' ((((If fft THE IfilMI 11 f j 1 i 1 1 1 : 1 i ( I | ; >; GEORGE AUGUSTINE STACK, ESQ. // PROFESSOR OF LITERATURE AND HISTORY, BAREILLY COLLEGE, N. W. P. WYMAN & CO., PUBLISHERS, CALCUTTA. 1872. CALCUTTA : CALCUTTA CENTRAL PRESS COMPANY, LIMITED, 6, COUNCIL HOUSE STREET. TO M. KEMPSON, ESQ., M.A. DIRECTOR OF PUBLIC INSTITUTION, N. W. P. THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, AS A MEMORIAL OF ESTEEM AND FRIENDSHIP, BY THE AUTHOR. M284745 PREFACE. HE short series of Indian Poems which compose the first part of this little Volume, are reprinted from the Allahabad "Pioneer," with the exception of one, "The Prizes and Dispossessed Zemindar/' which appeared in the " Delhi Gazette." The stereotyped "request of friends" is wanting as an excuse for their publication ; but I can say with truth, that I was only induced to think of publishing them in this form, from the great number of applications which I received from total strangers in all parts of India for copies of the Verses either in print or MS. The other Poems in the collection are selections from the best of a considerable number which appeared at intervals in various Indian and English publications, and were favorably received at the time. G. A. STACK. BAKEILLY, November, 1872. CONTENTS. SONGS OF IND Lament of Jaffir Mahomed, Pedlar i The Sikh Soubadar . . . . . , 7 The Prizes, and the Dispossessed Zemindar . 13 The Secret Punchayet . . . . . . 18 The Shikaree . . . . . .23 The Taj Mehal . . . . . . . 31 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS The Poet's Grave . . . . . -35 Stella ; or, the Fatal Stratagem . , 37 The Orphan Boy's Christmas Eve . . . .46 Thermopylae . . . . . 52 Caractacus ....... 59 The Ebbing Tide . . . . . 64 In Forma Pauperis . . . . . .68 Ixion . . . . . . 70 In Memoriam . . . . . -73 In Memoriam. Father Prout . . . 75 Lost in the Bush . . . . . -78 Died at Sea . . . . . . . 80 Undine . . . . . . -83 Freedom to Garibaldi . . . . 86 Orpheus '. ..... 88 Dies Vita? . - . . . . . 89 " She never told her Love" . . . 91 The Happy Dead . ... 93 Cawnpore. The Angel over the Well . 96 CONTENTS. / HUMOROUS PIECES Ode to a Pipe . . . . . 98 The Song of the Indian Loafer . . . . 101 One Happy Day . . . . . . 105 '67 and '68 . . . . . . . 108 " I've smoked my last Cigar" . . . . . 1 1 1 PARODIES A Literary Forgery . . . . ..113 The Song of the Pen . . . . . . 120 Lucy Anne Jemima Grubb . . . . .122 The two Voices . . . . . . 124 Odes on the Birth of a Son to the Prince of Wales . 126 Billy Molloy . . . . . . . 13$ The Sowar . . . . . 137 (After Mr. Longfellow) . . . . 140 The fine old Indian Gentleman . . . .142 Hurrah for Abyssinia ! . . . . . . 145 A Mofussil Ballad . . . . . 147 TRANSLATIONS Horace and Lydia . . . . . . 150 Horace to Pyhrra . . . . . .152 of Kntr. LAMENT OF JAFFIR MAHOMED, PEDLAR. LAHORE 1842. ELL, Allah i's good to his children, who leaves them whate'er may flee The faith in the Mussulman's heart in the days that are to be In the years of bondage ended, and that delivering sword "Which shall go before His people in the right hand of the Lord ; Which shall give them the shrines of their worship for the one true Mussulman God, And the hill, and the plain, and the valley, our great forefathers trod ; Which shall go, with the word of the Prophet and the standard of Islam war, From the cedar groves of Colombo to the mountains of Candahar, Till the Crescent is ever uplifted and the Cross for ever thrown down, And the word of the Prophet pealing over every kneeling town ! Is it well that my thoughts should wander a poor old man, and a lean To the ancient glories of Islam, and what our fathers have been ? 2 LAMENT OF JAFFIR MAHOMED, PEDLAR. Is it well that these rags should cover the badge of a slave's disgrace The burning heart of a Moslem for the wrongs of his ancient race ? Ah ! well I must learn the lesson which conquest has taught me too, To cringe to the haughty Eeringhee and flatter the sleek Hindoo! 'Tis not that we're ruled by the strong men who conquered our fathers in fight, For the swords of the Faithful were few when the Infidel gathered in might, And the chiefs we had chosen betrayed us, they were bribed by our foemen to yield : Ah ! better, a thousand times better, had we died where we stood on the field ! Just Allah ! who spake by the Prophet, and surely Thy ways are wise, To make us the slaves of the slave we came to rule and despise ; For lo ! when the struggle was over, and the Sahebs ruled us again, The sword was hung up in its scabbard, and the ruler of men was the pen ! The sword may have ruled as a robber, but the pen came in as a thief The pen that could swindle the ryot, and wheedle the noble and chief; LAMENT OF JAFFIR MAHOMED, PEDLAR. 3 The pen that could darken the glory for which our fathers had fought ; The pen that could flatter and threaten, the pen that could buy and be bought. And then from that hour, when the pen did the work which no sword could undo, Came the reign of the wily mahajun and the power of the sleek Hindoo. They could copy the Sahebs' despatches, they could add up the Sahebs' gains, And their nimble Brahminee fingers did the work of Feringhee brains. 'Tis the day of their burra tumaslia, the drums are rolling afar ; They come from the hills of Cabul with the spoils of Aifghan war, "Where first the Feringhee was baffled by the strength of the strong hill town, Till the trumpet that blew from within threw the walls of the fortress down !* Their swords have drunk of the slaughter which the sack of Grhuznee hath shed, And their soldiers are rich with the plunder which they tore from the Mussulman dead. Yet 'tis better to see them in triumph, when they come with the sword and the gun, Than to hear them plaster with lies the wrong and the crime they have done. * Thia is in allusion to the trumpeter (Wilson) who managed, during the assault, to reach unscathed an elevation in the very heart of the fort, from whence, to the utter con- sternation of the defenders, he blew his trumpet sounding " the advance" to his countrymen. 4 LAMENT OF JAFFIR MAHOMED, PEDLAR. Coines the smooth-faced Padree Feringh.ee, and he tells me so gracious and wise ! That Christ is a Father of Mercy, and Allah the Father of Lies ; That the Cross on which Jesus suffered is an emblem of peace and good, But the hands that raised it o'er Islam were wet with Mussul- man blood ; That the God of the Christians is faithful to the message of peace in His Word, But the message of peace you delivered was brought on the point of the sword. I will back the long road I have taken, to linger my days and to dream In the little Mussulman village on the banks of my native stream, And there, as I pray in the twilight to the sun that sinks clown by the hill, I will dream the dream of that hope which is left to the Mussul- man still ; As I sit by the Father of "Waters as he rolls on his way to the sea, I will bend o'er his rolling murmur and hear what it whispers to me. " Tell me, O Father Gauges, who hast rolled through these years of disgrace, " Shall I live to behold the triumph which is promised to Maho- met's race ? " In vain to your rolling waters, as they wind to their home in the sea, " The Hindoo offers his worship for thy waves were meant for the free. LAMENT OF JAFFIR MAHOMED, PEDLAR. 5 " Shall these eyes that are dim with watching, arid this heart which is growing cold, " Be glad in the days of His coming whom the Prophet himself hath foretold ? " And I think I hear him murmur, as he rolls on his way to the sea " The day and the hour are approaching, and what you shall see you shall see. " You look for the harvest of summer when the fields are already white, " And you look for the dawn in the East in the darkest hour of the night, "And you see not the day of His triumph who spake by the Prophet and said : " ' The Chief I have chosen to lead you, behold where he rides at your head !' " A murmur goes forth from the nations, who are crying, * He comes ! he comes ! ' ' 'Midst the roar of a thousand cannon, to the roll of a thousand drums ; " * 'Midst the spears of a people delivered, and the banners of the free, " c And a host that is spread over living and dead to the meeting of earth and sea! " ' Bound his brow is the light of that glory which never shall taste of death ; " ' Before him the banner of Islam in his right hand the sword of the Faith !' 6 LAMENT OF JAFFIR MAHOMED, PEDLAR. " Sweeps onward the mighty procession to the foot of the jasper throne. " In the hymns that are swelling around him, Omar and All are one; "The crimson and green are blended the emblems of Mussul- man past " The blood that was shed for His people, the hope that lived on to the last ! " And behold where the Houris are clustered, and behold how their white arms wave ; " They wait at the gates of the Blessed to welcome the souls of the Brave. " For Allah is just, who hath broken the might of the Faithless in two, " And humbled the haughty Feringhee, and trampled the vile Hindoo." THE SIKH SOUBADAR. I. a village not far from the borders, Just after the close of the war, There lived on the pension we gave him, Old Syud, the Sikh Soubadar ; On his thighs, as he sits in the sunshine, His war-worn weapon is laid, And his tougue would run over his battles As the leather ran over the blade. II. And, says he : " You may talk of your Sepoys, (Budzaut, will you never be bright ?) But the days are gone by when the soldier "Was the man who was born to fight ; When, whether in war or in quiet, There was little to choose in his lot, And a hookem to plunder the ryot Was all the tullub he got. THE SIKH SOUBADAR. III. " Now a soldier is more like an ayah He dresses his lines and his hair, He lives in a house like a harem, And feeds on the daintiest fare ; And the loot comes away from his fingers, For he trembles to think of his hire, As his hand might come back from a kettle That has lain too long on the fire. IV. " And I was a child in this village (There's a notch from a Britisher's gun) "When Euujeet was Chief of the Punjab And the Sikhs were the lords of their own ; "When he stamped his proud foot, and his children Came round him with sabre and spear, And rushed with a shout to the battle For the love of the old Ameer ; V. " "When he went through the land with the- Chiefs he loved, And a forest of circling steel A thousand firelocks before him, A thousand spears at his heel And a splendour of burnished metal 'Mid the blaze of his shining guns, And a river of streaming pennons, And the roll of a hundred drums. THE SIKH SOUBADAR. VI. " Wlion the Lord Saheb came from Calcutta, Tiiey met as two brothers should meet, For ]R (inject would never disparage The foeman who flattered Runjeet. When they wanted to color the Empire For himself and the English, he said : * "What's the use, I shall die in the summer, And then you may color it red* VII. " He died, and, my sons, though I say it, Can the sword be the king of the head ? He died and, with Runjeet the soldier, The soul of the Punjab was dead. We had soldiers to fight and plunder, We had leaders to wrangle and brawl, But the