The time is come. See how he points his

eager hand this way,

See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey!

With all his wit, he little deems, that spurned, betrayed, bereft,

Thy father hath in his despair one fearful refuge left:

He little deems that in this hand I clutch what still can save

Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave;

Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and blow,— Foul outrage which thou knowest not,

which thou shalt never know.

Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more kiss: And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this."

With that he lifted high the steel and smote

her in the side,

THE gold sun went into the west,
And soft airs sang him to his rest;
And yellow leaves, all loose and dry,
Played on the branches listlessly;
The sky waxed palely blue; and high
A cloud seemed touched upon the sky-
A spot of cloud,-blue, thin, and still;
And silence basked on vale and hill.

"Twas autumn-tide-the eve was sweet
As mortal eye hath e'er beholden;
The grass looked warm with sunny heat-
Perchance some fairy's glowing feet

Had lightly touched, and left it golden; A flower or two were shining yet; The star of the daisy had not yet set,It shone from the turf to greet the air Which tenderly came breathing there; And in a brook which loved to fret

O'er yellow sand and pebble blue, The lily of the silvery hue All freshly dwelt, with white leaves wet. Away the sparkling water played,

Through bending grass and blessed flower;

Passed like a breath; the time of buttercups, The fluttering time of sweet forget-me-nots; The time of passion and the rose-the haytime [man weeps,

Of that last summer of hope! The old The old man weeps.

His aimless hand the joyless book puts by; As one that dreams and fears to wake, the sage

With vacant eye stifles the trembling taper, Lets in the moonlight, and for once is wise. (Interlude of music.)

There went an incense through the midnight land, [men slept. Through the hushed holy land where tired It fell upon a simple cottage child,

Laid where the lattice opened on the sky, And she looked up and said, Those flowers the stars

Smell sweet to-night." God rest her ignorance!

Of childhood and the dead. From parapets Where the sky rests; from broken niches [them,-

-each

More than Olympus, for the gods dwelt in Below, from senatorial halls, and seats Imperial; where the ever-passing Fates Wore out the stone, strange hermit birds croaked forth [heights

Sorrowful sounds; like watchers on the Crying the hours of ruin, when the clouds Dressed every myrtle on the walls in mourning.

With calm prerogative the eternal pile Impassive shone with the unearthly light Of immortality. When conquering suns Triumphed in jubilant earth, it stood out dark [captive

With thoughts of ages: like some mighty Upon his death-bed in a Christian land, And lying, through the chant of psalm and creed, [brow,

Unshriven and stern, with peace upon his And on his lips strange gods.

Rank weeds and grasses

Careless and nodding grew, and asked no leave,

Where Romans trembled. Where the wreck was saddest,

Sweet pensive herbs, that had been gay elsewhere, [still,

With conscious mien of place, rose tall and And bent with duty. Like some village children

Who found a dead king on a battle-field, And with decorous care and reverend pity Composed the lordly ruin, and sat down, Grave without tears. At length the giant lay,

And everywhere he was begirt with years, And everywhere the torn and mouldering Past

Hung him with ivy. For Time, smit with honour

Of what he slew, cast his own mantle on him,

That none should mock the dead.

And lost-and lo, in vapour furled,
The last of that loved France,
For which his prowess cursed the world,
Is dwindling from his glance.

Rave on, thou far-resounding deep,
Whose billows round him roll!
Thou'rt calmness to the storms that sweep
This moment o'er his soul.

Black chaos swims before him, spread
With trophy-shaping bones,
The council strife, the battle-dead,
Rent charters, cloven thrones.

Yet, proud One! could the loftiest day
Of thy transcendent power
Match with the soul-compelling sway
Which in this dreadful hour
Aids thee to hide beneath the show

Of calmest lip and eye

The hell that wars and works below-
The quenchless thirst to die?

The white dawn crimsoned into morn,
The morning flashed to day,
And the sun followed, glory-born,
Rejoicing on his way;

And still o'er ocean's kindling flood
That muser cast his view,

While round him awed and silent stood
His fate's devoted few.

He lives, perchance, the past again, From the fierce hour when first On the astounded hearts of men His meteor presence burst; When blood-besotted Anarchy

Sank, quelled, amid the glare Of thy far-sweeping musketry, Fame-fraught Vendémiaire!

And darker thoughts oppress him now—
Her ill-requited love

Whose faith, as beauteous as her brow,
Brought blessings from above;
Her trampled heart, his darkening star,
The cry of outraged Man,

And white-lipped Rout and wolfish War
Loud thundering on his van.

