it, and the light
the slain. ning flashing free.
And as long as France and England On darkness grew the daylight,
Shall give birth to manlike men, 'Mid the loud, incessant peal ;
Their deeds shall be remembered, On the daylight followed noontide,
Should the battle burst again; As they struggled steel to steel !
And to actions as sublime O ye gallant souls and true!
Shall inspire each future time ! O ye great immortal few!
And when War's alarms shall cease, On your banner bright unfurled
And the nations live in peace, Shone the freedom of the world ; Safe from Tyranny, its murder and its In your keeping lay the safety of the lands;
ban, Lay the splendour of our name;
Let us tell with generous pride Lay our glory and our fame;
How our heroes fought and died, And ye held and raised them all in your And saved a threatened world on the dauntless hearts and hands!
heights of Inkermann!
Thus fourteen thousand freemen,
Invincible in right,
In fierce unequal fight!
OH, pleasant eventide !
Clouds on the western side
done, Seek their close nests and bide.
The gnats whirl in the air,
The evening gnats; and there The owl opes broad his eyes and wings to sail
(snail For prey; the bat wakes; and the shelless
Comes forth clammy and bare.
Telling the self-same tale Her song told when this ancient earth was young ;
[sung So echoes answered when her song was
In the first wooded vale.
By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
There lies a lonely grave;
And no man saw it e'er,
And laid the dead man there.
We call it love and pain,
The passion of her strain;
Throbs in each throbbing vein ?
Lie; here the bucks and here
fawn; Through all the hours of night until the
With wary half-closed eyes;
cluck; Only the fox is out, some heedless duck
Or chicken to surprise.
That was the grandest funeral
That ever passed on earth ; But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth, Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes back when night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Grows into the great' sun ; Noiselessly as the spring-time
Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills
Open their thousand leaves ; So, without sound of music
Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain's crown
The great procession swept. Perchance the bald old eagle
On gray Beth-Peor's height, Out of his lonely eyrie
Looked on the wondrous sight; Perchance the lion stalking
Still shuns that hallowed spot, For beast and bird have seen and heard
That which man knoweth not.
But when the warrior dieth,
His comrades in the war, With arms reversed and muffled drums,
Follow his funeral car: They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won, And after him lead his masterless steed,
While peals the minute-gun.
Amid the noblest of the land
We lay the sage to rest,
With costly marble drest,
Where lights like glories fall, And the organ rings, and the sweet choir
sings Along the emblazoned wall.
This was the truest warrior
That ever buckled sword; This the most gifted poet
That ever breathed a word; And never earth's philosopher
Traced with his golden pen, On the deathless page, truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.
MATTHEW ARNOLD. ISEULT OF BRITTANY, AFTER
moved The days in which she might have lived
and loved Slip, without bringing bliss, slowly away, One after one, to-morrow like to-day? Joy has not found her yet, nor ever will: Is it this thought that makes her mien so
still, Her features so fatigued, her eyes, though
sweet, So sunk,-so rarely lifted save to meet Her children's? She moves slow; her voice
alone Has yet an infantine and silver tone, But even that comes languidly; in truth, She seems one dying in a mask of youth. And now she will go home, and softly lay Her laughing children in their beds, and
play Awhile with them before they sleep; and
then She 'll light her silver lamp, which fisher
men, Dragging their nets through the rough
waves afar Along this iron coast, know like a star, And take her broidery-frame, and there
she'll sit Hour after hour, her gold curls sweeping it, Lifting her soft-bent head only to mind Her children, or to listen to the wind. And when the clock peals midnight, she
will move Her work away, and let her fingers rove Across the shaggy brows of Tristan's
hound, Who lies, guarding her feet, along the
ground; Or else she will fall musing, her blue eyes Fixed, her slight hands clasped on her lap;
then rise, And at her prie-dieu kneel, until she have
told Her rosary beads of ebony tipped with gold, Then to her soft sleep; and to-morrow 'll be To-day's exact repeated effigy.
And had he not high honour,
The hill-side for a pall,
With stars for tapers tall,
Over his bier to wave, And God's own hand in that lonely land
To lay him in the grave?
In that strange grave without a name,
Whence his uncoffined clay
Before the Judgment Day,
On the hills he never trod,
With the Incarnate Son of God.
O lonely grave in Moab's land!
O dark Beth-Peor's hill !
And teach them to be still.
Ways that we cannot tell ;
Of him He loved so well.
Yes, it is lonely for her in her hall; The children, and the gray haired seneschal, Her women, and Sir Tristan's aged hound Are there the sole companions to be found.