curse of disunion and discord Was cast like a plague on us all. VIII. " And then, by the dastard Convention That was wrung from our craven fear, We found out a mighty invention ! That the plough was as good as the spear ; And the soldier went back to his village To waste, in the prime of his life, The limbs that were trained for the battle And the spirit that thirsted for strife. B 10 THE SIKH SOUKADAR. IX. "And the sword of the Punjab was sleeping As still as that Chieftain's breath, That could call it for Liberty, leaping Like a flash from its ringing sheath, Till the rust that corroded our steel Was not the whole but a part Of the sluggard spirit that ate its way To the core of the soldier's heart. X. " And ever the British grew louder In the claims and exactions they made, And ever their vauutings grew prouder, Aud ever our Chiefs were dismayed; And ever, to where on the river They lay on the other side, The wave of their red-coated legions Came rolling on like a tide, XI. " Till the day had arrived, and the signal Was the boom of a single gun, That told us the British were marching, And the terrible war begun. We had crossed the broad stream to deliver The desperate onset we made, When the blood that streamed down with the river Was as red as the blood on a blade. THE SIKH SO UBA DAR. 11 XII. " My father that day was beside me ; He pointed his sword to the foe, Aud, says he, 'Boy, whate'er may betide me, Your mother she never must know : She is old for the grief of such sorrow, If death should now cut us in twain ; To-day let her live, and to-morrow I'll meet her, I'll meet her again.' ' XIII. She had crept to the verge of the battle, To where, by one deep narrow lane,. Our shattered battalions were pouring From the slaughter that raged on the plain. Poor mother ! she asked for her husband, But never an answer they made lie was lying all cold by the river With ail English ball in his head. XIV. " And once, while the bright stars were pouring Their peaceful light on the plain, The tempest of battle was roaring Through the woods that were cumbered with slain : And the moon, floating on in her splendour, Looked down on the battle we said With a pitying glance, and a tender, O'er that silvery field of the dead. 12 THE SIKH SOUBADAR. XV. " At Moodkee, Sobraou, Goojerat, 'Twas always and always the same ; Defeat, but it was not dishonour, Disaster that never was shame. In the fair field of fight we were conquered ; And the sword that they struck from our hand Was raised by a patriot people In defence of their native land. XVI. " We warred not with women or children, "We stained not our cause with the blow Or the blood that was shed by assassins Who fled from the face of the foe. When we yielded, I wept like a woman, For our Chiefs had abandoned the war. 'And keep thy good sword,' said the foeman, 1 Old Syud, the Sikh Soubadar.' " THE PRIZES, AND THE DISPOSSESSED ZEMINDAR. Lord Saheb is kind to the children who love the Eeringhee rule ; My grandsons have brought me three burr a Jcitabs which they won as their prizes at school, And the least would weigh a chetak they are gold without and within, With twisted things like little snakes on the edge of the leather skin ; And there's writing in them too Feringhee letters that stand As upright and stiff as their soldiers stood when we crouched to give them the laud. When we not I, not they (your fathers who met them in fight), But you who can read these witchcraft signs which these Lord Feringhees write ; You who can dance in the fetters your fathers never would wear ; You who are glad with a joy which niocks the freeman's noble despair ; You just Allah, protect us from the wrath of his outraged God ! You who are taught to kiss the hand which holds a Feriughee rod ; 14 THE PRIZES, AND THE You who can go to their colleges, you who can fill their schools, You who were slaves before, and now you are slaves and fools ; You who can bring me kitabs with words and pictures like these, Which tell of theEmpire ^m'fathers won away on the stormy seas : Not pouring o'er mouldy kitabs, not herded in crowded halls, With the sheathless blade for the lesson they read and the world for their walls, With hearts for every danger, with sinews for every toil, And their home in the foeinan's country, and their wealth in the foeman's spoil. 1 had a son one only one that took after his sire ; The others were all their mother's, but he was a soul of fire : lie would bend from the bow of his rushing steed, when the chiefs were circled round, And carry the peg on his sweeping spear over the reeling ground. When his brother held the ram, he lifted his sword on high, And it fell as the lightning falls, too swift for the dazzled eye ; Down through the gristle and bone it cleft the tough neck through and through, As a scythe might sweep through the yielding grass that is laid with the morning dew. But the evil days were gathered : he was scarce the age of man When the wild Mahratta chief broke forth, and the long, long raid began. Ah God! how the cravens trembled ah God ! how our hearts beat high, When Chetoo rushed out with the slayer's shout and the sword that would conquer or die, DISPOSSESSED ZEMINDAR. 15 To chjise the greasy mahajun from the JcotJiee's bolted door, "VVhicli they filled at ease with the last rupees which they wrung from the starving poor ; To burn their books and their ledgers, their hoondies, their drafts, and their bills, And teach them to write with a yard of steel that was longer than one of their quills. And iny son he lifted his head to the sound of battle afar, And grasped his spear for the old Ameer in the wild Mahratta war, And bore it through many a day of doubtful and desperate fight Till its shining head was dim with the stains that purpled its glancing light. But alas ! for the days of our fathers, when the fierce Feringhee came [flame, In a cloud of crimson war on the land and a tempest of steel and And after one day of battle, that closed in defeat and despair, Old Chetoo went back to the jungle and crouched with the fox in his lair ; His band was dispersed on the field, his chiefs were all slain or gone, And of all the men who were with him then there was none who remained but my son. And the end was drawing nigh the chief he was wounded and ill ; He had nothing to eat in that wild retreat, and the days went heavily still. So my son came out of the jungle he passed through the foe in disguise And caine to a Brahiniuec village to forage for supplies ; 16 THE PRIZES, AND THE He came to his brother, the bunya, where he sat among his jars, And dozed his greasy life away 'midst all the clash of the wars. And the other trembled to see him, and wrung his hands with fear, And said : ' My throat is not worth a pie if the Sahebs saw you here. * Do you come to plunder or slay me ?' ' Neither to slay nor to steal, * But my chief is dying of want in the wilds, and I want some gram for a meal.' And the bunya he hummed and hawed, as he counted and conned at his ease The crooked things in the mouldy books which they turn to ryots' rupees, And said : 'Come back in the evening, when the night is in the sky, Tor well I know, did they see you now, that one or both must die.' And my son he came as he told him ; but as he was crossing the boards, The place was bright with a sudden light and the blaze of twenty swords. Tot they hoped to take him alive ; for this was the traitor's snare, To wring from his fear where the old Ameer was crouched with the fox in his lair. But he fought for death not life ; and never in bloodiest fight Did that stalwart hand cleave to the brand as he clave to his sword that night. He fell, and never a tear I wept, for the rage of that grief was dry ; He fell, and I smiled as a father should smile, for he died as my son should die. DISPOSSESSED ZEMINDAR. 17 His heart to his chieftain turned, his face to the foeman's frown, And his stiffening hand on the trusty brand that was lifted to strike them down. But he who betrayed him his brother (his mother's son, not mine) He never throve in the snare he wove, and the curse is on all his line ; The taint of a slave and coward is mixed with his traitor's blood, And the trail of his crime has crept like a slime over all of his reptile brood. But why should I rave o'er his festering grave, for is he not dead and gone ? And I live from your hand on this good broad land this land that was all my own ? And you are excellent children, and excellent books are these ; You go to school in a biley, packed like a lot of geese ; You close your hand if the Saheb speaks you cringe if the Saheb frowns And you swab your greasy Hindoo limbs in an ayah's trailing gown. You learn to read and to cipher, to write and to wrangle, and then You are scribes and scholars and duftries ; but will you ever be men ? Will you ever be men as he was who played the patriot part, Though his body is there, where the fowls of the air have preyed on that noble heart ? [son The sword should rust by the warrior's dust ; but he his father's His fame shall be in the memory of the deed that he has done. c THE SECRET PUNCHAYET.* >OU have said it, my brothers, it must be so Brama is wise and good. The sin she has thought, the shame she has wrought, must be cleansed in her flowing blood ; And the flesh she has tainted with sin, be laid on the funeral pyre Till it shrivel to dust 'neath the scorching glance of the God of vengeance and fire. I shall mix it myself the fatal cup she shall drink of it from this hand, And by her bed, with the surer blade, I shall take my lonely stand ; And if the goblet should fail, with an unshrouded eye I shall plunge the knife to the earth of my wife, and smile to see her die." Light was her step o'er the threshold the sound of the soft sitar Was not more sweet than the trip of her feet when the music is heard afar ; * A piDickayet is a council of five. It is frequently held in native families to adjust some domestic <>r caste dillerence. Where a member of the family has done anything to disgrace it, it has, in ancient times, often decreed death as a punishment. THE SECRET PUNCHA VET. 19 Dark were her flowing tresses, as the raven of moonless skies ; And the stars of night were not more bright than the light which flashed from her eyes. But now that tread is a sound of dread, for it comes with the echoing fear Of another sound, which the shuddering ground has hushed and will not hear ; And those raven tresses are steeped steeped in the crimson stain Of the blood that was shed from a heart of guilt where their wanton waves have lain ; And the homes he hath brightened is dark, and the hope of a life is dead, And the heart is broken that lived on the faith of one false Indian maid. The priests were reading the tokens that were writ in the clustering stars : " She conieth out of the "West, and after the close of the wars. " By the well of the village she stand?, where the wa'ers are kissing the brink, " As the warrior reins his steed and stoops from the saddle to drink." And so it fell out in the years that came, as the sun was sink- ing low, I had wandered far from a field of the slain in the track of a flying foe, 20 THE SECRET PUNCH A YET. And the twilight had melted away, and tlie stars Lad come out on high, As I reined my steed by the village well and the village maid drew nigh ; And still my heart kept beating to the whisper that filled my breast " By the well of the village she stands, and she cometh out of the West." She came, as the evening comes when she crosseth some darken- ing height, And her glimmering robe is sown with the stars which she brings for the sable night. In the light of her beauty she came, and the glance of her eyes' soft beam Hath sunk in my soul, as a star might sink in the depths of some lonely stream That constant star which shines so bright through the stillness of its rest, And is fixed, when the tempest hath dimmed its light, in the depths of its wavering breast. [strife. And so, in the days that followed through years of sorrow and My heart was true to that young love, which shone as the light of my life. The Grods I have worshipped are broken 'midst the wrecks of my hopes they are laid ; The chieftain whose house T have followed, and the wife whom his falsehood betrayed, THE SECRET PUNCHAYET. 