dfiiii**^^Mii (VM K (y^ u r /^.JL /iU.^^'^^Lf^Z^ -} ^/^. LAYS OF THE WAR AND , ,.■..,. ' > » ,) » > > > » > 11 » MISCELLANEOUS LYEICS, Br MICHAEL JOSEPH BAREY. LONDON": LOKOMAN AND COMPANY; M'GLASHAN & GILL, DUBLIN ; BRADFORD AND COMPANY, CORK, 1856, . f - ~ ^ ■• - ,„ • •„ • • • TO THE SUJIVIVIXG IIEPtOES OP THAT GRAND CAMPAIGX, WHICH HAS ALREADY RESULTED IN THE DESTRCCTIOK OP THE STROXGHOLD OF EUROrEAX DESPOTISif, THIS LITTLE VOLUME, IN' WHICH IT IS ATTEMPTED TO C03IMEM01JATE Sjifir I3m5iir, tljnr liiffmngs, nnh tljrir f«nrrr50, IS ADMIRINGLY INSCIUBEP. 7697R1 niEFACE TO THE TIIIKD EDITION OF THE ''LAYS OF THE WAE." Two Editions of tlicse Lays, published in a remote part of the United Kingdom, and scarcely advertised to the public, except by the spontaneous and friendly criticisms of the newspaper press, having been disposed of. in less than three months from the time of their original publication, and more than one London journal having called for a metropolitan issue of them, they are now, for the first time, submitted to that ordeal of literary merit, by the Author. A critic, of whose name the writer is ignorant, has said, in noticing a former Edition, — " We know that the tearful eyes of new-made TVidows and orphans have read them, and that the aching brain of sorrow has found relief in the perusal of their sim- VI PKEFACE TO THE THIED EDITION, ETC. pie, but earnest, rhymes."* The notice from which this sentence is quoted is, on the whole, perhaps, one of the least flattering that the little collection has received. But, if the fact be as stated in it, no other that he has seen is equally calculated to gratify the Author. To the poems — if they may be so desig- nated — in the former Editions, one on the '^Last Grand Assault" and a couple of others have been added, in the present.f In it also is given a very harmonious and elegant translation into French, bv a well-known writer, M. le Chevalier ue Chatelain, of the "Eequiem for the Brave. " The Author cannot but appreciate highly the compli- ment paid him, in this version, which has been kindly placed at his disposal, especially as M. DE Chatelain was an entire stranger to him, except by literary reputation. March ISth, 1856. * The notice appeared in The University Magazine for February. + The "Miscellaneous Lyrics" — written at various periods— are a furtlier addition, first made in tliis volume. CONTENTS. PAGE Introdl'ctiox 1 A Lay of the Alma .... 9 The Charge of Balaklava ... 25 A Ballad of Inkermanx . . . 31 The Grand Assault .... 43 Sebastopol is Won .... 57 A Requiem for the Brave ... 65 Un Requiem pour les Braves . . 73 Flowers op the Battle-field ... 81 To Minnie 83 The Poet's Pen 85 The Irish Harp . . , . . 87 The Judgment of Cupid .... 89 Stanzas tor Music 91 Black AND Blue JE YES .... 93 ^OTE , 95 Anacreontic 97 Till COXTEyTS. , PAGE To 99 Citpid's Bowstring 100 The Moon axd the Sea .... 101 The Greek Flag 103 Toll axd TnorGHT 106 An Apology 108 Song . 110 Epitaph (From Malherhe) . . . .112 To Ptrrha (From Horace) . . . 113 The Supper OF Bacchus . . . . 114 The S"word 117 A Lament 120 To A Lady 124 Yachten-g Song . . . , . .12-5 To A Lady ...... 129 Ireland in the Senate . , . .130 Notes IXTRODUCTIOX. At length, a respite from the clash of arms ! A breathing-pause, in War's stupendous strife! Thrice hallowed lull to loving hearts' alarms ! Thrice blessed hour to mother, sister, wife ! Each prayed-for message is no longer rife With bloody tidings of the worshipped brave ; Hope shines once more upon the path of life, And gladness lights the eyes of those who gave The idols of their souls to glory or the grave I I. Theough four bright decades, smiling Peace had swaved, With blessed sceptre, Europe's broad domains, B 2 INTKODTJCTION. And Art and Science lent their glorious aid, To deck its cities, fertilise its plains : Men had almost forgot the crimson stains On history's latest, most ensanguined, page ; Looked upon warfare, with its tears and pains, As evil that on earth no more should rage. And deemed the world, at last, saw dawn its golden age ! II. We reared to Peace a Temple — pulled it down,^ To build a loftier, in whose area wide The dor;i.'=:eiis of many a populous town CommingTe, "gorgeously o'er-canopied ; And 'see the glories of the past outvied, By 3'ounger Science, aiding elder Art, Beholding, with no lack of conscious pride, Trophies of climes and nations, far apart, Gathered, to lend a grace to Britain's matchless mart ! — INTRODUCTION. III. The oceau, thrice a thousand miles in span, We made the brief, sure, transit of a week ! "We drove the mighty, fire-horse'd, caravan Through granite mountain, and o'er storm - lashed creek ! We learned our thoughts through farthest lands to speak ! — Flash'd o'er wide continents, 'neath surging seas I- AVe made the Keal outstrip Fancy's freali ; All these we did, and fondly dreamed that these Would calm mankind and War's fierce appetite appease I IV, *' To arms ! To arms I" — The foolish dream is o'er ! We had done much, but had not trampled wrong. Our smiling fruits are ashes at the core ; For justice is unheeded by the strong I 4 I2^TKODUCri03V. A despot threatens! — See his legions thron^j The invaded Danube's provinces ! — Arise ! Sons of the West, you may not linger long, To