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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap Copyright i\o 
 
 Shelf._._,n5 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. 
 
A BOOK 
 
 OF 
 
 HEROIC BALLADS 
 
 SELECTED. BY 
 
 MARY W. TILESTON 
 
 AUTHOR OF " DAILY STRENGTH FOR DAILY NEEDS," 
 
 "the quiet HOUR," " SUGAR AND SPICE," 
 
 ETC. 
 
 UllustratEli 
 
 BOSTON 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 
53101 
 
 ' SEP 28 1900 
 
 OKOU DtViSHM, 
 
 OCT 18 190Q 
 
 I wish to express my thanks to Messrs. Houghton, 
 Mifflin, & Co. and to Messrs. D. Appileton & Co. for the 
 use of copyrighted poems, and also to the authors who 
 have kindly allowed me to make thls;use of their poems. 
 
 M. W. T. 
 
 ^. 
 
 Copyright^ 1883, 
 By Roberts Brothers. 
 
 Copyright^ 1900, 
 By Little, Brown, and Company. 
 
 A II rights reserved 
 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 HoRATius T. B. Macanlay i 
 
 The Burial of Sir John Moore . Charles Wolfe 28 
 
 IvRY T. B . Macatday 31 
 
 The Revenge Alfred Tennyson 37 
 
 Ye Mariners of England . . Thotnas Campbell 45 
 
 Song of Marion's Men M^, C. Bryant 48 
 
 Old Ironsides O. W. Holmes 51 
 
 Lochinvar Sir Walter Scott 53 
 
 George Nidiver Anonyinons 56 
 
 Charge of the Lighj" Brigade . Alfred Tennyson 59 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu . . . Sir Walter Scott (jt^ 
 
 The Cavalier's Escape .... Walter Thombnry 65 
 
 Paul Revere's Ride H. W. Longfellow 67 
 
 Barbara Frietchie J- G. Whittier 73 
 
 Sheridan's Ride . . . Thoinas Buchanan Read 78 
 
 The Relief of Lucknow . . Robert T S. Lowell 82 
 " How they brought the Good 
 
 News from Ghent to Aix " . Robert Broivning 86 
 
A BOOK OF HEROIC BALLADS. 
 
 H O R A T I U S. 
 
 A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLX. 
 
 Lars Porsena of Clusium 
 
 By the Nine Gods he swore 
 That the great house of Tarquin 
 
 Should suffer wrong no more. 
 By the Nine Gods he swore it, 
 
 And named a trysting day, . 
 And 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 the trumpet's blast. 
 Shame on the false Etruscan 
 
 Who lingers in his home, 
 When Porsena of Clusium 
 
 Is on the march for Rome. 
 
HORA TIUS. 
 
 The horsemen and the footmen 
 
 Are pouring in amain, 
 From many a stately market-place ; 
 
 From many a finitful plain ; 
 From many a lonely hamlet, 
 
 \Miich, hid by beech and pine, 
 Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest 
 
 Of purple Apennine ; 
 
 From lordly Volaterne, 
 
 Where scowls the far-famed hold 
 Piled by the hands of giants 
 
 For godlike kings of old ; 
 From seagirt Populonia, 
 
 \Miose sentinels descr}' 
 Sardinia's snovsy mountain-tops 
 
 Fringing the southern sky ; 
 
 From the proud mart of Pisae, 
 
 Queen of the western waves, 
 ^^^lere ride Massilia's triremes 
 
 Hea\y with fair-haired slaves ; 
 From where sweet Clanis wanders 
 
 Through com and vines and flowers ; 
 From where Cortona Hfts to heaven 
 
 Her diadem of towers. 
 
 I 
 
H OR ATI us. 
 
 Tall are the oaks whose acorns 
 
 Drop in dark Auser's rill ; 
 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 
 
 Is heard by Auser's rill ; 
 No hunter tracks the stag's green path 
 
 Up the Ciminian hill ; 
 Unwatched along Clitumnus 
 
 Grazes the milk-white steer ; 
 Unharmed the water-fowl may dip 
 
 In the Volsinian mere. 
 
 The harvests of Arretium 
 
 This year, old men shall reap ; 
 This year, young boys in Umbro 
 
 Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; 
 And in the vats of Luna, 
 
 This year, the must shall foam 
 Round the white feet of laughing girls. 
 
 Whose sires have marched to Rome. 
 
HORATIl/S. 
 
 There be thirty chosen prophets, 
 
 The wisest of the land, 
 Who ahvay by Lars Porsena 
 
 Both morn and evening stand : 
 Evening and morn the Thirty 
 
 Have turned the verses o'er, 
 Traced from the right on Hnen white 
 
 By mighty seers of yore. 
 
 And with one voice the Thirty 
 
 Have their glad answer given : 
 ^^ Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena ; 
 
 Go forth, beloved of Heaven ; 
 Go, and return in glory 
 
 To Clusium's royal dome ; 
 And hang round Nurscia's altars 
 
 The golden shields of Rome." 
 
 And now hath every city 
 
 Sent up her tale of men ; 
 The foot are fourscore thousand, 
 
 The horse are thousands ten. 
 Before the gates of Sutrium 
 
 Is met the great aiTay. 
 A proud man was Lars Porsena 
 
 Upon the trysting day, 
 
HORA Tiers. 
 
 For all 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 champaign 
 
 To Rome men took their flight. 
 A mile around the city, 
 
 The throng stopped up the ways ; 
 A fearful sight it was to see, 
 
 Through two long nights and days. 
 
 For aged folk on crutches. 
 
 And women great with child. 
 And mothers sobbing over babes 
 
 That clung to them and smiled, 
 And sick men borne in litters 
 
 High on the necks of slaves, 
 And troops of sun-burned husbandmen 
 
 With reaping-hooks and staves, — 
 
HORA TIUS, 
 
 And droves of mules and asses 
 
 Laden with skins of wine, 
 And endless flocks of goats and sheep, 
 
 And endless herds of kine, 
 And endless trains of wagons 
 
 That creaked beneath the weight 
 Of corn- sacks and of household goods, 
 
 Choked every roaring gate. 
 
 Now. from the rock Tarpeian, 
 
 Could the wan burghers spy 
 The line of blazing villages 
 
 Red in the midnight sky. 
 The Fathers of the Cit}', 
 
 They sat all night and day, 
 For every hour some horseman came 
 
 With tidings of dismay. 
 
 To eastward and to westward 
 
 Have spread the Tuscan bands ; 
 Xor house, nor fence, nor dovecote 
 
 In Crustumerium stands. 
 Verbenna down to Ostia 
 
 Hath wasted all the plain ; 
 Astur hath stormed Janiculum, 
 
 And the stout o-uards are slain. 
 
HO RATI us, 
 
 I wis, in all the Senate, 
 
 There was no heart so bold. 
 But sore it ached, and fast it beat, 
 
 When that ill news was told. 
 Forthwith up rose the Consul, 
 
 Up 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 ! Sir Consul ; 
 
 Lars Porsena is here." 
 On the low hills to westward 
 
 The Consul fixed his eye. 
 And saw the swarthy storm of dust 
 
 Rise fast along the sky. 
 
HO RATI us. 
 
 And nearer fcist and nearer 
 
 Doth the red whirlwind come ; 
 And louder still, and still more loud 
 From underneath that rolling cloud. 
 Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud. 
 
 The trampling, and the hum. 
 And plainly and more plainly 
 
 Now through the gloom appeals. 
 Far to left and far to right. 
 In broken gleams of dark-blue light. 
 The long array of helmets bright. 
 