21 He shall live for 'tis better to leave him to that God, to whom ever belongs The vengeance that tracks the betrayer and the cause of the poor man's wrongs. Did I pine for the lights of his harem ? did I envy his wealth and his state ? Did I shrink from his side in the battle, when we charged to a soldier's fate ? And these eyes he has dimmed with sorrow, and this heart he has filled with gall, That joyed in the hour of his triumph, would have wept o'er their chieftain's fall. But she, she must die you have said it when the bell is toll- ing the hour Which calls the Moslem to prayer from yonder darkening tower. On the breath of your prayers shall arise a soul to the setting sun, To the dirge of your tears and sighs the deed of death shall be done. 'Tis done ! she drank it in silence, and in silence she passed away ; The goblet is drained, but the knife is unstained, for alas ! I could not stay ; And I heard your prayers in the stillness. Farewell, sweet child, farewell ! The life you have left is more bereft than thine, for it lives in Hell. 22 THE SECRET PUNCH A YET. And art thou at rest in thy slumber ? And hast thou found it a home, "Where never a sorrow enters or never the bleak winds roam ? Or never a heart is broken or never a hope betrayed ? And thou art my wife in Heaven, my own sweet Brahmiuee maid. Farewell ! farewell ! for I seem to feel the coming on of that sleep "Which widens into stillness like a stream ere it reaches the deep, And bears me away in silence to that silent and shoreless sea, "Where the sinner at last is alone with his sin alone with his sin and Thee. THE SHIKAREE. f'M the hunter Imaum Bukus and 'tis sixty years ago Since first, at the foot of the Malwa hills, I laid the tiger low ; Since first, by the side of the rushing tide that leaps through the hills in foam, I watched, with my hand on the trigger, till the king of the woods should come. 'Twas far in the wilder jungle, and many a week till I stood By the lonely streams which the tiger haunts in the depths of the denser wood. My food was the wild wood berries that are washed by the morning dew, My bed was made 'neath the tangled shade which the stars were peeping through, Till I came to the mountain torrent that is fed by the melting snow, And leaps with a spring, like a Malwa king, on the sleeping vale below. 'Neath the foot of that terrible leap is a cauldron of boiling foam ; But onward, and see how quiet is he when the woods have become his home. 24 THE SHIKAREE. He carne as a king, to conquer he goes as a lover, to dream Through the quiet woodland ways of his shady forest stream For the vale has taken him prisoner, as a fair young bride might lay The peace of her life by a heart of strife and lead it in calm away. 'Tvvas near to the setting sun, and through his golden bars I could see the night and the coming light of the dim-seen evening stars ; And wide and still on plain and hill, with the last faint glimmer- ing light, The stillness came down, like a sable crown, on the starry brow of night. But the moon rose over the valley, and with it, as if in strife, The multitudinous sounds of the mighty forest life, The giant branches are swaying and whispering to and fro ; Millions of fireflies glittered through the tangled shade below ; The jackals were screaming afar, and the long lunyooa see, See how he heaves the trembling leaves as he s\vingeth from tree to tree ; "With a deeper sound between and I knew 'twas the tiger roared, As he paced his way to the spot where I lay by the moonlit banks of the ford. As he came through the shade of the winding glade, I could hear his deepening roar, Like the thunder that fills the echoing hills when the storm begins to lower. THE SHIKAREE. 25 Dark through the night was the rolling light of his eyes' dilated glow, And the moving stripes on his heaving trunk, and the mea- sured beat, and slow, Of his mighty tail, like a threshing flail, as he swept it to and fro. Now full in the light of the silver night on the crest of the bank he stood. Before him the moonlit stream and the ford, behind him the sheltering wood. And my hand was shaking awhile, as I laid my gun in aim "Was shaking still with the exquisite thrill that vibrated through my frame ; But I steadied it again in a moment, and just as he turned his head, The bullet flew with an aim so true that the lord of the jungle was dead. It entered behind the shoulder it tore its way to his heart And life and death met in the breath which joined them 110 more to part. I carried the skin to the village 'twas ten good feet and a span ; And the wonder grew for a boy, I slew the tiger which killed the man. Then I took to the hills of Malwa, with the hunter's flint and steel, And lived like an old shikaree by the hand which slew for a meal. But still on the hills at morn, and still at eve by the stream, My days were filled with a yearning and my nights were vexed with a dream ; D 26 THE SHIKAREE. And still, with the peace of my lot, my hunter's heart was at strife, And I pined for the far Himaulyas and the mightier mountain. life, Till the hope of this ceaseless longing was the one strong wish of my soul, And the yearning that filled my spirit grew stronger than control. And I left for the long, long journey, but long ere that journey was o'er My powder was gone, but I journeyed on and begged from door to door ; And ever as sunk the sun, and whether in plain or on hill, I saw in his light the hope that beckoned me onward still : And still to the ray of the fading day, when its glimmering lights depart, I prayed with the strength of a poor man's prayer for the one strong wish of my heart. Till at last 'twas a summer's evening ah me ! I remember well, The foot way lay through a narrow way and by many a winding dell; Not a yard across did it measure, but the length was stretching still, Like the winding wake of a water snake it wound through the heart of the hill. But the curtain of hills was lifted, and, like a sudden light, The waking truth of that long dream burst in upon my sight. Prom the spot where I stood, on the verge of the wood, I could carry my wondering eyes Range over range, till the infinite heights were lost in the mingling skies ; THE SHIKAREE. 27 And further and further they stretched, and ever fainter in hue, To the crystal dream of a fairy peak in the depths of the azure blue. 'Neath the shade of the brooding clouds the valleys were dark and bleak, But the evening lights were melting round every glowing peak ; From the valleys arose the murmur of many a hill cascade, And a horror of climbing woods that rustled in the shade ; Under the folded heavens the birds were wheeling low, The woods in the whispering breeze were swaying to and fro ; And still on the darkness below the sun-crowned hills looked down, As a wife might smile on. the sinoke of the pile that girdled her with its frown. Just Allah ! who spake by the Prophet, are these thy mountain walls ? Are these the glorious ramparts which gird thy azure halls ? Dost Thou sit, when the stars are clustered, and the midnight watching still In the night alone, on thy crystal throne, on the brow of the mighty hill, Though Thy feet are where the waters through the vale is flashing bright ? Around Thy brow is the wreath of snow which is gemmed by the starry night ; From Thy hands the lightnings are flashing, and on Thy breath rolls down The awful tone which is heard alone through the veil of thy thunder frown,. 28 THE SHIKAREE. But the bills with tlieir summits of glory their girdles of storm and shade Are the emblems of Him whom no storm can dim, to the creatures of clay He has made. And the mountains became my home, and 'tis thirty years ago Since last I saw the plains I had left, as they spread below me now, For, far in the heart of the lonelier hills, I had found a wild retreat, Where the waters that rushed from the melting snows were stayed in a vale at my feet "Were stayed for a while, us a heart might pause on the brink of some hardy act, And then rushed forward, to dash their strength in the mighty cataract Which is spanned by the trembling beams that hang o'er its waters like a bow, And leaps through its arch of mist and light a thousand feet below. And here, with the mountains around me by the side of that gliding stream, I lived the life which so oft had cheered the soul of my hunter's dream ; And across the wild Himaulyas I carried the hunter's war, In the track of the bounding gurrul on the trail of the dream- seen tliar And to higher and lonelier wastes where the ovis-anmon stands On the mighty and misty peaks above the far Thibetan lands. THE SHIKAREE. 