Oh for the sulphurous eve of June,
When down that Belgian hill
His bristling Guard's superb platoon
He led unbroken still!

Now would he pause, and quit their side
Upon destruction's marge,

Nor king-like share with desperate pride Their vainly glorious charge?

No-gladly forward he would dash Amid that onset on,

Where blazing shot and sabre-crash
Pealed o'er his empire gone.
There, 'neath his vanquished eagles tost,
Should close his grand career,

Girt by his heaped and slaughtered host.
He lived-for fetters here!

Enough:-in noontide's yellow light
Cape Ushant melts away,

Even as his kingdom's shattered might
Shall utterly decay;

Save when his spirit-shaking story,
In years remotely dim,

Warms some pale minstrel with his glory
To raise the song to him.

·:0:

G. WALTER THORNBURY.

1828-1876.

THE OLD GRENADIER'S STORY.

'TWAS the day beside the Pyramids,—
It seems but an hour ago,-
That Kleber's Foot stood firm in squares,
Returning blow for blow.

The Mamelukes were tossing

Their standards to the sky,

When I heard a child's voice say, "My men, Teach me the way to die!"

'Twas a little drummer, with his side
Torn terribly with shot;

But still he feebly beat his drum,
As though the wound were not.
And when the Mamelukes' wild horse
Burst with a scream and cry,

He said, O men of the Forty-third,
Teach me the way to die!

"My mother has got other sons,

With stouter hearts than mine, But none more ready blood for France To pour out free as wine.

Yet still life's sweet," the brave lad moaned,

Then, with a shout that flew to God,
They strode into the fray;

I saw their red plumes join and wave,
But slowly melt away.

The last who went-a wounded man-
Bade the poor boy good bye,
And said, "We men of the Forty-third
Teach you the way to die!"

I never saw so sad a look

As the poor youngster cast, When the hot smoke of cannon

In cloud and whirlwind passed. Earth shook, and heaven answered. I watched his eagle eye

As he faintly moaned, "The Forty-third Teach me the way to die!"

Then, with a musket for a crutch,
He leaped into the fight;

I, with a bullet in my hip,

Had neither strength nor might.
But, proudly beating on his drum,
A fever in his eye,

I heard him moan, "The Forty-third
Taught me the way to die!"

They found him on the morrow,
Stretched on a heap of dead;
His hand was in the grenadier's
Who at his bidding bled.
They hung a medal round his neck,
And closed bis dauntless eye;
On the stone they cut, "The Forty-third
Taught him the way to die!"

'Tis forty years from then till now,
The grave gapes at my feet,
Yet when I think of such a boy
I feel my old heart beat.

And from my sleep I sometimes wake,
Hearing a feeble cry,

And a voice that says, "Now, Forty-third,
Teach me the way to die!"

EDWARD ATHERSTONE.

behold

SUNRISE.

SOON I began with eager foot to climb The high cliff, from whose top I might [grass The glorious spectacle. The short soft Had caught a plenteous dew: the mountain herbs [long

Repaid my rude tread with sweet fragrance: The ascent and steep; and often did I pause To breathe and look around on the rich vales And swelling hills, each moment brightening.

Thus with alternate toil and rest I climbed To the high summit, then walked gently on, Till by the cliff's precipitous edge I stood. Oh, then what glories burst upon my sight! The interminable ocean lay beneath

At depth immense ;-not quiet as before, For a faint breath of air, even at the height On which I stood I scarce felt, played over it, Waking innumerous dimples on its face, As though 'twere conscious of the splendid guest

That e'en then touched the threshold of heaven's gates,

And smiled to bid him welcome. Far away To either hand the broad curved beach stretched on ; [vance

And I could see the slow-paced waves adOne after one, and spread upon the sands, Making a slender edge of pearly foam Just as they broke;-then softly falling back, Noiseless to me on that tall head of rock, As it had been a picture, or descried Through optic tubes leagues off.

A tender mist Was round the horizon and along the vales; But the hill-tops stood in a crystal air; The cope of heaven was clear and deeply blue, [east

And not a cloud was visible. Towards the
An atmosphere of golden light, that grew
Momently brighter, and intensely bright,
Proclaimed the approaching sun. Now-
now he comes!-

A dazzling point emerges from the sea;
It spreads; it rises;-now it seems a dome
Of burning gold;-higher and rounder now
It mounts-it swells; now like a huge
balloon

Of light and fire, it rests upon the rim
Of waters; lingers there a moment; then-
Soars up.

Exulting I stretched forth my arms, And hailed the king of summer. Every hill