 The long array of speais. 
 
 And plainly and more plainly. 
 
 Above that glimmering line. 
 Now might ye see the banners 
 
 Of twelve ^ir cities shine ; 
 But the banner of proud Clusium 
 
 Was highest of them all. 
 The terror of the Umbrian, 
 
 The terror of the GauL 
 
 And plainly and more plainl}^ 
 Now might the burghers know. 
 
 By port and vest, by horse and crest, 
 E^h warlike Lucomo. 
 
HORA TIUS. 
 
 There Cilnius of Arretium 
 
 On his fleet roan was seen ; 
 And Astur of the fourfold shield 
 Girt with the brand none else may wield ; 
 Tolumnius with the belt of gold ; 
 And dark Verbenna from the hold 
 
 By reedy Thrasymene. 
 
 Fast by the royal standard, 
 
 O'erlooking all the war, 
 Lars Porsena of Clusium 
 
 Sat in his ivory car. 
 By the right wheel rode Mamilius, 
 
 Prince of the Latian name ; 
 And by the left, false Sextus, 
 
 That wrought the deed of shame. 
 
 But when the face of Sextus 
 
 Was seen among the foes, 
 A yell that rent the firmament 
 
 From all the town arose. 
 On the house-tops was no woman 
 
 But spat towards him and hissed ; 
 No child but screamed out curses, 
 
 And shook its little fist. 
 
lo HORA TIUS, 
 
 But the Consul's brow was 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 they once may win the bridge, 
 
 What hope to save the town? " 
 
 Then out spake brave Horatius, 
 
 The Captain of the Gate : 
 '^ To every man upon this earth 
 
 Death cometh soon or late. 
 And how can man die better 
 
 Than facing fearful odds, 
 For the ashes of his fathers 
 
 And the temples of his Gods, 
 
 " And for the tender mother 
 
 Who dandled him to rest, 
 And for the wife who nurses 
 
 His baby at her breast, 
 And for the holy maidens 
 
 Who feed the eternal flame, 
 To sa\^e them from false Sextus 
 
 That wrousfht the deed of shame ? 
 
HO RATI us. II 
 
 " Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 
 
 With all the speed ye may ] 
 1, with two more to help me, 
 
 Will hold the foe in play. 
 In yon strait path a thousand 
 
 May well be stopped by three. 
 Now who will stand on either hand, 
 
 And keep the bridge with me?" 
 
 Then out spake Spurius Lartius ; 
 
 A Ramnian proud was he : 
 " Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 
 
 And keep the bridge with thee." 
 And out spake strong Herminius ; 
 
 Of Titian blood was he : 
 " I will abide on thy left side. 
 
 And keep the bridge with thee." 
 
 " Horatius," quoth the Consul, 
 
 " As thou sayest, so let it be." 
 And straight against that great array 
 
 Forth went the dauntless Three. 
 For Romans in Rome's quarrel 
 
 Spared neither land nor gold, 
 Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life. 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
12 MORA TICS, 
 
 Then none was for a part}' ; 
 
 Then all were for the state ; 
 Then the great man helped the poor, 
 
 And the poor man loved the great ; 
 Then lands were fairly portioned ; 
 
 Then spoils were fairly sold ; 
 The Romans were like brothers 
 
 In the brave davs of old. 
 
 Now Roman is to Roman 
 
 More hateful than a foe, 
 And the Tribmies 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 bra^'e davs 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 Fathers mixed with Commons 
 
 Seized hatchet, bar. and crow, 
 And smote upon the planks above, 
 
 And loosed the props below. 
 
H R A T I U S. 
 
 The Three stood calm and silent 
 And looked upon the foes. 
 
14 HO RATI US, 
 
 Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 
 
 Right glorious to behold, 
 Came flashing back the noonday light, 
 Rank behind rank, like surges bright 
 
 Of a broad sea of gold. 
 Four hundred trumpets sounded 
 
 A peal of warlike glee, 
 As that great host, with measured tread, 
 And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
 Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, 
 
 Where stood the dauntless Three. 
 
 The Three stood calm and silent 
 
 And looked upon the foes, 
 And a great shout of laughter 
 
 From all the vanguard rose ; 
 And forth three chiefs came spurring 
 
 Before that deep array ; 
 To earth they sprang, their sw^ords they drew, 
 And lifted high their shields, and flew 
 
 To win the narrow way ; 
 
 Annus from green Tifernum, 
 Lord of the Hill of Vines ; 
 
 And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves 
 Sicken in Ilva's mines ; 
 
 1 
 
HO RATI us. IS 
 
 And Picus, long to Clusium 
 
 Vassal in peace and war, 
 Who led to fight his Umbrian powers 
 From that gray crag where, girt with towers, 
 The fortress of Nequinum lowers 
 
 O'er the pale waves of Nar. 
 
 Stout Lartius hurled down Annus 
 
 Into the stream beneath ; 
 Herminius struck at Seius, 
 
 And clove him to the teeth ; 
 At Picus brave Horatius 
 
 Darted one fiery thrust ; 
 And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms 
 
 Clashed in the bloody dust. 
 
 Then Ocnus of Falerii 
 
 Rushed on the Roman Three ; 
 And Lausulus of Urgo, 
 
 The rover of the sea ; 
 And Aruns of Volsinium, 
 
 Who slew the great wild boar, 
 The great wild boar that had his den 
 Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen. 
 And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, 
 
 Along Albinia's shore. 
 
i6 HORATEUS. 
 
 ITttitmimiiias sanote dbwn Arum? : 
 
 UaitMits Ibnd Ocaios loir : 
 R^ht to the heart of TamFwlnts 
 
 HoDttiaK ssnl: 21 blow. 
 *'Iiedieie,'' he cxied^ ""feSlpiiale! 
 
 No JSMX^ s^iast and pole^ 
 Fnxn Ostia^'s walls the oowd dial 
 llie ttiadk: of A^ destiofii^ bonk ; 
 No move CaoipanHL's hso^ shal % 
 To wiods and cskcois when diej ^^y 
 
 Tfaj dske-accsiiaai soL'' 
 
 Hnt DOW DO soimd of lang^Tter 
 Was beard among the foes. 
 
 A irild and uratbifnl cLamoior 
 From all liie vaiogiiard rose. 
 
 Sis speais'' lengtii fiiodim die eD&amoe 
 Halted that deep aaray. 
 
 And for a f^aoe dc^ man anarne ibrth 
 
 Bodt hadL I dfte oj is A£imr; 
 
 Andlo! dieiaaiksdfiwide; 
 
 And die gieat Laid of Lmsai 
 
 » widi hk staiefy stEJide. 
 
HO RATI us, 17 
 
 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 
 
 A smile serene and high ; 
 He eyed the flinching Tuscans, 
 
 And scorn was in his eye. 
 Quoth he : " The she-wolfs litter 
 
 Stand savagely at bay ; 
 But will ye dare to follow 
 
 If Astur clears the way? '' 
 
 Then, whirling up his broadsword 
 
 With both hands to the height. 
 He rushed against Horatius, 
 
 And smote with all his might. 
 With shield and blade Horatius 
 
 Right deftly turned the blow. 
 The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ; 
 It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh ; 
 The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 
 
 To see the red blood flow. 
 
HO R A TILTS. 
 
 He reeled, and on Herminius 
 
 He leaned one breathing-space ; 
 Then, like a wild- cat mad with wounds, 
 
 Sprang right at Astur's face. 
 Through teeth, and skull, and helmet. 
 