29 And oft, when the night was lifting her veil of shadow and mist From the brow of those hills which the earliest morn with lips of light had kissed, I followed the sun on his journeying path till he sank to his golden rest, And glowed like a saphire of living light in the heart of the burning west. "When the sun has climbed the heavens, the day is throned in the hills, In the glittering sunshine that flings its light o'er a thousand sparkling rills ; Like silver the torrents are shining, as they foam and tumble away Down their rocky beds in a whirl of light and a mist of silver spray; And the highest summits above, and the deepest recesses below, Are revealed to the God of Day in the light of that glorious glow. He hath smiled e'en the clouds from their shadows, in fleecy silver they rest, [breast, Like babes in a summer-day slumber on their mother's glowing Till the shades of twilight descending, the soft light melteth away In a thousand mingling hues of purple, and blue, and grey : 'Tis the blood of the dying day has been shed on the ruby hills, And dyed the valley with crimson light, and stained the purpling rills. [move on ; The sun to the westward is sinking ; the creeping shadows The woods o'er the misty valleys are waving in tender gloom ; The valleys are buried in shadow, but the distant mountains rise In a sea of cold grey peaks to the darkening evening skies ; 30 THE SHIKAREE. The glittering star of eve hangs like a jewelled light Over the silvery brow of the giant and darkening height. And at night, when the star-sprinkled heavens and the light of the moon's soft beam Were shedding their gentle glory on meadow and hill and stream, By the gleaming waters I knelt, on the verdant and moonlit sod : For rny home in the hills I blessed Thee, our Grod our fathers' God. To-day I had come to the village ; the snows had driven me down : And 'tis two and thirty years well told since last I saw the town. And they laughed at my tattered garments they laughed at my hoary hair, And were I but twenty years younger they should laugh at my beard who dare. And because I begged from a bunya a handful of gram for a meal, I was seized as a thief by his dog of a peon who swore he saw me steal And dragged as a thief to kutcherry to hear the Saheb's decree. But the Saheb was kind to the old man, and his words were as music to me ; He told them to loosen my fetters he told them to let me depart. May the sunshine that rests on his house be locked in the rooms of his heart ! For I'm old and very lonely and 'tis sixty years ago Since first, at the foot of the Malwa hills, I laid the tiger low. THE TAJ MEHAL. I. HE Taj unvisited, to him had been The one reproach of many a wandering year ; The Taj beheld, became, as soon as seen, The recollection to his heart most near : And Fancy loves, and Memory holds thee dear, And to thy marble towers still fondly cling The lingering fancies and the painless tear That all remembered beauties ever bring The angels of our nobler life the hovering powera Of our most secret and most soul-felt hours. II. Thou Poet's dream, for ever fixed in stone Thou music breathed to such deep repose, That ere the winds could waft it as their own It trembled into peace, and thou arose, The Temple of Tranquillity, where flows, 'Midst echoing halls, the fountain of that peace "Which brings oblivion for all human woes, Rolling in waves of silence till they cease Thou home of those deep harmonies which dwell In the soul's inmost and most secret cell ! 32 THE TAJ MEHAL. III. And here reclined Apollo might have lain, And thou, from out thy maze of circling howers, Have risen, responsive to his lyre-drawn strain, In all thy marble majesty of towers, "Without the toil or weight of human hours, "Without a single throb of human pain, Still unbaptized in sad affliction's showers, And still unsullied by their deep heart stain- The birth of Poetry the heir of Song To live as beautiful and to last as long. IV. But thou wert raised to suffering, not song; Thousands have died to make thee what thou art, And all the sorrow of their life-bowed wrong Hath cast no shadow on thy marble heart. The emblem of their peace art thou a part Of that grand rest which crowned their humble toil "With those grave-shadowed memories which start To rob the tyrant of his trophied spoil, As if they claimed thee to attest alone The death of thousands for the life of one. V. And here Pygmalion's marble bride might find Her fittest, latest resting-place, and hero The fabled Princes in thy halls enshrined Might sleep in beauty till the fated year THE TAJ MEHAL. 33 Brought the light kiss , was betrothed in her infancy to her cousin, Count Alphonse of She was left an orphan at an early age, and grew up without having seen her intended husband, as the Count Alphonse was one of the Crusaders. The time approached when the marriage was to take place, and the Count wrote, announcing his return on a certain day. In the meantime, in his anxiety to see his betrothed, he disguised himself, and journeyed under a false name towards Italy. He passed through the little town of , called after one of Stella's country chateau, where she happened to be staying at the time. They met accidentally in the woods around the chateau and fell in love, but, apprehensive of the consequences, concealed their identity from each other. The consequences were fatal. They parted; the Count continued his journey to the castle, and arrived at midnight at Stella's chateau. He was shown to his chamber, and told that the Countess would see him in the morning. Stella was desperate in her despair. She crept to his bedside in the dark, and plunged a poniard in his heart. The body was thrown into the sea, but the tide washed it ashore. The morning showed her what she had done, and the story goes that she went mad, and died many years after, in a lunatic asylum, of hopeless melancholia. H me ! ah me ! the grasping wave Hath plucked him to a colder grave, And round him, in their restless flow, The midnight waters come and go. The moonless night is still ; And not a star the angels' eyes That watch us from the bending skies, But hid in clouds their vestal light, And fled to inner caves of night : And e'en the silver-floating moon Hath sunk that night, too soon, too soon, Behind the dusky hill. 38 STELLA j OR, THE They too can love, and, from the sky, They could not, could not, see him die ; But round him, on that sullen shore, Are winds that rave, and waves that roar, And now advancing, now retreating, The restless waters round him beating, Make never-ending moan. They shriek around his tossing head " He's dead, he's dead, my love is dead !" And, sighing through the watery halls, A voice of dying anguish calls Above the billowy roar : " We snatched him to a calmer sleep, In ocean caves beneath the deep He rests for evermore." The slumber of the peaceful tomb Is not the rest for such a doom ; The vaults that hold the honored slain Would freeze through every marble vein, And burst their iron bonds in twain, To cast his spirit up again ! And if, to form his narrow bed, Where rest the humbler, happier dead, The dust of centuries was spread, And piled in mountains on his head, That too would break in twain, and must Yield up, in wrath, his murdered dust. FATAL STRATAGEM. But now he finds a calmer grave Beneath the vast and wandering wave, And spirits of the mighty deep Are round him in his rolling sleep. They sing his restless sprite to rest, And lull him on their heaving breast ; For him their sad sea-murmurs swell Through many a lone dim- wreathed shell. His corpse, for evermore, they bear, Light-cradled in their floating hair, Till all be lost and all forgot, Except, perchance, that little spot, So small, the softly-creasing skin, "Would hide the speck its folds within, Through which flew out the dearest life, That ever rushed before the knife. " Ah me ! ah me ! it comes again, This heat and whirl about my brain ; And then, like distant waters seen, By moonlight, through a leafy screen, A fitful glimpse of what has been, The tower, the wood, the lonely hall, The clear cold moon above them all, The rippling silver on the lawn, The dewy meadows steeped in dawn, 40 STELLA; OR, THE The lake beside his trusting rest, In whose deep, calm, untroubled breast The trembling landscape lies. And softened through the misty gleam Of glancing wave and wavering beam, The mirror'd woods and hills might seem The vision of some fairy dream, The Bowers of Paradise. And save that still, from time to time, The bell breaks in with heavy chime, All, all is hushed and still. The solemn chapel bell that tolls A requiem for departing souls, Or when the light wave bluely rolls Against the wooded hill. " One calls it love ; the heart's deep shame Is best, is best, without a name ; They only love to whom is given To live and love before high heaven. Their love, like early flowers of May, Are open to the opening day, And draw through tears the gentle power, The light that smiles them into flower. The tears of love that does not part, Are dews of God upon the heart. But oh ! that love has darker fate That lives in God's eternal hate ! FA TAL STRA TA GEM. 41 It is as if the flower that grew In sunny skies, and fair to view, The favor'd of the smiling sky, And Heaven's all-seen approving eye, Were rashly plucked within the bud, And planted in a soil of blood. It is as if the heavenly lyre Of happy love and just desire, The lyre whose notes should never be Drawn forth except in harmony, Were seized by ruthless hands that fling Their woe through every jarring string, To make the foul discords that flow, The tangled melodies of woe, From guilt and guilty love below. " A madness of the heart and brain, A joy that trembles into pain Ah me ! what words can e'er express The young heart's opening tenderness ? That love so blind, nor deem it wrong, That love so gentle, yet so strong, That love so touching in its truth, The first young hallowed dream of youth ; The touch, in our degraded race, Of that grand old primeval grace, The last remaining lingering trace 42 STELLA; OR, THE Of pure, unfallen man ; Ere yet the weeping angel took His trembling pen and oped the book, And dropped a tear, as entering in, The first foul blotting, damning sin, His mournful task began. " For love is like the torrent's force, And sinks or spreads as falls its course ; The source unstained, and still they say It springs in gladness into day. But as the spreading waters gleam, It gathers in its deepening stream The headlong rage, that strives in vain To wrestle with the sounding main ; And brings a thousand hates and fears, A thousand tributary tears, To swell its boundless shore within, The boundless sea of human sin. " Ah me ! ah me ! if G-od can move The yearnings of a guiltless love, And stir, as angel wings have stirred, The pool, when pleading faith was heard! T' wards His great throne for ever roll Those waters of the flowing soul, FATAL STRATAGEM. 