you fair Freedom looks, with streaming eyes ! — Her cause is lost, if e'er yon flag o'er Stamboul flies! V. Shrink, at the summons, statesmen, if ye will! Poor, soulless, huxters clutch your ill-got gold ! And prate of creeds that teach je not to kill, Though, day by day, men's lives for gain you've sold! The isles have bosoms generous and bold, Great souls, that blood or treasure will not spare, When duty calls. — Our banner is unrolled. The shrilly war blast smites the startled air! And young and old to meet the hateful foe prepare. INTRODTJCTION. VI. The veteran quits the home of tranquil joys, That forty years of well- won laurels shade ! — The boy girds on the arms he wore as toys, To gladden Beauty's eye, in gay parade ! Right conscious, now, for other use they're made, And hot to use them — all the glorious tide Of free-born manhood in his cheeks displayed — He treads his fi-ee soil, with a freeman's pride, — But yesterday a child, by a fond mother's side ! vu. The hour is come — the sad, stem, parting hour — Sad hour, when thousands part who ne'er shall meet! Yet Hope and Pride can combat Sorrow's power, And with the sadness mingle fancies sweet ! — 6 INTEODTTCTION. lioud rings the Imperial city's every street. And Queenly hands a kindly farewell wave. And palaces the echoing shouts repeat, That cheer, upon their onward way, the brave. Who stake their gallant lives, the cause of Eight to save !^ Tin. Sad change it seems — The stubborn powers, that men Had bowed to peaceful use, through tranquil years. Grim Conflict claims for his own work, again, And thrice more direly armed than erst appears. To waft his hosts the steam-sped ship he steers ! The snorting fire-steed bears them swifter still ! The magic wires, that flash' d our hopes and fears. He grasps, to tell how swiftly he can kill ! Lest loving hearts escape one hour of deadliest ill ! INTKODUCTION. IX. Yet, fear not, doubt not, hold the faith sublime That each immortal triumph of the thought AYill work its grand results throughout all time, Whate'er of evil through its means be A\Tought ! Though War with misery and death be -fraught, The death is pregnant oft with glorious life. The misery not worse than Peace has wrought, Or what we call Peace — heeding not the strife, That wears out heart and brain, with which it oft is rife ! X. How many a manly virtue, great and high. Springs up, upon the red, ensanguined, field ! That, in the stagnant wastes of life, must die, Or linger on, with choking weeds concealed. 8 INTRODUCTION. Even now a splendid promise see it yield ! Love between two great peoples, sternest foes — Through centuries, to mutual hatred steeled. Whose strife to-day is which shall deadliest close "With Huns, whose savage sway to earth were worst of woes ! XI. The world will have its martyrs to the end : — Martyrs to Heroism, Eeligion, Love ! To all that can mere formulas transcend, And rise, in faith sublime, to Heaven above. When comes the day our steadfastness to prove. Shall death dismay us ? Must not all men die ? That doom man cannot from his head remove ; Eut he may meet it cleaving Glory's sky. On eagle wing, — unlike base things that grovel- ling lie ! A LAY OF THE ALMA. Paet I. THE MARCH. I. The legions are marslialled — the marcli has begun. Shine forth, in full sj^lcndonr, magnificent sun ! Long, long, has it been, since thine orient ray Lit such pageant of battle as greets it to-day ! How grandly, across the broad champaign, advance Those mighty battalions of Britain and France ! Each dense column moving in serried brigade, AVith bayonets flasliing and banners displayed — The British ranks gleaming with scarlet and white, And the sombre blue masses of Gaul on their right; 10 A LAY OF THE ALMA. While beyond, on the Black Sea's broad, foam- mantled, breast, Move, majestic, the storm-braving fleets of the West !^ II. Grand pageant of "War ! though the Angel of Death Thins its ranks, as it moves, with his pestilent breath," How glorious it looks, spreading, mile beyond mile, O'er that far- stretching plain, in deep glittering jaie; "While, like the great ocean, with murmuring song, It hums its approach, as it surges along. The tramp of the Infantry, measured and loud. The clattering of hoofs, from the war-horses proud, The deep heavy rolling of waggon and gun, And the clashing of arms blend their sounds into one, Which swells, with a deep solemn thrill, on the car. For it tells that a deadlier music is near ! A LAY OF THE ALMA. 11 III. On press the battalions ; but see, on yon height, What dark-looking mass catches dimly the sight ? Now nearer it comes — Sec that glitter of spears I The Cossacks' long lances — The foeman appears ! The dark mass divides — Ha ! what means it ? — A flash— A white spirt of smoke — then that echoing crash !^ Fly soft bird of Peace, on swift pinion, afar ! There rolls, through the air, the first thunder of war ! Hushed, hushed, be the music of revel and mirth ; For the red God of Battles has shaken the earth ! The heart of the bravest may thrill at the roar Of that cannon-shot, pealing out '' Peace is no more!" IT. Yes ! Peace is no more. — Even now, to the skies, See the flame and the smoke from yon hamlet arise !