 So fierce a thrust he sped. 
 The good sword stood a hand-breadth out 
 
 Behind the Tuscan's head. 
 
 And the great Lord of Luna 
 
 Fell at that deadly stroke. 
 As falls on Mount Alvernus 
 
 A thunder- smitten oak. 
 Far o'er the crashing forest 
 
 The giant arms lie spread ; 
 And the pale augurs, muttering low, 
 
 Gaze on the blasted head. 
 
 On Astur's throat Horatius 
 
 Right firmly pressed his heel, 
 And thrice and four times tugged amain. 
 
 Ere he wrenched out the steel. 
 " And see," he cried, '^ the welcome, 
 
 Fair guests, that waits you here ! 
 What noble Lucomo comes next. 
 
 To taste our Roman cheer? " 
 
HORA TIUS. 19 
 
 But at his haughty challenge 
 
 A sullen murmur ran, 
 Mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread, 
 
 Along that glittering van. 
 There lacked not men of prowess, 
 
 Nor men of lordly race ; 
 For all Etruria's noblest 
 
 Were round the fatal place. 
 
 But all Etruria's noblest 
 
 Felt their hearts sink to see 
 On the earth the bloody corpses, 
 
 In the path the dauntless Three ; 
 And, from the ghastly entrance 
 
 Where those bold Romans stood, 
 All shrank, like boys who unaware. 
 Ranging the woods to start a hare. 
 Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
 
 Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 
 
 Lies amidst bones and blood. 
 
 Was none who would be foremost 
 To lead such dire attack ; 
 
 But those behind cried " Forward ! " 
 And those before cried "" Back ! " 
 
20 HORATIUS, 
 
 And backward now and fonvard 
 Wavers the deep array ; 
 
 And on the tossing sea of steel, 
 To and fro the standards reel \ 
 
 And the victorious trumpet-peal 
 Dies fitfully 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, w^elcome, Sextus ! 
 
 Now welcome to thy home ! 
 Why dost thou stay and turn away ? 
 
 Here lies the road to Rome.'* 
 
 Thrice looked he at the city ; 
 
 Thrice looked he at the dead ; 
 And thrice came on in fury, 
 
 And thrice turned back in dread ; 
 And, white with fear and hatred. 
 
 Scowled at the narrow w^y 
 Where, wallowing in a pool of blood. 
 
 The bravest Tuscans lay. 
 
HORA TIUS, 21 
 
 But meanwhile axe and lever 
 
 Have manfully been plied, 
 And now the bridge hangs tottering 
 
 Above the boiling tide. 
 " Come back, come back, Horatius ! " 
 
 Loud cried the Fathers all ; 
 " Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 
 
 Back, ere the ruin fall ! " 
 
 Back darted Spurius Lartius ; 
 
 Herminius darted back ; 
 And, as they passed, beneath their feet 
 
 They heard the timbers crack. 
 But when they turned their faces, 
 
 And on the farther shore 
 Saw brave Horatius stand alone. 
 
 They would have crossed once more. 
 
 But with a crash like thunder 
 
 Fell every loosened beam, 
 And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 
 
 Lay right athwart the stream ; 
 And a long shout of triumph 
 
 Rose from the walls of Rome, 
 As to the highest turret-tops 
 
 Was splashed the yellow foam. 
 
22 
 
 HORA TIUS. 
 
 And, like a horse unbroken 
 
 When first he feels the rein, 
 The furious river struggled hard. 
 
 And tossed his tawny mane, 
 And burst the curb, and bounded, 
 
 Rejoicing to be free, 
 And whirling down, in fierce career, 
 Battlement, and plank, and pier, 
 
 Rushed headlong to the sea. 
 
 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. 
 " 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 naught 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. 
 
HORA TIUS. 
 
 " O Tiber ! Father Tiber ! 
 
 To whom the Romans pray, 
 A Roman's Hfe, 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, 
 
 Plunged headlong in the tide. 
 
 No sound of joy or sorrow 
 
 Was heard from either bank ; 
 But friends and foes in dumb surprise. 
 With parted lips and straining eyes, 
 
 Stood gazing where he sank ; 
 And when above the surges 
 
 They saw his crest appear. 
 All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 
 And even the ranks of Tuscany 
 
 Could scarce forbear to cheer. 
 
 But fiercely ran the current, 
 
 Swollen high by months of rain ; 
 
 And fast his blood was flowing ; 
 And he was sore in pain, 
 
HORA TIUS, 
 
 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 
 
 We should have sacked the town ! '* 
 '^ Heaven help him ! " quoth Lars Porsena, 
 
 " And bring him safe to shore ; 
 For such a gallant feat of arms 
 
 Was never seen before." 
 
 And now he feels the bottom ; 
 Now on dry earth he stands ; 
 
HORA TIUS. 25 
 
 Now round him throng the Fathers 
 
 To press his gory hands ; 
 And now, with shouts and clapping, 
 
 And noise of weeping loud, 
 He enters through the River-Gate, 
 
 Borne by the joyous crowd. 
 
 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 it up on high. 
 And there it stands unto this day 
 
 To witness if I lie. 
 
 It stands in the Comitium, 
 
 Plain for all folk to see ; 
 Horatius in his harness. 
 
 Halting upon one knee ; 
 And underneath is written. 
 
 In letters all of gold. 
 How valiantly he kept the bridge 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
26 HORA TIUS. 
 
 And still his name sounds stirring 
 
 Unto the men of Rome, 
 As the trumpet-blast that cries to them 
 
 To charge the Volscian home ; 
 And wives still pray to Juno 
 
 For boys with hearts as bold 
 As his who kept the bridge so well 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 And in the nights of winter, 
 
 When the cold north winds blow, 
 And the long howling of the wolves 
 
 Is heard amidst the snow ; 
 When round the lonely cottage 
 
 Roars loud the tempest's din, 
 And the good logs of Algidus 
 
 Roar louder yet within ; 
 
 When the oldest cask is opened, 
 
 And the largest lamp is lit ; 
 When the chestnuts glow in the embers, 
 
 And the kid turns on the spit ; 
 When young and old in circle 
 
 Around the firebrands close ; 
 When the girls are weaving baskets, 
 
 And the lads are shaping bows ; 
 
HORATIUS, 
 
 27 
 
 When the goodman mends his armor, 
 
 And trims his helmet's plume ; 
 When the goodwife's shuttle merrily 
 
 Goes flashing through the loom : 
 With weeping and with laughter 
 
 Still is the story told, 
 How well Horatius kept the bridge 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 Thomas Babington Macaulay. 
 
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 
 
 1809. 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
 As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; 
 
 Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
 O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 
 
 We buried him darkly at dead of night, 
 
 The sod with our bayonets turning ; 
 By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, 
 
 And the lantern dimly burning. 
 
 No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 
 
 Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; 
 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest. 
 
 With his martial cloak around him ! 
 
 Few and short were the prayers we said. 
 And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
 
 But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 
 And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 
 
 I 
 
 
y V, ^ 
 
 
 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 
 
 Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
 From the field (if his fame fresh and gory. 
 
30 BURIAL OF SIR JOHX MOORE. 
 
 We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed. 
 
 And smoothed down his lonely pillow. 
 That the foe and tlie stranger would tread o'er his 
 head. 
 And we far away on the billow ! 
 
 Lightly they 'II talk of the spirit that 's gone. 
 And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
 
 But 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 random gun 
 That the foe was sullenly firing. 
 
 Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
 
 From the field of his fame fresh and gor}* ; 
 
 We caned not a line, and we raised not a stone — 
 But we left him alone with his glor>^ ! 
 
 Charles Wolfe. 
 
IVRY. 
 
 1590 
 
 Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all 
 
 glories are ! 
 And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of 
 
 Navarre ! 
 Now let there be the merry sound of music and of 
 
 dance, 
 Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O 
 
 pleasant land of France. 
 And thou Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city 
 
 of the waters, 
 Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning 
 
 daughters. 
 As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our 
 
 joy, 
 
 For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought 
 
 thy walls annoy. 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! a single field hath turned the 
 
 chance of war. 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre. 
 
32 IVRV. 
 
 Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when, at the 
 
 dawn of day, 
 We saw the army of the League drawn out in long 
 
 array ; 
 With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel 
 
 peers, 
 And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flem- 
 ish spears. 
 There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses 
 
 of our land ; 
 And dark Mayenne was in their midst, a truncheon 
 
 in his hand : 
 And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's 
 
 empurpled flood. 
 And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his 
 
 blood ; 
 And we cried unto the hving God, who rules the 
 
 fate of war. 
 To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of 
 
 Navarre. 
 
 The Kmg is come to marshal us, m all his armor 
 
 drest. 
 And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his* 
 
 gallant crest. 
 He looked upon his people and a tear was in his 
 
 eye; 
 
IVRY. 33 
 
 He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was 
 
 stern and high. 
 Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from 
 
 wing to wing, 
 Down all our line, a deafening shout, " God save 
 
 our Lord the King." 
 " An' if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he 
 
 may, 
 For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray. 
 Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst 
 
 the ranks of war, 
 And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of 
 
 Navarre." 
 
 Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the min- 
 gled din. 
 
 Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roar- 
 ing culverin. 
 
 The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's 
 plain, 
 
 With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and 
 Almayne. 
 
 Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen 
 of France, 
 
 Charge for the golden lilies, — upon them with the 
 lance. 
 
 A thousand spurs arc striking deep, a thousand 
 spears in rest, 
 
34 IVRV. 
 
 A 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 of 
 
 Navarre. 
 
 Now, God be praised, the day is ours. Mayenne 
 
 hath turned his rein. 
 D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish 
 
 count is slain. 
 Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a 
 
 Biscay gale ; 
 The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, 
 
 and cloven mail. 
 And then we thought on vengeance, and all along 
 
 our van, 
 " Remember Saint Bartholomew, " was passed from 
 
 man to man. 
 But out spake gentle Henry, "No Frenchman is 
 
 my foe : 
 Down, down with every foreigner, but let your 
 
 brethren go." 
 Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship 
 
 or in war. 
 As our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, the soldier of 
 
 Navarre ? 
 
IVRY. 35 
 
 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. 
 Our own true Maximilian, the cornet white hath 
 
 ta'en, 
 The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of 
 
 false Lorraine. 
 Up with it high ; unfurl it wide ; that all the host 
 
 may know 
 How God hath humbled the proud house which 
 
 wrought his church such woe ; 
 Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their 
 
 loudest point of war, 
 Fling the red shreds, a foot-cloth meet for Henry 
 
 of Navarre. 
 
 Ho ! maidens of Vienna ; Ho ! matrons of Lu- 
 cerne ; 
 
 Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who 
 never shall return. 
 
 Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, 
 
 That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor 
 spearmen's souls. 
 
36 IVRV. 
 
 Ho I gallant nobles of the League, look that your 
 
 arms be bright ; 
 Ho ! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and 
 
 ward to-night. 
 For our God hath crushed the t)Tant, our God hath 
 
 raised the slave, 
 And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor 
 
 of the brave. 
 Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories 
 
 are, 
 And glor}' to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of 
 
 Navarre. 
 
 Thomas Babington Macaulay. 
 
THE REVENGE. 
 A Ballad of the Fleet. 
 
 August, 1591. 
 
 At Flores in the Azores, Sir Richard Grenville lay, 
 And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying 
 
 from far away : 
 "Spanish ships-of-war at sea ! we have sighted 
 
 fifty-three ! " 
 Then sware Lord Thomas Howard : " 'Fore God I 
 
 am no coward ; 
 But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out 
 
 of gear, 
 And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but 
 
 follow quick. 
 We are six ships of the Hne ; can we fight with 
 
 fifty^three?" 
 
 Then spake Sir Richard Grenville : " I know you are 
 
 no coward ; 
 You fly them for a moment to fight with them again. 
 But I Ve ninety men and more that are lying sick 
 
 ashore. 
 
38 THE REVENGE, 
 
 I should count myself the coward if I left them, my 
 
 Lord Howard, 
 To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of 
 
 Spain." 
 
 So Lord Howard past away with five ships of war 
 
 that day, 
 Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer 
 
 heaven ; 
 But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from 
 
 the land 
 Very carefully and slow, 
 Men of Bideford in Devon, 
 And we laid them on the ballast down below ; 
 For we brought them all aboard. 
 And they blest him in their pain, that they w^re 
 
 not left to Spain, 
 To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of 
 
 the Lord. 
 
 He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship 
 
 and to fight. 
 And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard 
 
 came in sight. 
 With his huge sea-castles hea\ing upon the weather 
 
 bow. 
 
THE REVENGE. 
 
 39 
 
 " Shall we fight or shall we fly? 
 
 Good Sir Richard, tell us now, 
 
 For to fight is but to die ! 
 
 There '11 be little of us left by the time this sun be set." 
 
 And Sir Richard said again : " We be all good 
 
 EngHsh men. 
 Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of 
 
 the devil. 
 For I never turned my back upon Don or devil yet." 
 
 Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we roared a 
 hurrah, and so 
 
 The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of 
 the foe, 
 
 With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety 
 sick below ; 
 
 For half of their fleet to the right and half to the 
 left were seen, 
 
 And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea- 
 lane between. 
 
 Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their 
 
 decks and laughed, 
 Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad 
 
 little craft 
 Running on and on, till delayed 
 
40 THE REVENGE. 
 
 By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen 
 
 hundred tons, 
 And up- shadowing high above us with her yawTiing 
 
 tiers of guns, 
 Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed. 
 
 And while now the great San Philip hung above us 
 like a cloud, 
 
 Whence the thunderbolt will fall 
 
 Long and loud, 
 
 Four galleons drew away 
 
 From the Spanish fleet that day, 
 
 And two upon the larboard and two upon the star- 
 board lay, 
 
 And the battle -thunder broke from them all. 
 
 But anon the great San Philip, she bethought her- 
 self and went. 
 
 Having that within her womb that had left her ill- 
 content ; 
 
 And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought 
 us hand to hand. 
 
 For a dozen times they came with their pikes and 
 musqueteers, 
 
 And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that 
 shakes his ears, 
 
 When he leaps from the water to the land. 
 
THE REVENGE, 41 
 
 And the sun went down, and the stars came out far 
 
 over the summer sea, 
 But never a moment ceased the fight of the one 
 
 and the fifty-three. 
 Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high- 
 built 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 hke this in the 
 
 world before ? 
 
 For he said " Fight on ! fight on ! " 
 
 Though his vessel was all but a wreck ; 
 
 And it chanced that, when half of the summer night 
 was gone. 
 
 With a grisly wound to be drest, he had left the 
 deck, 
 
 But a bullet struck him that was dressing it sud- 
 denly dead, 
 
 And himself, he was wounded again in the side and 
 the head. 
 