43 And still, whate'er its after-fate, 'Tis love before it lives to hate. It takes its hue from those that love them, As streams reflect the skies above them, In good or ill, in weal or woe, The fount is pure where'er they flow. " Ah me ! ah me ! it comes again, It falls in woe, and swells in pain, And working with the working brain, It lives within my troubled ear, The echo of a living fear, As murmurs of the ocean swell For ever through the hollow shell. o " All still, all dark, I see him now, A darkness on his sleeping brow ; A glimmer of the rising moon, That played too fast and died too soon, Stole up, as creeping fingers steal, And quivered on the trembling steel ; It sank, as soon as rose, and then, All, all was dark and still again. I heard for ah ! the throbbing brain Was sharpened in its sense of pain The distant sounds of night that flow From out the leafy gloom below, 44 STELLA; OR, THE The ceaseless whirr in bower and hall, The distant torrent's lulling fall, So sweet, so sadly musical, I heard for months, (it seemed like years, Since last I knew the bliss of tears). But now a gentle feeling stole Across the torture of my soul, And o'er my spirit gently creep The griefs which have the power to weep. It passed, and to the bed I crept ; My sobs might wake him if I wept ; My hand upon his heart I laid, And raised on high the gleaming blade. He sighed and murmured through his rest, As neared the dagger to his breast, A woman's name he murmured o'er, And then he slept to wake no more ! " O love 'tis death ! I know it now, His dewy hand is on my brow ! Ah ! round my neck thine arms entwine, And lay thy fervid cheek on mine, For ah ! my strength is ebbing fast, And we must part, at last, at last ! Nor pain I reck, nor death I fear ; But Heaven ! to die and leave thee here ! FA TA L STRA TA GEM. 45 To leave tliee! in the thought alone Is torture more than Hell could own. Nor could the joys of Heaven give One wish to die if I could live For her ! the wretch whose craven fear And cursed steel hath laid me here ! Oh! if the dead can ever come From their dark prison in the tomb, I swear, in this my dying pain, We'll meet again, we'll meet again ! "We'll meet again, and ever yet ; The sound and tread of phantom feet, That come and go with ghoytly fall, Shall echo in thy lonely hall, And whispered word and stifled sigh, And distant sounds of agony, And sudden shriek, and closing door, Through hall and lonely corridor, Shall vex thee ever, evermore." THE ORPHAN BOY'S CHRISTMAS EVE. HE blinds were up, and through the blazing panes He saw the dancers moving heard the strains Of dulcet music, and the measured beat, On the rich carpet, of the dancers' feet. Confused it seemed, yet bright a waving sea Of light and love and sweetest melody. Once more the music swelled a livelier strain Thrilled through the pulses of his wondering brain, An ampler lustre filled the gorgeous rooms. And hark ! what merry throng is this that cornea With mirth and joy and laughter-ringing glee ? A group of children round a Christmas tree. And little feet are guided by aged hands To where the monarch of the evening stands The glistening holly tree, whose boughs are spread To shower its blessings on each tiny head : And busy hands and happy hearts are there, And laughter ringing through the frosty air. 'Twas a bright vision with his eyes upraised He leaned his head against the bars and gazed ; THE ORPHAN BOY'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 47 And as he gazed, the lonely orphan boy Felt a strange thrill of unaccustomed joy. He too was happy on his pallid cheek The strange light of a smile was flickering weak ; His heart, for one short moment even blessed, Beat with a livelier motion in his breast. But strange and sudden darkness fell between His gazing eyes and all that fairy scene ; The blind that fell between him and the light Hid all its wondrous glory from his sight, And he was out in the cold winter night ; Even still a moment to his eyes it shone, And then the night was round him and 'twas gone 'Twas gone, and now he must no longer stay. But ah ! he could not tear himself away ; And gazing still, he sank him slowly down, And laid his cheek against the cold, wet stone. The snow was falling, through the tranquil night The flakes descended noiseless, soft and white ; And o'er the wide expanse of glistening snow The moonbeams spread a dull and cheerless glow; And far above the twinkling stars looked down With a cold glitter on the sleeping town : And stillness reigned on all, for Nature then "Was hushed and silent through her wide domain. 48 THE ORPHAN BOTS CHRISTMAS EVE. On such a night He came, when " midnight still Watched on the holy towers of Zion's hill." He tried to pray, but on his frozen tongue The soundless sorrows of his heart were dumb, Till memory charmed from out his o'er-wrought brain The tears that are the happiness of pain. " Can this be death ? If so, I should not weep. " These icy chills that o'er my senses creep, " Can this be death ? And must I die alone " In this cold night, and on this freezing stone ? " No pitying ear to hear my parting sighs " No friendly hand to close my dying eyes ?" He ceased, and was he dreaming did he hear A voice that answered, " Little one, I'm here ? " Thy prayer is heard, and thy release is nigh, " I came to bring thee to thy home on high." Slowly he turned, for with that sound there came An awe and trembling over all his frame, And in the solemn night he dimly felt Some presence bending o'er him as he knelt. Nearer it came a gentle hand was laid In prayer and blessing on his fallen head, And in the clear depths of that holy awe All that was round him in that hour he saw THE ORPHAN SOY'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 49 The bleeding feet, the head with grief bowed down, The purple robe and thorn-platted crown. But when, as stars might shine that left the skies, He met the low light of those bending eyes, Then, deep and tranquil, o'er all his soul A holy joy of calmest feeling stole ; To that one word his lifted spirit rushed, " Jesus" and all again was still and hushed. " Not for the proud I came, or in their name ; " For thee, and such as thou, the Saviour cauie " For thee and all who seek my bright abode, " Along the thorny, not the flow'ry road ; " And thus, even thus, upon that awful day " I came to meet them fainting on the way, " To bear their cross to give their spirits rest, " And take them weary to the Saviour's breast." One cry he gave, then stretched his little hands As if to grasp the vision where it stands, Fixed on that face his last dim dying gaze, And moved his trembling lips to speechless praise. And as some shipwrecked mariner who tries To keep the beacon still before his eyes That sends across the tempest and the night Its beam of hope and wavering path of light, a 50 THE ORPHAN BOY'S CHRISTMAS EVE. So when the mists of death begin to roll In storm and darkness round the Christian soul, Above the darkness of the closing years The beacon light of living faith appears, Shines for the Christian's steps, where'er they roam, Along the path that leads the wanderer home. Advancing steps a sullen measured tread A sudden hand upon the lifeless head ; A flashing light into the still closed eyes ; A passing shock of pity and surprise ; A soft " God help us ! here's a pretty go ! " A beggar boy has perished in the snow /" Is there no moral to this little tale ? The verse is idle when its lessons fail This day of man's deliverance from sin, When all is bleak without and bright within ; When the low winds that roam about the moor Seemed burdened with the sorrows of the homeless poor 'Midst all the smiles that deck our Christmas cheer, Oh, keep one moment sacred to the tear Which sweet Compassion steals from festive pride For those to whom its blessings are denied : The widow mourning, with the blinding tear, The coming day and the returning year ; THE ORPHAN BOY'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 61 The father bending o'er his Christmas fare To hide the tear that weeps the vacant chair ; The generous heart by poverty depressed, And all who are forsaken and oppressed, And so receive, unmixed with all alloy, The calmer pleasure and the purer joy, "Which weeps, but bows to kiss the chastening rod, And gives the hours to gladness, and to God. THERMOPYLAE. 'HE King hath sent the message forth, To summon all his host From Indus on the borders, To Sardis on the coast j From those dim northern wastes that lie In everlasting snows, To where, through Afric's desert depths, The unending river flows. II. And sealed his anger with an oath, The awful monarch hath " Let Greece prepare, at last, to dare The lion in his wrath. The word goes forth with sword and fire, That bids a nation cease, And pours the sea of Persia's ire Across the plains of Greece. THERMOPYLAE. 53 III. " Let all be joined in that great host, Till Persia's martial tread Shall wake the wonder of the Gods, And the slumbers of the dead. And when the pass from shore to shore, Across the marrow strait, 'Twill bear my legions like a bridge, And groan beneath their weight." IY. They came from north they came from south, From east and west they came ; From Scythian wastes, and Afric's plains, The desert land of flame. The land joined all its myriad streams To form that mighty host, From Indus on the borders, To Sardis on the coast. V. But when they reached the narrow seas, And threw the passage o'er, The element, that owns no king, Was wrath from shore to shore. The waves grew white, a groan was heard From out the troubled deep ; At last he raised his awful head, Like a giant from his sleep. 54 THERMOPYLAE. VI. " And who be ye, O king ! would dare To fetter with a chain The countless years of time that own My old primeval reign ? Away ! this buzzing sound ye make Hath vexed my watery rest," He said, and, with a single shake, He heaved them from his breast. VII. They saw and feared ; but when the king, Slow-sinking through the deep, Hath sought the twilight caves that hold The breathings of his sleep, They joined the bridge-of-boats again, And threw it softly o'er, And so the might of Persia passed Across from shore to shore. VIII. They passed and Freedom, from her throne Above the rocky height, Looked down in grief on that great march, And veiled her from the sight. She wept her tears, beside their path, Bedewed each drooping leaf; The lightning flashed the Goddess' wrath, And thunder spoke her grief. THERMOPYLAE. 55 IX. Till where, as some proud rock that lifts Its forehead from the sea, The hills that mingle with the clouds, Frown o'er Thermopylae. The Spartans stood, at twilight's hour, Three hundred in a ring, And in their midst, the patriots' tower Leonidas, the king. X. Then spake the King Leonidas : " Now, Spartans, for the strife That gives us to eternal death, Or to immortal life ; That wipes, from Sparta's page, the name Of each degenerate son, Or sends the echoes of our fame For ever rolling on. XI. " And by your fathers' glory, And by your mothers' pride, And by those last embraces That sent you from their side. And by the honored dust that heaves Above your fathers' graves, Strike for the cause of Freedom now, Or be for ever slaves. 56 THERMOPYLAE. XII. " Stand as the rocks on Adrian's shore, When Auster heaves the main, Stand as the oaks, when winter's roar Flies down the whistling grain ; Stand as the tower of other days, "When winter's blast is nigh, That lifts its hoary front to meet The fury of the sky. XIII. "We cannot die : the freeman's heart That stills within the strife, Wins from the pang, that bids it cease, An everlasting life. The blood that's shed in Freedom's name, And Freedom's cause sublime, Runs out to quicken Freedom's stream Through all the years of time. XIY. " They'll talk of us through all the years, And ages yet to come, "When honor fails to tell our tale, Renown itself is dumb. In summer fields, by winter's fire, "While lives the patriot's glory, The lisping babe, the hoary sire, "Will linger on our story. THERM OP YL^E. 57 XV. " And wlien the day is ended, And when at twilight's close, Around the board of festal cheer The brimming goblet goes, One cup to every Spartan lip, Sire, mother, wife, and son Shall circled be, to the memory Of the deed that we have done." XVI. He ceased, and from that hollow ring A hollow deepening roar, Like tides of midnight when they fling Their wrath upon the shore, All faint and distant, till the seas Have gathered in their might, And roll their voices on the breeze, And through the halls of night. XVII. " They turn ! they fly !" the monarch sprang Prom off" his shining throne " Now, by the fires that burn for us, The Braves are overthrowns ; My kingdom for a single hand To stay the dastard flight." He drew his robe about his face, And veiled him. from the sight. H 58 THERMOPYLAE. XVIII. But not another hand was raised To guard a Persian head ; The spears that strewed the darkening plain But marked the Persian dead. And in the Pass, all, all, is peace, That tomb, so dark and gory, But held three hundred sons of Greece, And Persia's buried glory. C ARACTACUS. 