* 12 A LAY OF THE ALMA. While, far from the wreck of his desolate home, The villager flies ; but ah ! whither to roam ? Fly ! fly, while those roof-trees, that sheltered you, burn ! To that scene of your childhood you ne'er shall return. And pray death may, kindly and speedily, close Your own and your lov'd ones' sad eyes in repose ! When nation with nation is pitted in strife, AVhat thought will they give to your pitiful life ? Your roof to the flames, and your corpse to the kite, In the landscape of war will seem common-place sight ! V. But enough for to-day — though its ill-omened sun Saw the flash that proclaimed the great conflict begun ; Yet not till to-morrow the foemen shall meet, On the field from which one shall make bloody retreat. A LAY OF THE ALMA. 13 Our guns have replied to that challenging shot, And the squadrons of Cossacks retire from the spot; The day's march is over ; — the sun sinks to rest ; The shadows of night the dark Euxine invest. Sleep soldier ! and dream of the loved, far away ! Sleep soldier ! and dream of the loved, while you may ! Your next couch of rest will be red with vour gore ; And your head on a pillow where dreams are no more ! 14 A L^./v/ \yv/ vy>^\^ vj I. The dull Xovember morning is creeping, chill and damp, O'er the leaguered Russian city and the tented allied camp, Xot a camp-iii'e shews its glimmer, o'er the broad and rugged steep, And the cold and weary sentinels start, moment!)', from sleep ; The mist hangs, thick and hea\y, on mountain and on plain, And through the deep and dark ravines sweep sullen gusts of rain : Along the gorge of Inkermann the British pickets lie, How gloomily each watcher feels those morning hours go by !^ o2 A BALLAD OF INKEEMANN. II. Yes, gloomily and drearily — but, heard yon not a sound. As if of cannon, trailing o'er the damp and sodden ground r 'Tis but the distaiit rumbling of some Araba or car. That traverses the valley road to leaguered Akhtiar. Another weary hour goes by, and, on the cold wind, swells, From the sleeping city's churches, the clash of pealing bells ; But these are heard full often, long 'ere the break of day, Ah, gloomily, and wearily, the dull hours pass away 1^ III. liut hark ! the volleying musketry now rings out sharp and clear, Down in the darksome valley — the stealthy foe is near ! A BALLAD OF i]s"kee:m:ann. 33 The dark grey columns, blendmg with the grey surrounding haze, And scarcely seen, though close at hand, save by the fitful blaze ; Press onward, through the drizzling rain, in masses broad and decj:). Across the narrow gorge, and up the hill-side rough and steep. The pickets fight each fool of ground, while fall- ing slowly back, Eut vain their valour to resist an array's stern attack !^ IV. High on the tented plateau, the half-clad soldiers kneel, And fan the flickering camp-fires, to cook their morning meal,* "WTien peal on peal of thunder, from many a Eussian gun, Proclaims the unlooked-for tidings I — The conflict has begun ! 34 A BALLAD OF INKERMANN. And, aimed by unseen foemen, too truly, sliot and shell, Throughout the broad encampment, the same stem errand tell ! Quick ! quick ! there comes a summons that will not brook delay ! Brigade and squadron muster ! There's work for men to-day ! Y. Brigade and squadron muster ! Upon the pldteaiCs brow. The dense grey E-ussian columns make good their footing now, Fast, fast, from out the blinding fog, the frequent flashes shine. And whistling bullets thin the ranks of our advancing line. On ! gallant Penxefathee, on !^ On ! Cambridge, with your Guards !° On all! — for Shamrock, Thistle, Pvose — whom ncTer fear retards ! A BALLAD OF INKERAIANN. 35 On C.VTHCART I" with your valiant band^ and lead them in the fray, Like one whom fate has doomed to find a hero's death to-day ! TI. On press the bravo battalions, to meet their foe unseen ; While fifty cannon blaze in front, across the deex^ ravine ; Trailed from the valley, stealthily, amid the gloom of night, And placed, too truly, to command the tented plateau^ s^ height, Fast flies the deadly iron hail of these terrific guns. And strews the ridge with many a corpse of Britain's, — Ireland's, sons ! They tumble in the plashy soil — but on their comrades go, — And now begins the sti'uggle fierce — the death- grip with the foe ! 36 A BALLAD OF INKEHMANN. Tn. YeS; foot to foot, they meet at last — wrapped in that Tapoiiry cloud — "Well might the ''mantle of the dark," their grim encounter shroud ! "Fix bayonets — charge!" — Oh I never yet did deadlier conflict rage, Than that in which, with countless foes, our hero few engage ! — Full five to one, their ranks press on, then peld, then backward reel, Then rally, then, like madmen, dash against the bristling steel ! The bayonet's clash, the cannon's crash, the death- shriek of the strong. Oh, God ! but these are fearful notes to make a matin-song ! Tin. On dash the Guards — back reels the foe — but ah ! on fl.ank and rere — Fret>h colunms up the gorge have crept, and through the mist appear ; A BALLAD OF INKERMANX. 