 And he said *^ Fight on ! fight on ! " 
 
42 THE -^_r;3.v, 
 
 And the m^hit wer: :.-- ._-: 
 
 us affl in aoi^ : 
 Z isied noi: toodi IB agiiii, ibr Ihej feared 
 
 fl could sio^ 
 T f idnat die end would be. 
 
 A:l_ ___ _: Hr .7 - :-i~»^ lor fife 
 
 In die cza^ : 7 ^ and die des^eiate 
 
 And dieskk men down in die hold were moESt of 
 
 diem siad^ and ooU, 
 At>c! i3ie pikes were al Iscilaen or benB;, and die 
 •Dwder was affl erf' it ^ent; 
 
 :sisand dieii^gp^were^^ingOferdiesBde ^ 
 I : " "M oied m Ub fiji^feii pride^ 
 
 "^7 ditsnfiiaL^ii^laraidagfandani^tf. 
 
 As ma^ never be fooj^bi: a^un !! 
 We haie won ^nealt ^kvy, ni^ men ! 
 And a da^ kss or more 
 At sea or ^hore. 
 We dSe — does it matter wiien? 
 Sank me die sbi^ liasier GmnKr — sidkho; ^Et 
 
 ^'^^ "^ twain !! 
 J:^ je bandb of God, not mio die ban^ of 
 
THE REVENGE, 43 
 
 And the gunner said "Ay, ay," but the seamen 
 
 made reply : 
 *^ We have children, we have wives. 
 And the Lord hath spared our lives. 
 We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to 
 
 let us go ; 
 We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow." 
 And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to 
 
 the foe. 
 
 And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore 
 
 him then. 
 Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard 
 
 caught at last. 
 And they praised him to his face with their courtly 
 
 foreign grace ; 
 Eut he rose upon their decks, and he cried : 
 " I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant 
 
 man and true ; 
 I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do : 
 With a joyful spirit I, Sir Richard Grenville, die ! " 
 And he fell upon their decks, and he died. 
 
 And they stared at the dead that had been so 
 
 valiant and true. 
 And had holden the power and glory of Spain so 
 
 cheap 
 
44 THE REVENGE, 
 
 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 his body with honor down into the 
 deep, 
 
 And they manned the Revenge with a swarthier, 
 alien crew, 
 
 And away she sailed with her loss and longed for 
 her own ; 
 
 When a wind from the lands they had ruined awoke 
 from sleep, 
 
 And the water began to heave and the weather to 
 moan. 
 
 And or ever that evening ended, a great gale blew. 
 
 And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earth- 
 quake grew, 
 
 Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their 
 masts and their flags, 
 
 And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot- 
 shattered navy of Spain, 
 
 And the little Revenge herself went down by the 
 island crags. 
 
 To be lost evermore in the main. 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Ye Mariners of England ! 
 
 That guard our native seas ; 
 
 Whose flag has braved a thousand years 
 
 The battle and the breeze ! 
 
 Your glorious standard launch again 
 
 To match another foe ! 
 
 And sweep through the deep, 
 
 While the stormy winds do blow ; 
 
 While the battle rages loud and long, 
 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 The spirits of your fathers 
 
 Shall start from every wave ! — 
 
 For the deck it was their field of fame. 
 
 And Ocean was their grave : 
 
 Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, 
 
 Your manly hearts shall glow. 
 
 As ye sweep through the deep, 
 
 While the stormy winds do blow ; 
 
 While the battle rages loud and long, 
 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Whose flag has braved a thousand years 
 The battle and the breeze. 
 
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND, 47 
 
 Britannia needs no bulwarks, 
 
 No towers along the steep ; 
 
 Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, 
 
 Her home is on the deep. 
 
 With thunders from her native oak, 
 
 She quells the floods below, — 
 
 As they roar on the shore, 
 
 When the stormy winds do blow ; 
 
 When the battle rages loud and long, 
 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 The meteor flag of England 
 
 Shall yet terrific burn ; 
 
 Till danger's troubled night depart, 
 
 And the star of peace return. 
 
 Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! 
 
 Our song and feast shall flow 
 
 To the fame of your name. 
 
 When the storm has ceased to blow ; 
 
 When the fiery fight is heard no more. 
 
 And the storm has ceased to blow. 
 
 ' Thomas Campdell, 
 
SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 
 
 1780- 1781 
 
 Our band is few, but true and tried, 
 
 Our leader frank and bold ; 
 The 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 walks of thorny vines, 
 
 Its glades of reedy grass, 
 Its safe and silent islands 
 
 Within the dark morass. 
 
 Woe to the English soldiery 
 That little dread us near ! 
 
 On them shall light at midnight 
 A strange and sudden fear ; 
 
 When, waking to their tents on fire, 
 They grasp their arms in vain, 
 
SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 49 
 
 And they who stand to face us 
 
 Are beat to earth again ; 
 And they who fly in terror deem 
 
 A mighty host behind, 
 And hear the tramp of thousands 
 
 Upon the hollow wind. 
 
 Then sweet the hour that brings release 
 
 From danger and from toil ; 
 We talk the battle over. 
 
 And share the battle's spoil. 
 The woodland rings 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 pine-top grieves. 
 And slumber long and sweetly 
 
 On beds of oaken leaves. 
 
 Well knows the fair and friendly moon 
 
 The band that Marion leads — 
 The glitter of their rifles. 
 
 The scampering of their steeds. 
 'T is life to guide the fiery barb 
 
 Across the moonlight plain ; 
 'Tis life to feel the night-wind 
 
 That lifts his tossing mane. 
 
50 
 
 SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 
 
 A 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 hoary hairs ; 
 Their hearts are all with Marion, 
 
 For Marion are their prayers. 
 And lovely ladies greet our band, 
 
 With kindest welcoming, 
 With smiles like those of summer, 
 
 And tears like those of spring. 
 For them we wear these trusty arms, 
 
 And lay them down no more 
 Till we have driven the Briton, 
 
 Forever, from our shore. 
 
 William Cullen Bryant. 
 
OLD IRONSIDES. 
 
 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 burst the cannon's roar, — 
 The meteor of the ocean air 
 
 Shall sweep the clouds no more ! 
 
 Her deck, once red with heroes' blood. 
 
 Where knelt the vanquished foe, 
 When winds were hurrying o'er the flood. 
 
 And waves were white below. 
 No more shall feel the victor's tread, 
 
 Or know the conquered knee ; 
 The harj)ips of the shore shall pluck 
 
 The eai/lc of the sea ! 
 
52 
 
 OLD IRONSIDES. 
 
 O better that her shattered hulk 
 
 Should sink beneath the wave ; 
 Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 
 
 And there should be her grave ; 
 Nail to the mast her holy flag, 
 
 Set every threadbare sail, 
 And give her to the god of storms, 
 
 The lightning and the gale ! 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
 
LOCHINVAR. 
 
 O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
 Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; 
 And save his good broadsword, he weapon had 
 
 none, 
 He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
 So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
 There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 
 
 He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for 
 
 stone. 
 He swam the Eske river where ford there was 
 
 none; 
 But ere he alighted at Netherby gate. 
 The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 
 For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 
 Was to wed the fair Ellen of young Lochinvar. 
 
 So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 
 
 Among bridesmen and kinsmen, and brothers, and 
 
 all: 
 Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his 
 
 sword, 
 
54 LOCHIXVAR. 
 
 (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a 
 
 word,) 
 *' O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
 Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Locliinvar ? '^ 
 
 " I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; 
 Lo\-e swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — 
 And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
 To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
 There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
 That would crladlv be bride to the voung Lochinvar." 
 