'IS hands were chained his head was bowed, His swarthy limbs were bound. At last he raised his haughty head, And calmly looked around ; And calmly, with unshrinking eye, That wondrous scene surveyed The massive squares the chariots light, The lines of spears and banners bright Where Eome's proud empire crowned the height, And proudly stood arrayed, II. The Monarch spoke : " Proud Briton, see- Behold them where they stand All these proud hosts belong to me, And wait at my command ; I need but speak one little word, And all that mighty host Pours forth a sea of living wrath Upon thy British coast." 60 CARACTACUS. III. Then answer made Caractacus "And if these hosts are thine, If this vast power belongs to thee, Why hast thou envied mine ? Why hast thou sent with sword and brand To fill my home with strife ? Why tear me from my native laud, From children and from wife?" IV. And still in wrath the king replied " Have I not said to thee Our flag must wave on every" shore, Must spread o'er every sea ? And you who in that isle, O king ! Our Roman power withstood, Shall hear your vales with slaughter ring And see your streams run blood." V. The victor ceased the chieftain mused, And scarce suppressed a start, For with the words the Monarch spoke A pang shot through his heart. He saw the fields of blood and strife, He saw the invading horde, He saw his little babes and wife Beneath the Eonian sword. CARACTACUS. 61 VI. He heard the widowed mother's sigh, He heard the orphan's wail, He saw the steam of slaughter rise Aud taint the fainting gale, And woods, all red with battle light, "Were flashing far and near ; He raised his fettered hand to hide The bitter, burning tear. VII. It passed and with it passed the cloud That darkened o'er his brow ; Another brighter vision rose Before the chieftain now. Plashed through his tears his kindling ire, And from his swelling breast The words of patriot pride and fire Came rushing thick and fast. VIII. 11 Put forth thy might send all thy hosts, Do all thy tyrant worst, And cast upon our island shore Thy Roman hordes accursed. I have seen thy boasted legions, king, In flight across the plain, And that which we have done before We yet can do again. 62 CARACTACUS. IX. " And mark, when all tby power hath passed, And all this proud array, "When thou and thine have lain in dust Long ages from this day, That isle, that little isle, king ! That springs from out the sea, Shall be the gem in Freedom's crown, And home of Liberty. X. " Those glad free waves that beat about Her infant ocean rest, Shall nurse the babe of Freedom on Its mother's heaving breast ; And while those free waves folding round Brimful of blessings smile, At heart she'll hold her calm, and crowned Our little mother isle. XL " Her fame shall reach to every shore, And every wind that blows Shall waft her navies o'er the deep, The terror of her foes ; And still, where'er they be the while, A Briton's boast shall be I am a son of that free isle That springs from out the sea. CARACTACUS. 63 XII. 11 And homeless men from every clime, Of every hue and race, Shall make, through all the years of time, That isle their dwelling-place ; And when they lift their hearts in prayer To Him who made them free, Shall breathe that blessing with the air That gives them liberty." XIII. The king was moved. " Undo his chains, Oh ! let the warrior go ; Give me thy hand, Caractacus, Thou art a noble foe. Brave chief, for thee our clemency Shall spare thy island home ; And twined now our power shall grow For Britain and for Koine- " THE EBBING TIDE. ELL, call it a sick man's fancy, or a shape from those twilight shadows That fill the mind of fever in the chambers of the brain ; But to-day I dreamed that my life would go out with the ebbing waters, And to-night, as I lay in a doze, I dreamed that dream again. For a while I thought that my soul had left me here in the chamber, And the death watch ticked in the silence for the heart that ceased to beat ; And through the window I passed to the verge of the mighty ocean, Where the wrinkled moonlit tides came moaning to my feet. And I thought that my spirit was strong while the waters still were flowing Strong with the strength of their rage, and a stormy boisterous glee; But when they ebbed from the land, I felt it going, going, And the moan of retreating waves was the dirge of death for me. THE EBBING TIDE. 65 I heard of it oft as a boy. 'Tis strange that a fable of childhood Should have power to enter and shake the strong-grown heart of a man ; But if I die, when the tide is ebbing under the moonlight, Remember the words I have spoken, and account for it as you can. I was dreaming again a pleasant dream. I thought we were back in our chambers, Eeadiug once more by the ruddy blaze, as we entered, soul to soul, The fairy regions of Fancy, and shaped the years before us Prom the soft contemplative wreaths as they rose from the glowing bowl. Dear friend, you said 'twas a dream a passion of youth to vanish "When time and the larger views of men and life should be nigh ; And now I am dying, yet now not even death can banish That voice from my dying ear, or that face from my glazing eye. She comes in a thousand shapes, but always in those two phases, "Which the love I have won and lost has branded deeper than all ; The pale cheek pressed against mine while the stars were shining above us, And the lip of her laughing scorn 'neath the lamp in the crowded hall. 66 THE EBBING TIDE. 1 battled against it all. I turned my face to the morrow ; I drove the care from my lip, and forbad the tear to start. But ah ! how oft have I prayed, through the sleepless hours of my sorrow, [my heart ! For tears to quench the grief that was wasting and breaking For what was ambition then what was the hope which bound me ? I wished to win and be great, for love is the soul of endeavour ; And when the hope fell from me, 'twas nothing but darkness around me The light of my life went out with the love I had lost for ever. I have written some foolish books ; oh ! take them and hide them for ever From the eyes of the world, but not from your own ; for, best and dearest friend, [together, I would live to thee in the thoughts we so oft have thought And still have a place in that love which can outlive the end. And books are the best companions the truest consolations The companions that never grow tedious, the friends that never grow cold ; " They make us the heirs of all time, the denizens of all nations," The pupils of the lesson which the mighty Past hath told. Yes, if 'tis rapture to read what the wealth of genius has given, To be the wonder and praise of all succeeding ages. Oh ! for the mind in that hour when it steals in thought from Heaven, The vision that shines on the soul,and flows in a dream to the pages! THE EBBING TIDE. 67 Nearer, a little nearer your voice seems to faint in the distance ; And let ine, through the darkness, feel the grip of your strong right hand, And do not ask me to speak, or speak yourselves, but leave me, Calm and strong and still, till the tide has ebbed from the land. Hark ! 'tis the stroke of twelve : the tide has ceased its flowiug. It trembles in stillness awhile, under the pale moonlight ; And now it begins to ebb. George, I am going, going, Going out with the tide to the boundless sea of night. IN FORMA PAUPERIS. (Written during the great drought of 1869 in the North- West Provinces of India.) , are these Thy judgments ou Thy people ? Is this Thy scourging rod ? That Thou shouldst keep the waters from the land The Lord our God ! II. That they, the poor and desolate, forsaken, Should cry in vain, " Lord of the Harvest, hear our supplication, Send us Thy rain!" III. Nor they shall pray, nor they shall weep, thy anger (The rich in state) On whom, as through one season of rich plenty, Thy bounties wait. IV. But they, the poor, to whom their Father giveth From His own hand That bread of life by which the poor man liveth From land to land ; IN FORMA PA UPERIS. 69 V. For whom, when all the land around him burns, All hope is gone ; "Who in all seasons of his sorrow turns To Thee alone ; YI. On whom the sun doth shine as thine own blessing, The rains that fall Are sent as tears of that divine compassion That weeps for all. VII. By the hearts bowed in this their great affliction, By their deep pain, And the long anguish of their yearning patience, Send us Thy rain. VIII. By the low cry for ever round them swelling, The drear refrain Of foodless anguish in the poor man's dwelling, Send us Thy rain. IX. Avert, O Lord ! Thy anger from the nation, Suspend Thy rod, And hear Thy people in their supplication The Lord our Grod. IXION. SPARK, a little spark, or scarce so much A hair of finest, faintest, trembling light In all the wide, immeasurable void ; One spot of central calm, one little spot, To still the wasting fury of my heart The deep remembrance of that far-off time. Unquenched, unquenchable, it faints or glows, As falls, in lighter or in deeper gloom, The crowning funeral darkness of my fate. Transfixed for ever on this rolling wheel "With agonies intolerable deep, Like those dim stars by day unseen, unknown, "Which the all-radiant and insatiate day Drinks in through all his universal blue, But, for the poor explorer of the Earth, Shines on the up-turned eye of Hope alone, To cheer his dark and perilous descent. Ah me ! that hour unmatchable, supreme ! From cloud to cloud we won our upward way. IX ION. 71 Not as a G-oddess didst tliou then appear, But as the fairest of thy mortal sex, Or likest them, the glowing island maids Of thine own favored and imperial Greece : Thy loose hair playing with the wanton wind, Thy light robe bared, to half reveal, half hide, The snowy circles of thy swelling breast ; The golden zone about thy waist the rest All free, disclosing, as thou mov'dst in light, The gleamy shadowy beauties of thy form. The amorous wind played round, delaying, And sank in sighs to faint about thy feet ; The clouds spread ronud us to receive thus in, Till through the blue empyrean we saw The awful portals on the Mount of Jove, Cloud-capped, with lightning round the gleaming dome ; And beheld the marble steps descending, Till they sank down through the cerulean depths Of that bright stream the crystal azure wave That flows untainted from the courts of God. All else is darkness a disordered dream Till that lone meeting by the silent lake, Far from the starry courts upon the Mount. The madness of my fevered heart, and thee, Pale, drooped