37 Now fight for life, yc gallant Guards ! — begirt with steel and fire — Now fight, and leave the world a name, that ages shall admire ! Fight, flower of England's chivalry ! attest yonr haughty birth, How thick the deadly minie strews your corpses on the earth : Fight, for the Red Cross and St. George ! Alas I — the strife is vain — Ye break — retire — but half your band — the glorious dead — remain 1' 19 IX. High on the ridge of Inkermann, close to the hillock's crest. Stands a half-finished battery, which now the foes contest. For three long hours, 'gainst fearful odds, our bravest battle there. And prove, upon that field of death, what man can do and dare ! 38 A BALLAD OF INKERMANN. On column after column comes, from out that deep ravine, The rampart's half-completed banks but serve their front to screen ; But still the dauntless few, above, withstand the countless host, And pile another rampart up, of dead, around their post V° X. But where is gallant Cathcaet now ? Behold his brave brigade, Swept by that fearful flanking fire^ and stormy cannonade ! He sees them, and the veteran spurs his charger down the glen, With all a hero -chieftain's zeal, to cheer his wavering men. Back ! — See the Eussians on the height ! — " Our cartridges are gone," "You've got your bayonets left!" he cries, and proudly leads them on. A BALLAD OF INKLIlMA^^N. 39 He's struck! — All! Avlicn tlic fight is o'er, you'll find him with the dead ! Tliree hayonct scars upon his breast — a bullet through his head !^^ XI. Elsewhere how goes the battle on? — Another hero down ! That well-aimed shot your valour foils, for this day, gallant Beown ! They bear him off, his silver hair all flickering in the wind, ITor leaves he, on that fatal field, a braver soul behind ; His shattered arm is bleeding fast, his cheek is calm and pale, Yet niiu^mur not his close-pressed lips, nor does his stout heart quail : Thank God ! that Russian ball has done but half its destined ill. And that old warrior's services are left to Britain still ,aii !^- 40 A BALLAD OF INKEEMANN. High on a knoll, amid Ms staff, with, anxious, straining, eyes, To view the fearful strife beneath, brave Kagla:n vainly tries ; Around them whiz the deadly balls, and see — that biu-sting shell I Poor Steat^gwats! your last fight is fought — that calm sad glance may tell. ''Will some one kindly lift me from my horse?'* he gently sighs. And the rugged soldiers take him off, the big tears in their eyes. "Well! two short hours of ebbing life pass not so slowly by, And Victory's cheer will reach your ear, per- chance, before you die !^^ XIII. On fly the hours ! — the wintry sun is struggling through the mist ! On fly the hours ! and still we charge, and still the foe resist ! A BALLAD OF INKERMANN. 41 On fly the liours! — 'tis almost noon — Courage! courage ! mes hraves ! Our fiery allies come at length — Charge Chas- seurs ! — On Zouaves ! The French artillery thunders now upon the Eussian right/* Their squadrons charge, each beaming face illumed by battle's light ! Now limber up your useless guns, and fly that carnage field ! Away! when France and Britain charge, the banded world must yield ! XIY. Ay ! there ye go, in full retreat, proud legions of the Czar ! This blood-bought field of Inkermann your glitter- ing pride will mar ! Ye stole upon us, in the dark, like wolves — a countless pack — But know that 'twas the lion slept — and scamper wolf-like back ! 42 A BALLAD OF INKECMANN. You roused that lion from his sleep — and paid your rashness dear, And now the lordly eagle swoops upon j'our hurrying rere. How crash the cannon through your ranks ! — Eise mists and shroud the sun !^^ There's blood enough on earth to-day ; and Inker- mann is won ! THE GEAKD ASSAULT. ^^v/\,'\. v/v/%rv'^'v/^'v^'»> I. Theee days the smoke of conflict made thick the murky air ; Three nights the constant flashes filled heaven with lurid glare ; Three days and nights, unceasing, the thundering cannons' din, With roar of ten volcanoes, made the giddy brain to spin; From twice a hundred batteries, sped rocket, shot, and shell. And on the Tauric fortress rained down the rain of HeU I^ 44 THE GRAND ASSAULT. On many a stately mansion, on many a sacred fane, On many a gallant war- ship, burst that wild hurricane. And down the mansions crumbled, and wide the fanes were strewn. And high in air the gallant ships, in splintering shreds, were blown ! II. Three days and nights had witnessed that storm of wildest war Assail, with ceaseless fury, the stronghold of the Czar; Had seen, in battered parapet, had seen, in silenced gun, Along the line of bristling slopes, the work its rage had done ; And, as the fourth stern morning broke, all chilly, bleak, and grey, More frequent, and more widely-rent, the gaps of ruin lay ; THE GRAND ASSAULT. 45 Then, fiercer, deadlier, roared the storm, as if, in one Trild burst. To make the broken ramparts feel its latest and its "worst ; 'Nov vainly that tornado raged, for, when the noon drew nigh, One gun of haughty ITalakoff alone could make reply.- III. Then came the breathless moment — crouched in their furthest trench, Scarce forty paces fi^om the fosse, lay hid the fiery French ; The signal for assault is made — M'liAnox's at their head — ^ A furious dash — a thunder crash — that strews the earth with dead — A scramble up the grassy slope — a surf of glitter- ing steel — A broad, blue, heaving, sea of men, whose billows toss and reel, — 4G THE GRAND ASSAULT. Mixed madly with the living wave, that checks its rushing force, That checks, but vainly strives to stay, its whelming onward course, Deep, dense, resistless, on it rolls,— it sweeps the foe before, , And, high o'er captured Malakoff, see, see, the Tri-color ! IV. The rallying Eussians vainly strive the victors to assail. The lofty tower its captors screens, from battle's iron hail ; The foeman shews no craven front; but idle all his chance. When, foot to foot, his serfdom meets the chivalry of France ! He combats fiercely, but in vain, his ranks, by valour riven. Within their sti'onghold's inmost lines, in utter rout, are driven ! THE GRAND ASSAULT. 