 The bride kissed the goblet : the knight took it up. 
 He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
 She looked do>^Ti to blush, and she looked up to sigh. 
 With a smile on her hps and a tear in her eve. 
 He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
 *' Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar. 
 
 So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 
 
 Tliat never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
 
 WTiile her mother did fret, and her father did 
 
 fame, 
 .And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 
 plume ; 
 
LOCHINVAR. 5s 
 
 And the bride-maidens whispered, " T were better 
 by far, 
 
 To have matched our fair cousin with young Loch- 
 invar." 
 
 One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 
 When they reached the hall-door, and the charger 
 
 stood near ; 
 So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 
 So light to the saddle before her he sprung. 
 " She is won ! we are gone over bank, bush and 
 
 scaur ; 
 "They '11 have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 
 
 Lochinvar. 
 
 There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Nether- 
 
 by clan ; 
 Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and 
 
 they ran : 
 There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 
 But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
 So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 
 Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
GEORGE XIBIYER. 
 
 Mesi Im^ doDC bmc deeds, 
 
 Aaid l»nls faaEPe sBDg diem mdi ; 
 l€i good Geoige ^Mi£icr 
 
 yHww liie tak wM t^L 
 
 AGsde Indon hof 
 
 FcJfcpwed him ti^a^wh eiCs 
 Eisger to ^haie the haniei^s jojr, 
 
 TbehoDDieesmEalto: 
 
 And vleii die Imd cv deer 
 7 - zbst I mnic i^s ^^kfll, 
 
 T: 7 as always near 
 
 _ - 7 . idda iinte i!Dod-«il. 
 
GEORGE NIDIVER, 57 
 
 One day as through the cleft 
 
 Between two mountains steep, 
 Shut in both right and left, 
 
 Their questing way they keep. 
 
 They see two grizzly bears. 
 
 With hunger fierce and fell. 
 Rush at them unawares, 
 
 Right down the narrow dell. 
 
 The boy turned round with screams, 
 
 And ran with terror wild ; 
 One of the pair of savage beasts 
 
 Pursued the shrieking child. 
 
 The hunter raised his gun, — 
 He knew one charge was all, — 
 
 And through the boy's pursuing foe 
 He sent his only ball. 
 
 The other on George Nidiver 
 
 Came on with dreadful pace ; 
 The hunter stood unarmed. 
 
 And met him face to face. 
 
 I say unarmed he stood : 
 
 Against those frightful paws 
 The rifle-butt, or club of wood. 
 
 Could stand no more than straws. 
 
58 GEORGE XIDIVER. 
 
 George Nidhrer stood stiD, 
 And looked him in the fece ; 
 
 The wild beast stopped amazed. 
 Then came with slackening pace. 
 
 StiU firm the hunter stood. 
 Although his heart beat high ; 
 
 Again the creatore stopped. 
 And gazed with wondering eye. 
 
 The hunter met his gaze, 
 Xor yet an inch gave way ; 
 
 The bear turned slowly round. 
 And slowly moved away. 
 
 What thoughts were in his mind 
 It would be hard to speU ; 
 
 What thoughts were in George X" liver 
 I radier guess than telL 
 
 But sure that rifle s aim. 
 
 Swift choice of generous part 
 
 Showed in its passing g^eam 
 The depths of a brare heart. 
 
 AkOXYMOUSw 
 
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE^ 
 
 October 25, 1854. 
 
 Half a league, half a league, 
 
 Half a league onward, 
 All in the valley of Death 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 *^ Forward the Light Brigade ! 
 Charge for the guns ! " he said. 
 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. 
 
6o THE LIGHT BRIGADE, 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon in front of them 
 
 Volleyed and thundered ; 
 Stormed at with shot and shell, 
 Boldly they rode and well, 
 Into the jaws of Death, 
 Into the mouth of Hell 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Flashed all their sabres bare. 
 Flashed as they turned in air, 
 Sabring the gunners there, 
 Charging an army, while 
 
 All the world wondered. 
 Plunged in the battery-smoke 
 Right through the line they broke ^ 
 Cossack and Russian 
 Reeled from the sabre-stroke 
 
 Shattered and sundered. 
 Then they rode back, but not. 
 
 Not the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them. 
 Cannon to left of them. 
 Cannon behind them 
 Volleyed and thundered ; 
 
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 
 
 All in the Valley of Death rode the six hundred. 
 
 "Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" he said. 
 
 I 
 
62 THE LIGHT BRIGADE, 
 
 Stormed at with shot and shell, 
 While horse and hero fell, 
 They that had fought so well 
 Came through the jaws of Death 
 Back from the mouth of Hell, 
 All that was left of them, 
 Left of six hundred. 
 
 When can their glor}' fade ? 
 O the wild charge they made ! 
 
 All the world wondered. 
 Honor the charge they made ! 
 Honor the Light Brigade, 
 
 Noble six hundred ! 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU. 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil, 
 Wake thy 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 mountain so rocky. 
 The w^ar-pipe and pennon 
 
 Are at Inverlocky. 
 Come every hill-plaid, and 
 
 True heart that wears one, 
 Come every steel blade, and 
 
 Strong hand that bears one. 
 
 Leave untended the herd, 
 The flock without shelter ; 
 
 Leave the corpse uninterred, 
 The bride at the altar ; 
 
64 PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU. 
 
 Leave the deer, leave the steer, 
 Leave nets and barges : 
 
 Come with your fighting gear, 
 Broadswords and targes. 
 
 Come 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 how they gather ! 
 Wide waves the eagle plume, 
 
 Blended with heather. 
 Cast your plaids, draw your blades, 
 
 Forward each man set ! 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 
 
 Knell for the onset ! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE. 
 
 Trample ! trample ! went the roan, 
 
 Trap ! trap ! went the gray ; 
 But pad ! pad I pad 1 Hke a thing that was mad, 
 
 My chestnut broke away. 
 It was just five miles from Salisbury town, 
 
 And but one hour to day. 
 
 Thud ! THUD ! came on the heavy roan. 
 
 Rap ! RAP ! the mettled gray ; 
 But my chestnut mare was of blood so rare, 
 
 That she showed them all the way. 
 Spur on ! spur on ! — I doffed my hat, 
 
 And wished them all good-day. 
 
 They splashed through miry rut and pool, — 
 SpHntered through fence and rail ; 
 
 But chestnut Kate switched over the gate, — 
 I saw them droop and tail. 
 
 To Salisbury town — but a mile of down. 
 Once over this brook and rail. 
 5 
 
66 THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE. 
 
 Trap ! trap ! I heard their echoing hoofs 
 
 Past the walls of mossy stone ; 
 The roan flew on at a staggering pace, 
 
 But blood is better than bone. 
 I patted old Kate, and gave her the spur, 
 
 For I knew it was all my own. 
 
 But trample ! trample ! came their steeds, 
 And I saw their wolf's eyes burn; 
 
 I felt like a royal hart at bay, 
 And made me ready to turn. 
 
 I looked where highest grew the May, 
 And deepest arched the fern. 
 
 I flew at the first knave's sallow throat ; 
 
 One blow, and he was down. 
 The second rogue fired twice, and missed ; 
 
 I sliced the villain's crown, — 
 Clove through the rest, and flogged brave Kate, 
 
 Fast^ fast to Salisbury town I 
 
 Pad ! pad ! they came on the level sward. 
 