upon my burning breast in tears ; Thy starry eyes suffused in liquid love. 72 IXION. And then the rolling cloud that came anon, And that dread voice within it which denounced His awful judgment on our mutual sin ! For thee immortal, unplacable still The light of his great love withdrawn, thy place Of shame in silence at his awful feet ! For me, led to the battlements condemned Bound to this rolling wheel, and hurled thence, To fall for ever through eternal space. A voice has wandered by me, and it sighs : " Peace to thee, Ixion, nor believe me changed. " We that outlive the days of man, are formed " For this beside, to still outlive his love " Immortal through all change. If that my tears, " Still shed for thee from morn till eve, and then " From eve till morn and returning day, " Could aught avail for thee and thy sad fate, '' Then wouldst thou be released oh ! then restored " To these high courts and Jove's imperial grace. " But who can change Jove's high and dread decree? " Oh ! Ixion, Ixion, peace to thee ! " Peace to thee, Ixion ! Oh ! fare thee well !" It faints, it dies, it sighs itself to rest, And iny deep heart re-echoes, " Peace, ah peace !" IN MEMORIAM. HT grave is made in a quiet spot Of thy last low quiet home, Where the steps of the stranger wander not, Or idle gazers come ; In a dell, remote from the upland path, Where footsteps come and go, And grasses, green in the summer wind, Are waving to and fro. II. Where the willow weeps its leaves above, And the sailing clouds, as they pass, Chase their phantom shades through the silent hours Over the waving grass ; Where the air is faint with the stillness it holds, And all things seem to breathe In the gentle spirit of him who sleeps His dreamless sleep beneath. 74 IN MEMORIAL. III. There have been tears, bright boy, for thee, A mother's weary sighs, O'er the lonely grave in a distant land, Where her coffined dear one lies. A father's grey head drooped in grief, Fond sister's gentle weeping, Hand clasped in hand, heart hushed on heart, O'er the grave where their boy lies sleeping. IV. 'Twas hard to see thee, little friend, Grow weaker day by day, To see thee fail from out thy strength And slowly fade away ; To see the little hand grow thin And the bright blue eye grew dim, Till the struggling spirit found release And fluttered up to Him. V. " They sleep not as the Heathens sleep," They sleep to wake again ; This link drawn off, but nearer draws To God the living chain. And Christian hope outlives the end ; We bow, we kiss the rod, And so resign thee, little friend, To thy young sleep in God. IN MEM OR-! AM. FATHER PROUT. ^ IS vigil keeping, JE I A fay sat weeping K' In the fairy circle on the lone hill side, While the mists are creeping, And the stars are sleeping, On the tranquil water of the gleaming tide. The lamentation, With reverberation, The echoing mountains the wail prolong, Now dying, dying, The gale is sighing, The plaintive measure of the fairy song. II. f< Sad and slowly, Deep and holy, In the proud affliction which no tear must stain, In grief they bore him, Where the temple o'er him Was the hallowed urn of a nation's fame ; 76 IN ME MORI AM. Where the dust around him "Was the shroud that wound him Memory's mantle for the Poet's name ; And the solemn pealing Of the anthem, stealing Through dim recesses of the grand old fane, AVould soothe his slumbers "With the magic numbers Of the sacred spirit at whose call he came. III. " Ah ! yes, 'twill save him The tomb you gave him, ' Midst the deathless memories where his bones are laid ; But ah ! 'twere dearer To have laid him nearer To the fairy scenes where his childhood strayed By fountains gushing, By rivers rushing, By the waving meadows on the lone hill side, "Where the Poet wandered, And musing pondered, In the dreamy visions of a Poet's pride. IV. " Nor art could mould him, Nor man had told him The magic secret of his fairy lyre, FATHER PROUT. 77 The Vital spirit He did inherit, And lit his torch at nature's sacred fire. Her spirit brought him The truths she taught him, In the rushing river and the whispering breeze, And through him rolling His inmost soul in, He felt the music of her melodies. V. " From Her he came, And Her's his fame, And Her's the privilege his bones to keep. Oh ! let him rest Upon the green hill's breast, "Where she can pour her spirit round his sleep ; "Where mists are creeping, And stars are sleeping, On the tranquil bosom of the gleaming tide, And fays are weeping, Their vigil keeping, In the fairy circle on the lone hill side. LOST IN THE BUSH. T the side of fallen aguas tree The fainting traveller lay, Lost in the depths of the boundless bush, In the burning heat of day, And the sun in its mid-day blaze and strength Shed fierce and scorching ray. II. He heard the screaming jackal cry, And the " whip poor will's" low coo, And the dingo's bark, and the daysure's howl, And the wood bird's dull "tu whoo," And the sullen plunge in the distant bush Of the leaping kangaroo. Ill Then the sounds grew faint, and murmuring lulled Now he was a child again In the summer woods, and through the trees Fell the gentle summer rain ; But it fell in drops of molten fire, And smote into his brain. LOST IN THE BUSH. 79 IV. He stood by his native river now, By the brimming water's brink, 'Neath the leafy shade of a hazel bough He stooped him down to drink : But the branches shrivelled away in fire, And the waters seemed to shrink. y. Then a sigh broke from his burning lips, As he heard sweet voices call, In the vision that brightened his slumber now, A dream that was dearer than all ; For she wept on his breast, whom he loved the best, And he stood in his father's hall. VI. Her tears fell fast on his trembling hand. " Oh ! love, you are faint and weak ; Oh ! lay your throbbing head on this breast," He strove but could not speak. The sleeper sighed, and the tears of his dream Were trickling down his cheek. VII. " But why should we weep, you're come at last, We shall never, never part." " Ah ! never," he cried ; but she sprang from his side, And the dreamer woke with a start ! Now the foul hya3na has lapped his blood, And the vulture tore his heart. DIED AT SEA. SILENT, lonely man amidst us all, Watching, waiting, weary for the call, "With just one hope could win him From those dying thoughts within him The shadow of the hand upon the wall. II. Twenty years of lonely exile had he borne, Looking forward, hoping ever for the morn When the white cliffs gleaming o'er him, And the green fields spread before him, He should stand upon that deck not forlorn. III. Ah ! the welcome that awaited his return ! Ah ! the hearts to which that dying heart did yearn ! Ah ! the hands that stretched to greet him ! Ah ! the love that ran to meet him ! Hide, mourner, hide the tears that burn. DIED AT SEA. 81 IV. By the vessel's gliding bulwark he would stand, His drooping head still resting on his hand, "With a gaze that still looked back To the foam upon our track, To feel that he drew nearer to the land. V. All in vain ; though night and day The good vessel speeds her way To that happy English home which lies before, As the hope grows dear and dearer, He is drawing near and nearer To a land that lies between him and that shore. VI. See its shadow settling darkly on his soul, See its mists about his spirit how they roll, See its dark cliffs looming o'er him, See its dark seas spread before him, Hear the bells upon its dim shores how they toll ! VII. Stay the good ship for a moment on her way, 'Tis not long that they must wait for us who stay ; "We can spare him from our life (Though they wait both child and wife) Just a moment he'll be waited for alway. 82 DIED AT SEA. VIII. We have time, with all our hurry, e'en to weep As we give this " our dear brother" to the deep- May the waves that beat about him, And the hearts that break without him, Join their "requiescat in pace" o'er his sleep ! UNDINE. HE low wind whispered to the wave, Undine ! The stream sent back the sigh it gave ; The rippling waters pause to lave The grasses o'er thy gliding grave, And winds and waters seem to rave, Undine ! II. The stars are dim upon that stream, Undine ! Dim with the tears that quenched their gleam, Undine ! The sun hath thrown its softest beam, The nodding lilies droop and dream, And all things there to weep doth seem, Undine ! III. Not thus when you arose in light, Undine ! The happy stars above were bright, Undine ! 84 UNDINE. The spirit of that summer night, In wave and wood, from vale and height, Poured round thee all its deep delight, Undine ! IV. You came from out the gleaming tide, Undine ! You did not walk you seemed to glide, Undine ! At first you smiled, but then you sighed You nestled closely to my side You were my own, my love, my bride, Undine ! y. The happy years went lightly by, Undine ! The happy summers left the sky, Undine ! The joy of joy that knew no sigh The love of love that could not die Such was the love of you and I, Undine ! YI. A voice that called you while I slept, Undine ! And you your lonely vigil kept, Undine ! UNDINE. 85 A shade that to thy side hath stepped ; A hand that o'er our joy hath crept ; You shuddered, and at last you wept, Undine ! VII. A hand that beckoned, thin and white, Undine ! A whispered sound of deep affright, Undine ! A shrieked farewell ! a last good night ! From out the storm three flashes bright, And you were gone from out my sight, Undine ! VIII. And by that bank I'm sitting now, Undine ! With heavy hand upon my brow, Undine ! The skies are bright the grasses grow ; The woods are green the waters flow ; All things are here but where art thou, Undine ? FREEDOM TO GARIBALDI. (After the Battle of Mentana.) H ! behold where my bauner is lying On the field where thy remnant of slain Hath gathered around thee in dying To raise it and wave it again. Let it lie with the hopes I have cherished, Since death is not all that remains ; Let it perish with those that have perished, Nor wave o'er thy chains. II. " I have sat on the heights while the Ages Have rolled on their measureless way, I have waited and watched, for the sages Had told me the hour and the day ; Nor wept while my children were weeping ; My dim eye looked dry on their pains ; Oh ! bitter the tears I was keeping To pour on thy chains. FREEDOM TO GARIBALDI. 