47 Each captured gun, so nobly 'won, pours from the haughty tower. Thick, on its former masters, down, the wrathful thunder- shower ; Its Lightnings telling, as they fly, its thunders, as they roll, That Gaul has won the master-key of proud Sebastopol I^ The grand reward of valour grand — ah ! equal Talour vies, Elsewhere, to win its grand reward, — the death the hero dies ! Did triumph v\\ait on all the brave, another flag should fly, On ramparts won with bloodier work, beneath that stormful sky ! But Worth can only w^oo Success, too often Eortune's slave. Yet Glory gilds, with equal ray, the garland and the grave ! 48 THE GKAND ASSAULT. And, to the grave that Glory gilds, the hero bears, in death, A name that Slander cannot dim, \d.th foul, calumnious, breath ! As from his sword's pure steel it flies, that gleams more pure and bright. When fades the vajiour, and reveals its glittering blade to light ! YI. "When floats above the captured work the rainbow- flag of France, Three blazing rockets hiss in air, and Britain's sons advance ! !Not theirs the short and sudden rush, through battle's furnace blast. With shelter sure, and equal chance, that fiuious onset past ; Tlu^ee hundred paces — swept by fire, where'er might move a man — Their fated ranks must cross the slope, to reach the great Ilcdan ! THE GKAXD ASSAULT. 49 Three liundred paces — swept by fire, as sweeps the rattling hail, Across the broad and frozen lake, when roars the Northern gale ! Three hundred paces — Death's domain, on which he glares his eye, As though he dared a mortal thing to enter and not die !^ Tir. On speed the red ranks — not with roll of ocean, billowy grand. But like the thin wave fleetly borne across a broad sea-sand ! Torn by the hail-storm as it glides, and lessening fast and fast. Still on it speeds, till fosse and berm and rampart all are past. ''Come on, boys!" gallant ]\Iaiio^'T, in fearless accents, cries,^ Then, foremost, on the rampart falls, with btdl- pierced brain, and dies ! E 50 THE GRAND ASSAULT. Brave "Wixdham leads his heroes on, nor leads them on in vain/ The salient of the work is won, piled high with heaps of slain ! On — wherefore pause, unthinking boys? — Obey your chief's appeal! — JS'or waste, in useless fire, the hour to charge the foe with steel !® VIII. Ah ! fatal pause of youth, untrained, but full of courage true ! And fatal chance, that aid withholds from that heroic few ! For fast the gathering Eussian horde within the work arrive, As swarm the bees, at Summer-eve, returning to their hive ! The hour is past, that might have saved, no succouring bands appear. And storms the deadly cannonade, on fi'ont and flank and rere ! THE GRAND ASSAULT. 51 Half-screened behind the traverses, the victors fire in vain/ By bursting shell, and bounding ball, in gory- hundreds slain ! Yet flinching not, through two dread hours, within that bloody lair, They failed to do — best manhood's fate — but never failed to dare ! t IX. What fruitless valour perished there ! What spirits great were sent. To raise, with their own lifeless forms, their deathless monument ! Ah ! madly sent — the fearful task, that duty bade them do. Was done elsewhere — they could but pay the price to Yictory due ! And freely paid it, with their lives, in that tremendous fray. In which, brave Swift, youi^ gallant form in front of battle lay !^^ 52 THE GEAND ASSAULT. And where, Yoimg Massy, hero hoy, though left the tale to tell,'^ You shewed the daring, dauntless, heart, that danger cannot quell ! Long be such hearts our island's boast, — that proud, in Glory's van, Throb high, at Death's sublime embrace, as in " the Great Eedan! They failed to keep the work they won, as oft the bravest fail ; Against such dire and deadly odds, what valour might prevail ? They failed, as gallant Frenchmen failed, who, in the self-same hour. As vainly stormed two frowning forts, but held the well- won tower. Vain, Bosquet, was thy chivalry ! thy courage vain Dulac ! Thine, too, Mottekouge, — the fiery storm, with slaughter, drove ye back !^- THE GRAND ASSAULT. 53 But all the brave could do ye did, and those ye nobly led, Who living have their country's thanks, its lofty sorrow dead ! And equal honor be to all, who, in that day of doom, Fought for the vrreath that crowns the brow, or decorates the tomb ! XI. All hushed is now the conflict's roar ! The work of Death is done ! The foeman, still, at random, fires some solitary gun ! But war's tremendous voice is mute; and Eve hangs, softly, down. Her curtain on the quiet camp, and on the ruined toAvn ; Within whose walls, around whose fosse, in many a gory heap, Ten thousand forms of manhood lie, in calm and dreamless sleep ! 