 Thud ! thud ! upon the sand, — 
 With a gleam of swords and a burning match, 
 
 And a shaking of flag and hand ; 
 But one long bound, and I passed the gate, 
 
 Safe from the canting band. 
 
 Walter Thornbury. 
 
 d 
 
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. 
 
 ArRiL i8 AND 19, 1775. 
 
 Listen, my children, and you shall hear 
 
 Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 
 
 On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five ; 
 
 Hardly a man is now alive 
 
 Who remembers that famous day and year. 
 
 He said to his friend, " If the British march 
 By land or sea from the town to-night. 
 Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch 
 Of the North Church tower as a signal-light, - 
 One, if by land, and two, if by sea ; 
 And I on the opposite shore will be. 
 Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
 Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
 For the country folk to be up and to arm." 
 
68 PAUL REVERE' S RIDE, 
 
 Then he said, '' Good-night ! " and with muffled oar 
 
 Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 
 
 Just as the moon rose over the bay, 
 
 Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 
 
 The Somerset, British man-of-war ; 
 
 A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 
 
 Across the moon like a prison bar, 
 
 And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 
 
 By its own reflection in the tide. 
 
 Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, 
 Wanders and watches with eager ears. 
 Till in the silence around him he hears 
 The muster of men at the barrack door. 
 The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. 
 And the measured tread of the grenadiers, 
 ]\Iarching down to their boats on the shore. 
 
 Then he climbed the tower of the old North Churchy 
 
 By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, 
 
 To the belfry-chamber overhead, 
 
 And startled the pigeons from their perch 
 
 On the sombre rafters, that round him made 
 
 IMasses and moving shapes of shade, — 
 
 By the trembhng ladder, steep and tall, 
 
 To tlie highest ^^indow in the wall, 
 
 Where he paused to listen and look down 
 
 A moment on the roofs of the town. 
 
 And the moonlight flowing over all. 
 
PAUL REVERE' S RIDE, 69 
 
 Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 
 
 In their night-encampment on the hill. 
 
 Wrapped in silence so deep and still 
 
 That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 
 
 The watchful night-wind, as it went 
 
 Creeping along from tent to tent, 
 
 And seeming to whisper, " All is well ! " 
 
 xA moment only he feels the spell 
 
 Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 
 
 Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; 
 
 For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 
 
 On a shadowy something far away. 
 
 Where the river widens to meet the bay, — 
 
 A line of black that bends and floats 
 
 On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 
 
 Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride. 
 Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride. 
 On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
 Now he patted his horse's side. 
 Now gazed at the landscape far and near, 
 Then, impetuous, stamped the earth 
 And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ; 
 But mostly he watched with eager search 
 The belfry-tower of the old North Church, 
 As it rose above the graves on the hill, • 
 Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 
 And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height 
 
70 PAUL REVERE' S RIDE, 
 
 A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 
 He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 
 But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
 A second lamp in the belfry burns ! 
 
 A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 
 A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 
 And beneath, from the pebbles in passing, a spark 
 Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet : 
 That was all ! And yet through the gloom and the 
 
 light. 
 The fate of a nation was riding that night ; 
 And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, 
 Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 
 
 He has left the village and mounted the steep, 
 And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep. 
 Is the ]\lystic, meeting the ocean tides ; 
 And under the alders, that skirt its edge, 
 Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, 
 Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. 
 
 It was twelve by the village clock 
 
 When he crossed the bridge into ]\Iedford town. 
 
 He heard the crowing of the cock. 
 
 And the barking of the farmer's dog, 
 
 And felt the damp of the river fog, 
 
 That rises after the sun 2:oes down. 
 
PA UL RE VERES RIDE. 7 r 
 
 It was one by the village clock, 
 
 When he galloped into Lexington. 
 
 He saw the gilded weathercock 
 
 Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 
 
 And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 
 
 Gaze at him with a spectral glare, 
 
 As if they already stood aghast 
 
 At the bloody work they would look upon. 
 
 It was two by the village clock 
 
 When he came to the bridge in Concord town. 
 
 He heard the bleating of the flock, 
 
 And the twitter of birds among the trees, 
 
 And felt the breath of the morning breeze 
 
 Blowing over the meadows brown. 
 
 And one was safe and asleep in his bed 
 
 Who at the bridge would be first to fall, ^ 
 
 Who that day would be lying dead, 
 
 Pierced by a British musket-ball. 
 
 You know the rest. In the books you have read, 
 How the British Regulars fired and fled, — 
 How the farmers gave them ball for ball. 
 From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, 
 Chasing the red-coats down the lane, 
 Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
 Under the trees at the turn of the road. 
 And only pausing to fire and load. 
 
72 PACL REVERE' S RIDE, 
 
 So tlirough the night rode Paul Revere ; 
 
 And so through the night went his cry of alarm 
 
 To ever)' ^^liddlesex village and farm, — 
 
 A cry of defiance and not of fear^ 
 
 A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, 
 
 And a word that shall echo forevermore I 
 
 For, borne on the night- wind of the past. 
 
 Through all our histor}% to the last, 
 
 In the hour of darkness and peril and need. 
 
 The people will waken and listen to hear 
 
 The hurrpng hoof-beats of that steed. 
 
 And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 
 
 Henry \V. Longfellow. 
 
 1 
 
BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 
 
 September 6, 1862. 
 
 Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
 Clear in the cool September morn, 
 
 The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
 Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 
 
 Round about them orchards sweep, 
 Apple and peach tree 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 flags with their silver stars, 
 Forty flags with their crimson bars. 
 
74 BARBARA FRIETCHIE, 
 
 Flapped in the morning wind ; the sun 
 Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 
 
 Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
 Eowed with her fourscore years and ten ; 
 
 Bravest of all in Frederick town, 
 
 She took up the flag the men hauled down ; 
 
 In her attic window the staff she set, 
 To show that one heart was loyal yet. 
 
 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. 
 
 " Halt ! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast ; 
 '' Fire ! " — out blazed the rifle-blast. 
 
 It shivered the window, pane and sash ; 
 It rent the banner with seam and gash. 
 
 Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff 
 Dame Barbara seized the silken scarf; 
 
 She leaned far out on the window-sill> 
 And shook it forth with a royal will. 
 
BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 
 
 She leaned far out on the window-sill, 
 And shook it forth with a royal will. 
 
7<5 BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 
 
 " Shoot, if you must, this old, gray head, 
 But spare your country's flag," she said. 
 
 A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
 Over the face of the leader came ; 
 
 The nobler nature within him stirred 
 To life at that woman's deed and word : 
 
 '^ Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
 Dies like a dog ! March on ! " he saido 
 
 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 
 
 On the royal winds that loved it well ; 
 
 And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
 Shone over it with a warm good-night. 
 
 Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er. 
 
 And the Rebel rides on his raids no morCc 
 
 Honor to her ! and let a tear 
 
 Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 
 
BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 77 
 
 Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 
 Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 
 
 Peace, and order, and beauty draw 
 Round thy symbol of light and law ; 
 
 And ever the stars above look down 
 On thy stars below in Frederick town ! 
 
 John Greenleaf Whittier. 
 
SHERIDAN'S RIDE. 
 
 October 19, 1S64. 
 
 Up from the South at break of day, 
 
 Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 
 
 The affrighted air with a shudder bore, 
 
 Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, 
 
 The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, 
 
 Telling the battle was on once more, 
 
 And Sheridan twenty miles away. 
 