87 III. " Had the ball of the foemen but found thee On the field where thy comrades are laid, And their dust, as a mantle around thee, The shroud of my hero had made, Then death I had loved as you kissed her, And tears, though I wept, were not pain. But ah ! how they burn and blister To fall on thy chain ! IV. " For thou wert my latest, my chosen, My bravest, my purest, my best ; Whole ages of heroes before thee "Were met in thy hand and thy breast j Thy voice as a trumpet was shaking The temple where tyrants adored, And the smile of thy Italy waking, Was as light on thy sword. V. " And still, while thou livest, thy story Shall be as the light on the hill That crowns thy Caprera with glory, And shines for the mariner still A hope from the wreck of their slaughters, When the sun of our freedom hath set, And a star on the face of the waters, To lead us to liberty vet." ORPHEUS. HEN Orpheus sung, the winds were hushed, And bowed the listening trees, The stones were charmed, the rivers rushed In murmurs to the seas ; All nature paused to hear his song, And trembled into peace. II. The birds were mute, and wild things stood Beside the forest streams ; Nor sunk the sun, but mellowing glowed Above a land of dreams, And flung o'er hill and stream and wood His still unwavering beams. III. The buds their closing leaves re-ope ; The drop upon the spray From the dewed leaf suspended hung, Nor fell to earth till that sweet song Closed in a breath, and trembling long, Died echoing away. DIES VIT.E. I. AWN on a silver shore And beside a glimmering sea, "With the dawn of a hope that was more Than my tongue could utter to thee, And a morning light in the love that blushed From thy young life to me. II. Day on a golden shore And beside a golden sea, With a passionate strength in the words that bore My passionate heart to thee, And a silence that fell with the setting sun Which was more than words to me. 90 DIES VITsE. III. Eve on a desolate shore And beside a darkening sea, With trembling tears to the far off years "Which have gone with thy babe and thee, With the little hand from the barren strand Which was all in all to me. IV. Niglit on a silent shore And beside a silent sea, With a grief at my heart that was more Than rny heart could bear without thee, And dim star eyes in those pitying skies That seem to be weeping with me. SHE NEVER TOLD HER LOVE." The Duke. " What's her history ?" Viola. " Ah ! my Lord, she never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek." Twelfth Night. E came at morn to drive tlie plough, He left when shadows broad Closed dimly round the old farm-house That stood beside the road. He left, and she nor sighed nor wept ; As droops the weary dove, She drooped within her darkening room, And never told her love. II. He spake a kind and gentle word, And with such blessed power Fall dews of night from summer skies Upon the withered flower. 92 "SHE NEVER TOLD HER LOVE." His brow grew dark her spirit stilled, As stills the summer grove Below the folded thunder-cloud. She never told Jier love. III. His horse and dogs were precious things Her heart had learned to prize ; The flowers he touched, the walks he trod, "Were sacred in her eyes. One night he kissed her sleeping brow, And, while he bent above, In blissful dreams she murmured low, But never told her love. IV. She saw him gay amidst the gay, And she was gayest then ; She saw him sad that timid heart Was bowed in secret pain. She saw two forms kneel side by side, And one who prayed above, And then, with breaking heart, she died, But never told her love. THE HAPPY DEAD. (Written in a Hill Graveyard.) I. HE happy dead are rested "Where the weeping April poura In a cup of golden valleys All her sunshine and her showers; With the mountains to caress them, And the tender blue o'erhead Of the skies that bend to bless them Oh ! ye happy, happy dead ! II. Comes a murmur from the valleys That will mingle with their rest, Comes the verdure to their Mother Earth Where she caught them to her breast Comes in sun and shower and shadow, All the smiles and tears she laid, Like the prayers of many blessings On her happy, happy dead. 94 THE HAPPY DEAD. III. Fold them closer, Mother Nature, Lest a whisper of the strife From out the years should reach them Of the tumult of their life ; Lest the cares which sleep for ever With every dreamless head Should vex them in their slumber Oh ! ye happy, happy dead ! IV. Fold them closer hold them nearer, Lest they rise to see us weep From that grand and universal Brotherhood of sleep ; From the gulfs of peace and silence, In the darkness thou hast made Round thy footsteps in the valley Oh ! ye happy, happy dead ! V. They are joined who were divided ; They were many they are one ; To this shoreless sea of silence All these babbling streams have run. From their very dust, united, Comes the grass in every blade That waves above their common rest Oh ! ye happy, happy dead ! THE HAPPY DEAD. 95 VI. For the dead is no to-morrow Which to-day has still to bear, And the eye can draw no sorrow From the heart that has no tear. And love may dwell in silence Where hate can ne'er invade, The dust her tears have mingled With her happy, happy dead. CAWNPORE. THE ANGEL OVER THE WELL. I. |IVINELY sorrowful yet divinely just In saddest perpetuity of woe ; Not unforgiving, but with eyes that must Bend, fixed and tearless, to the dust below. Fit emblem of a nation's grief art thou That mourns with deathless memories, but stands Crowned with the grief that bends her marble brow In mute petition over praying hands ; Still mayst thou stand as mutely as divinely there, Still bowed in grief, and folded as in prayer. II. Sat Sorrow weepiug at the gates of Death. " And these"' she wept " the offerings that I bring Of lives that chilled beneath thy icy breath, But felt, oh ! death, thy mercy, not thy sting. CA WNPORE. 97 Let the green earth cover them in mercy fling Over the dread memories of the grave beneath One steadfast shadow from thy wandering wing, To form at once their monument and wreath. Dear Mother Nature, their eternal rest Is folded gently on thy verdant breast. III. Above that rest the peaceful marble gleams, About their graves bright flowers and verdure grow, The golden sunlight throws a veil of beams O'er emerald banks that slumber in their glow : And all is bloom above and peace below, And nature there, with tenderest memory, seems Her brightest mantle o'er their sleep to throw, And shed upon their rest her brightest dreams, As grief, when sorrow runs too dark and deep, Will smile perforce but that she may not weep. $tumormt& ODE TO A PIPE. 00 long neglected, but at last?addresseOU all heard of Billy Molloy Who lived in the town of Rathmoy, , He had a gray eye, so droll and so sly ; Och murther, but he was the boy oh ! my, This charming young Billy Molloy. ii. Now this very same Billy^Molloy Fell in love with a widdy, for why ? Such a foot, (oh ! the baste !) Such a nate little waist, 'Twas all up with Billy Molly, my eye, 'Twas all up with Billy Molloy. 136 BILLY MOLLOY. III. " Och widdy, my darling," says he, " There's a fly on your eyelids, machree ;" And by that, and by this, He gave her a kiss. Such a scamp was young Billy Molloy, Oh ! fie, Such a scamp was young Billy Molloy, Oh ! He. IV. " And widdy," says he, " 'pon my sowl It's yerself that looks bad in a cowl. Take the cap off your head take a husband instead, 'Twill suit you much better, machree," says he, " 'Twill suit you much better," says he. V. Then she smiled on him sweetly. " For what 'Tis aisy to loosen a knot, I don't mind in the least ; But yourself and the priest Must tie again, machree," says she, " Must tie again, my Molloy !" THE SOWAR. "I followed the Sowar." Trial of Liakat All (Mrs, Amy Bennett's evidence passim). I. CH, my counthryman Burke, by the sowl of the Turk, It's you should be now to the fore ; And Chesterfield too, and all that owld crew That wept o'er the ages of yore. Te thought, and ye said, that the owld days were dead When chivalry blazed over war, Te'd have altered your tune, I ween, pretty soon If ye'd read of our gallant Sowar. " A Sowar" did you say, a Sowar ? Oh ! the divil a lie a Sowar, As black as your hat, but by this and by that, A broth of a boy a Sowar. II. Shure 'twas there at Cawnpore, when the thieves on the shore Were blazing away at the boats, And the broad stream ran red with the blood which was shed In the cutting of iimocent throats. 138 THE SOWAR. Then he rode through the wave A damsel to save, "Who was clinging, half dead, to a spar, And took her cowld hand and brought her to land A gallant and gintle Sowar. " A Sowar" did you say, a Sowar. Oh ! as sure as you're there a Sowar, As black as your hat, but by this and by that, A " regular brick" a Sowar. III. Then he gave her some clothes to soften her woes, (It's well to be dacint and bowld), And victuals galore he brought to her door, And something to keep out the cowld. And when he must go in the track of the foe, To follow the fortunes of war, " Colleen gra rnachree," he said, " come with me, And I'll be your own faithful Sowar." " A Sowar" did you say, a Sowar ? Oh ! the divil a lie a Sowar, As black as your hat, but by this and by that, A broth of a boy a Sowar, IV. Away then she went from the nate little tent That saved her from death and disgrace ; " She rode like a man," let him laugh then who can, I'd ride like a frog in her place. THE SOWAR. 139 She kept in the reare I'd prefer to be there When the divil's in front, och by far ! I'd give a wide berth to all blacks upon earth If you gave me one faithful Sowar. "A Sowar" did you say, a Sowar? Oh ! as sure as you're there a Sowar, As black as your hat, but by this and by that, A " regular brick" a Sowar. (AFTER MR. LONGFELLOW.) is the meadow primeval, remote from the hum of the city, And filled with the quiet of time, so soothingly peaceful and rural ; This is the meadow primeval, and sweet is the flow of the river, And pleasant the caw of the rooks in the wind-shaken tops of the elms. I stood in the buzz of a crowd 'twas morning and near to the sun rise I stood while the heroes peeled off, and stripped for the trial of battle, And looked at each other askance, and swigged a strong drop from the bottle. Now here let me stand, and inspired by the scene of this battle terrific, Essay and recall what I saw, in the words of a faithful recorder ; And wreathe in my verses entwined, the deeds of those heroes tremendous, Great Thomas, the son of renown, and Heenan, the fearless, his rival. At last they have come to the scratch, and now as they stand in position, The murmur and buzz died away, and the silence was deep and unbroken, (AFTER MR. LONGFELLOW.) 141 And a pin in the stillness fell down with the bang of an auc- tioneer's hammer ! Then Heenan was pale and resolved, as he brought his strong hand to a level, f And then, like the flash of a gun,let in with his right on the sneezer. 'Twas guarded and caught, but the guard was weak, and the blow, undiminished, "Went home with a terrible smash, and levelled poor Tommy instanter. Up, up with the shcut for your man ! but stay, 'tis too soon to be crowing ; They're at it again, and behold ! do my eyes and my senses befool me ? Eor Heenan reels back from the scratch, half-stunned by a click on the smeller. The battle goes briskly ; the blows are quick in exchange, and unceasing ; The claret flows freely ; and lo ! they stagger and rally by turns. Now Tommy is down in a close, and Heenan is grassed in a tussel, And fortune, unable to judge, decides (in a whisper) for neither. Then John, in a fervent essay to finish Great Tommy instanter, Let in with his terrible left, but slipped and fell helplessly over, And falling received such a kick as filled him with painful reflections. Then the populace broke through the ropes and scattered the stakes on the meadow, And away in a scramble we went to catch the