54 THE GRAND ASSAULT. And midnight comes with thicker pall, for, darkly, to the skies, The rolling smoke-clouds dense and black, from smouldering ruins rise, Though glimpses of the azure heaven, at moments, may be seen. Whence God's eternal lamps shine out, unchang- ing and serene ! xn. Unchanging and serene ! — The rage of three dread days is past, And, o'er the long-beleaguered town, there cometh calm, at last ! The calm of Euin and of Death ! — whose trophies sternly tell That they who kept its foes at bay had done their duty well. A year of stubborn, proud, defence, that knew not rest or pause. Had proved them soldiers, fit to fight in Preedom's holier cause ;^^ THE GRAND ASSAULT. 55 And freeborn men may lesson take, unblushing, from the brave, "Wliose manly eyes turn dimly, now, across the friendly wave. That still is theirs, and from each height beyond which, frowning far. Long lines of bristling ramparts bear the ensigns of the CzAS. xin. But peals of thiuider, once again, the solemn stillness break. Awakening every sleeper there, that ever more shall wake ! And, through the midnight's dusky pall, red flashes shoot on high. As flare volcanic lightnings up, Irom ^tna to the sky ! What may the wild commotion mean ? The day- light will reveal. A mad ambition's knell of death rings in each thunder-peal ! 56 THE GRAND ASSAULT. The despot's legions, foiled at last, in sullen gloom, retire, And leave tlie stronghold of his power a prey to raging fire ; "While deep below the glowing wave, that late they swam with pride. Despite a thousand guardian guns, his mighty war-ships hide ! SEBASTOrOL IS WON! 'Tis won! — three cheers of triumph — hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! And yet another cheer, boys — we may exult to-day ! The stronghold of the despot, with all its frown- ing towers, — IFrom which a thousand guns belched forth their deadly fire, — is ours ; How many gallant hearts, this hour, are throbbing high, with pride. Behind those broken ramparts, that shot and shell defied : How many eyes turn IV^'estward, o'er Euxine's 9 chafing foam, And glisten tearful at the thought — " How proud they'll be at home." Ay! proud we arc — proclaim it, with trumpet, drum and gun. 58 SEBASTOPOL IS "SVOX. And all our island's pealing spires — Sebastopol is won ! n. "Where is the despot's braggart vaunt, to drive into the sea The men who planted on his soil the standard of the free ? And those proud eagles, vainly doomed, by Eussia's baffled ire. Mid Moscow's blazing palaces, to find their funeral pyre?^ He sleeps beneath his coffin-lid — His soldier-serfs have fed The dog, the raven, and the kite — or, in despair, have fled. The rainbow-flag of gallant France — the brave old Jack, that waves, Fanned by the winds of half the world, and nowhere over slaves — Savoy's "White Cross and Crimson Shield — the Crescent of the Turk, Are gleaming, haughtily, to-day, o'er every captured work. SEBASTOPOL IS WON. 59 Tlie shattered roofs — the blackened walls — attest the ruin done, And every desert street proclaims — Sebastopol is won ! HI. Ay ! peal it out with triumph ! — Ay ! peal it out with pride ! ^^ot vainly, on those sacred heights, our bravest brothers died. — Not vainly, in the Alma's tide — swept down by shot and shell, — And up its cannon-crested steep, our dauntless children fell ! Not vainly, through the iron hail, in front, to left, to right. Our heroes dash'd to grapple death, on Balaklava's height! Not vainly, in the treacherous mist, that hid the foeman's wiles, 'Gainst fearful odds they, falling, fought, in Inkermann's defiles ; GO SEBASTOPOL IS ^'OX. ]S"or vainly have their comrades died, whose lot 'twas — harder strife, — 'Gainst sickness, want, and cold, to strive, through weary months, for life : Had they not played their part so well, — so gloriously begun, We should not raise the shout to-day — Sebastopol is won ! "Well may we raise that shout of joy; but, 'mid our spirits' flush. To manliest eyes the tears must come, with all unbidden gush, To think how many gallant hearts and manly forms lie cold, Save for whose valour this proud tale of triumph ne'er were told ; Yet, wherefore weep ? A day would come when death would lay them low. Worn by the ills of weary age, or chilled in manhood's glow; SEBASTOI'OL IS WON. 61 A fcTT short years of listless life arc all that, at the most, The cowardliest coward o'er the bravest brave can boast — Aud who could count the craven hearts whose pulses cease to beat, For each last throb a hero's gives, 'mid battle's fiery heat r Or who would think, except with joy, his own career niiglit run, Like theirs, who've left us now to boast — Sebastopol is won ? v. There will indeed be aching hearts — but o'er that sacred grief, — That mute and maddening agony, that will not know relief, — That must, throughout these haughty realms, a thousand bosoms wring — O'er that, in this exultant hour, the veil of darkness iling. 