 And wider still those billows of war 
 
 Thundered along the horizon's bar ; 
 
 x\nd louder yet into Winchester rolled 
 
 The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 
 
 Making the blood of the Hstener cold. 
 
 As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray. 
 
 And Sheridan twenty miles away. 
 
 But there is a road from Winchester town, 
 
 A good broad highway leading down ; 
 
 x\nd there, through the flush of the morning light. 
 
S S2 
 
 E K 
 
So 
 
 SHERIDAN'S RIDE, 
 
 A steed as black as the steeds of night, 
 Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, 
 As if he knew the terrible need ; 
 He stretched away with his utmost speed ; 
 Hills rose and fell ; but his heart was gay. 
 With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 
 
 Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South, 
 The dust, hke smoke from the cannon's mouth ; 
 Or a 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 battle-field calls ; 
 Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, 
 With Sheridan only ten miles away. 
 
 Under his spurning feet the road 
 
 Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed. 
 
 And the landscape sped away behind 
 
 Like an ocean flying before the wind ; 
 
 And the steed, like a bark fed vdth furnace ire. 
 
 Swept on with his wild eye full of fire. 
 
 But lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire ; 
 
 He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 
 
 With Sheridan only five miles away. 
 
SHERIDAN'S RIDE, 8i 
 
 The first that the General saw were the groups 
 Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops. 
 What was done ? what to do ? A glance told him 
 
 both. 
 Then, 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 sight of the master compelled it to pause. 
 With foam and with dust the black charger was gray ; 
 By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, 
 He seemed to the whole great army to say, 
 " I have brought you Sheridan all the way 
 From Winchester down to save the day ! '* 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah for Sheridan ! 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! 
 
 And when their statues are placed on high, 
 
 Under the dome of the Union sky^ 
 
 The American soldier's Temple of Fame, — 
 
 There with the glorious General's name. 
 
 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. 
 
THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 
 
 September 25, 1857. 
 
 Oh, that last' day in Lucknow fort ! 
 
 We knew that it was the last ; 
 That the enemy's mines had crept surely in, 
 
 And the end was coming fast. 
 
 To yield to that foe meant worse than death ; 
 
 And the men and we all worked on ; 
 It was one day more, of smoke and roar, 
 
 And then it would all be done. 
 
 There was one of us, a corporal's wife, 
 
 A 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 my knee ; 
 
 "When my father comes hame frae the pleugh,' 
 she said, 
 " Oh ! then please wauken me ! " 
 
THE RELIEF OF LUCK NOW 83 
 
 She slept like a child on her father's floor, 
 
 In the flecking of woodbine shade, 
 When the house-dog sprawls by the open door, 
 
 And the mother's wheel is stayed. 
 
 It was smoke and roar and powder-stench. 
 
 And hopeless waiting for death ; 
 And the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child, 
 
 Seemed scarce to draw her breath. 
 
 / sank to sleep ; and I had my dream 
 
 Of an English village-lane. 
 And wall and garden ; — a sudden scream 
 
 Brought me back to the roar again. 
 
 There Jessie Brown stood listening ; 
 And then a broad gladness broke 
 All over her face, and she caught my hand 
 • And drew me near and spoke : 
 
 " The Highlanders I oh, dinna ye hear? 
 
 The slogan far awa' ? 
 The McGregor's ? Ah ! I ken it weel ; 
 
 It's the grandest o' them a' ! 
 
 *' God bless thae bonny Highlanders ! 
 
 We 're saved ! we 're saved ! " she cried ; 
 And fell on her knees, and thanks to God 
 
 Poured forth like a full flood-tide. 
 
84 THE RELIEF OF LUC KNOW. 
 
 Along the battery-line her cry 
 
 Had fallen among the men ; 
 And they started, for they were there to die ; 
 
 Was hfe so near them, then ? 
 
 They listened for life ; and the rattling fire 
 
 Far off, and the far-off roar. 
 Were all ; and the colonel shook his head, 
 
 And they turned to their guns once more. 
 
 But Jessie said : " That slogan 's dune ; 
 
 But can ye no hear them, noo. 
 The Campbells are coniin ? It 's no a dream j 
 
 Our succors hae broken through ! " 
 
 We heard the roar and the rattle afar, 
 But the pipes we could not hear ; 
 
 So the men phed their work of hopeless war. 
 And knew that the end was near. 
 
 It was not long ere it must be heard, 
 
 A shrilling, ceaseless sound ; 
 It was no noise of the strife afar, 
 
 Or the sappers underground. 
 
 It was the pipes of the Highlanders ! 
 
 And now they played Auld Lang Syne, 
 It came to our men like the voice of God, 
 
 And they shouted along the line. 
 
THE RELIEF OF LUCK NOW. 85 
 
 And they wept and shook one another's hand, 
 And the women sobbed in a crowd ; 
 
 And every one knelt down where we stood, 
 And we all thanked God aloud. 
 
 That happy time when we welcomed them, 
 
 Our men put Jessie first ; 
 And the general gave her his hand, and cheers 
 
 From the men like a volley burst. 
 
 And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed, 
 Marching round and round our line ; 
 
 And our joyful cheers were broken with tears, 
 For the pipers played Auld Lang Syne, 
 
 Robert T. S. Lowell. 
 
 Are there not many who remember (who can forget ?) that 
 scene in the Sikh War, when the distant gleam of arms 
 and flash of friendly uniform was descried by a little ex- 
 hausted army among the hills, and the Scotch pipes struck 
 up, Oh ! but ye were lang a-comin ! The incident in the 
 present case may not be historical, but it is true to nature, 
 and intrinsically probable, which is all that poetry needs 
 in that respect. 
 
'^HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD 
 NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX." 
 
 [16-] 
 
 I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he ; 
 
 I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; 
 
 *' Good speed ! " cried the watch, as the gate-bolts 
 
 undrew ; 
 " Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping through ; 
 Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 
 And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 
 
 Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace, 
 Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our 
 
 place ; 
 I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight. 
 Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique 
 
 right, 
 Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, 
 Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 
 
HOW THEY BROUGHT THE NEWS. 87 
 
 'T was moonset at starting ; but while we drew near 
 Lokeren, the cocks crew and twihght 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 church-steeple we heard the 
 
 half-chime, 
 So Joris broke silence with, " Yet there is time ! " 
 
 At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, 
 And 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 bluff river headland its spray. 
 
 And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent 
 
 back 
 For my voice, and the other pricked out on his 
 
 track ; 
 And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that 
 
 glance 
 O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance ! 
 And the thick heavy spume-flakes whicli aye and 
 
 anon 
 His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 
 
88 HOW THEY BROUGHT THE NEWS, 
 
 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. 
 
 So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
 Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky j 
 The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 
 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like 
 
 chaff; 
 Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, 
 And " Gallop," gasped Joris, " for Aix is in sight ! " 
 
 '' How they '11 greet us ! " and all in a moment his 
 
 roan 
 Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ; 
 And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 
 Of the news which alone could save Aix from her 
 
 fate, 
 With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, 
 And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 
 
HOW THEY BROUGHT THE NEWS. 89 
 
 Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, 
 Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 
 Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear. 
 Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without 
 
 peer; 
 Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, 
 
 bad or good. 
 Till at length into Aix, Roland galloped and stood. 
 
 And all I remember is friends flocking round, 
 
 As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the 
 
 ground, 
 And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine. 
 As I poured down his throat our last measure of 
 
 wine, 
 Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 
 Was no more than his due who brought good news 
 
 from Ghent. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 I 
 
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