62 SEBASTOPOL IS WOIS". Pity we may, and still exult — the mourners will not heed — Tliey have no thought, to-day, save that which makes their bosoms bleed. Yet, even now, the world may know, each home within our isles Would send its cherished darling forth, its anguish masked with smiles ; And bid him do as fits the brave — at honour's, duty's call. First, in the deadly strife, to fight, — first, pleased it Heaven, to fall ; — Ay ! God be thanked ; for thus it is that gallant deeds are done. And else we could not, this day, boast — Sebastopol is won ! VI. Rejoice, all you who can rejoice, — too many have to grieve — Eejoice, and, for the victors' brows, the laurel- chaplets weave ! Remember all who fought and died — bless all who fought and live — SEBASTOPOL IS WOX. 63 And pray our island- children long may like examples give, To fall, if need, as CAxncAEx- fell, to die as Eagla]!^ died,'' — The soldier's duty nobly done, without the sol- dier's pride. 1^0 pomp of battle on his brow, its glorious lustre shed ; Eut cold and ingrate censure sneer'd beside his dying bed — Yet murmured not the brave old man, and, from its house of clay, His hero soul serenely passed — Oh ! were he here to-day ! He should have lived to see the end of what he had begun, And heard those thrilling triumph words — Se- bastopol is won ! VII. He sleeps well, in his own loved isle — But there are those who sleep, 64 SEBASTOPOL IS TVOX. High on those rude Crimean hills, that now our brothers keep. — Those hills, that drank their hearts' best blood, will, surely, never more Obey the Power, whose lawless lust had asked that priceless gore, — And on those rocks, whose deep ravines are graves of freeborn men. The carrion-eagle ne'er shall whet his bloody beak again ! Down from their height, with crippled wing, the hateful bird hath flown. And never must the spot again his foul dominion own. Then — three cheers more of triumph, boys — hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! And yet another glorious cheer, one worthy of the day. Proclaim, proclaim, with trumpet shrill, loud drum, and thimdering gun, Attd peals from every trembling spire — Sebastopol is won ! A REQUIEM FOE THE BEAVE. I. We have had our song of triumph ! It has hardly died away — Ah ! the sound of sadder music follows soon the exultant lay. Let the sighing breezes waft it over land and over wave, Where our noble dead are sleeping — a Eequiem for the Brave ! rr. There is grief, too deep for language — there is grief, too deep for tears — There is grief, that knows no solace, in the long, long, lapse of years — F 66 A EEQiriEil FOE THE BEAVE, Grief that, in the heart's dark chamber, shrines the dead, with pious care, And whose life is one long "s^igil, o'er the relics cherished there. III. But we speak not of such sorrow, save, with earnest souls, to pray That the God who sees the mourners may watch over them to-day ! May pour balm into the bosoms that, in agony, now bleed, And give strength to bear the anguish by liis Providence decreed, IV. 'No ! besides that speechless anguish, there is grief serene and high. As the sorrow of immortals, over those vrho grandly die ! A grief that has both voice and tears, yet rises calmly strong. And breathes a nation's sympathies, in chaunt of solemn song. A REQUIEM FOR THE BRAVE, 67 T. It does not speak in lofty words — but many a - simple phrase Makes the sad and solemn chorus in that hymn of grief and praise, Words but rarely heard when spoken, yet that float o'er land and Avavc, In harmonies God's angels hear, — a Eequiem for the Brave ! VI. In her halls the high-born lady muses, full of haughty grace. And a pensive shadow softens the proud beauty of her face ; Whither now her thoughts are stray iug it were easy task to tell, Though we heard not the half-spoken words — " How gloriously they fell ! " VII. The young village maid is sitting by her humble cottage door ; All ! her thoughts are wandering, likewise, to that far Crimean shore, 68 A EEQTJIEM FOB THE BE ATE. The big tear is trickling, llca^ily and slowly, down her cheek, '' May God pity those that loved them !" — all the tribute she can speak. Tin. The strong, swarthy, smith is brandishing his massive sledge in air, And he flings it on the anvil, with his brawny arms all bare ; And he pauses for a moment, and resumes his toil again, With the brief and pithy sentence — " AVell they did their work like men !" IX. The old man, with hair of silver, as he gladdens in the glee Of the golden-headed grandchild that sits laughing on his knee — Lays his hand upon the baby-brow, and says, with aspect grave — "God grant, my little darling, you may one day prove as brave." A EBQUIEM FOE THE BE AYE. 69 X. With firm step and gallant bearing, the brave boy hangs o'er the tale, And his eye is flashing haughtily — his cheek grows red and pale — And his heart beats strong and rapid, as he thinks, with thickening breath, He, too, could fling bright life away, for such a gallant death. XI. Such the thoughts half-uttered hourly, throughout these Imperial isles — Noble thoughts, that steal in sadly, 'mid our wonted household smiles- Telling more than high-flown sentences, or grand heroic lay. How we sorrow for our heroes, who are sleeping far away. XII. And there will be distant echoes of that deep funereal song. Where the Ganges rolls its sacred tide, in majesty, along; 70 A EEQUIE^r rOE THE BEATE. And the soldier by the Indus and the Sutledj, with a tear, Will say, at some remembered name — "How brarely he fought here !" xin. And, across the "Western waters, as his keel grates on the strand. The news will make the fisher sad, in far-oif iN'ewfoundland ; And away, where noble cities, by the broad St. Lawrence, rise. The dead will have their tribute, from sad hearts and weeping eyes. XIY. And still farther off to westward, where is heard^, sublimely grand. The thunder of Niagara, the wonder of the land ; And away in mighty forests, which the stalwart woodman clears. The brave will, in the lonely hut, find sympathy and tears. A llEQXJIEir FOR TKE BEAYE. 71 XV. And away, in otlier regions, where our starlight does not shine, And the Southern Cross beams nightly, on the broad Pacific brine, Will the rough and bearded digger rest, amid his search for gold. And dash away a manly tear, when their proud tale is told. XVI. And the stockman, as he gallops, driving home his tameless stock ; And the shepherd, gazing listlessly upon his fleecy flock ; All, who dwell beneath the ensign that our gallant heroes bore. Will turn, with saddened thought, at times, to that Crimean shore. XVLT. Nor ynU these be the sole mourners — though that flag flies far and wide — Though it waves o'er half the peopled earth, and floats on every tide — 72 A EEQiriEM FOE THE BEAYE. To the valour that displays itself in actions thus sublime, All the world the meed of homage pays, from every shore and clime. XYIII. And thus, too, to future ages, will the noble hymn go down, Linking their proud names for ever with all names of high renown. Calling up great, solemn, memories, when high deeds are lingered o'er. Of the heroes who fell fighting on that rude Crimean shore. XIX. We have had our song of triumph ! It has hardly died away ; But a strain of sadder music must salute the ear to-day ; Let the sighing breezes waft it over land and over wave, Where our noble dead are sleeping— a Bequiem for the Brave 1 UN EEQUIEM POUR LES BRAVES. (TEA.DUIT PAR M. LE CHEVALIER DE CUATELAIX. ) I. Nous avons eu nos chants de triomphe et de gloire, A peine helas I se sont-ils amortis, Qu' un lai melancolique, enfant de la yictoire, Vient murmurer un long De Profundis. Que ce lugubre chant, sur I'aile de la brise Porte son deuil bicn au dela des mers, Et, sur nos nobles morts, de sa musique exquise, D'un Req^niem verse les pleurs amers. II. II est de certains deuils trop profonds pour les larmes, De certains deuils qu'on ne pent exprimer, Tels sent les deuils nombreux que le metier des armes Vient imposer aux coeurs faits pour aimer. Ces deuils si glorieux s' infiltrent dans les ames, Pieusement jusqu' aux replis du coeur, Sur ces autels yivants ils conservent leurs flammes, Ces deuils si grands, tout incrustes d'honneur ! 74 UX EEQUIEM POUR LES BEAVES. III. Hais nous ne parlons j)as de ces douleurs mortelles Pour prier Dieu, qui voit le fond des ccBurs, Verser, en sa bonte, son dictame sur elles, Et seulement les etancher nos pleurs ; Pour demander au ciel la force et le courage De supporter un aussi brusque adieu, Pour calmer des regrets dont nous faisons hommage A nos chers morts — a ces elus de Dieu ! IV. Oh ! non, car la tout pres de I'angoisse muette, Sereine il est une auguste douleur, Des plus grands sentiments admirable interprete. Qui prend sa source au plus noble du coeur ! Une douleur sans nom, qui surgit, calme et forte, Et se formule en admiration ; Magnifique douleur, qui vibre et qui transporte, ^ D'un saint emoi toute une nation. V. Elle ne parle pas ambitieux langage De mots ronflants — non, c'estun simple clioeur, Triste, mais solennel, un tribut au courage, IJn mot do deuil, un mot qui part du coeur;..- UN EEQriEJI rOL'E LES BE AYES. 75 Ecs paroles souvcnt dc deuil ou dc louangcs, Dites tout bas, qui flottent dans 1' ether, IJn Ecquiem la haiit qu' entendent les arehanges, Et qui s'en va la bas de vers la mer. VI. Scule, en son vieux castel, la jeune Chatelaine, Noble Eeaute, pensive, refiechit ; La tristesse adoucit sa grace un peu hautaine, Et ^'oile aussi le feu de son esprit ; II serait aise dire ou courent ses pensees, Si n'entendions ces mots mouilles d'helas ! '^ Que de materiaux pour nobles Odyssees, Et qu' avec gioire ils sont tombes la bas !" VII. Sous son porche egrene la jeune villageoise Tit, elle aus?i, la bas dans le lointain, C'est la Crimee aussi qui cause son angoisse, La sont un frere, un amant, un cousin ; LTne bien grosse larme a rougi sa paupiere, Puis un soupir du plus profond du cceur — '^ A tous ces chers aimes," dit-elle, en sa priere, : '' bon Jesus ! daigne porter bonheur !" ,; - 76 rX EEQUIEil rouE, les beates. ♦ Tin. Avec ses bras nerveiix, sur la bruyante enclume De son marteau faisant jaillir 1' eclair, Le forgeron bistre bat, selon sa coutunie. Qui n'en pent mais, son ennemi, le fer ; Quand un moment, un seul, s' arretant sur sa forge, II dit, soudain, puis reprend son labeur ; " lis out cranement fait, oui da, de par St. George ! Ce sont des bons I ma parole d'honneur !" IX. Accable sous les ans, a blanche cbevelure, Le bon vieillard, riant an petit fils. Qui yit sur ses genoux, et livre a la nature Ses cheveux d'or, et son beau teint de lis, Sur le front du petiot place sa main glacee, Et recueilli dit d'un air triomphant : " Dieu, mon mignon, un jour exauce ma pensee, Que tu sois brave, a ton tour, clier enfant !" X. A ce voeu du vieillard, un gargon, jeune encore, Prend feu soudain, ecoute son recit, S' interesse aux combats qui marquerent I'aurore Du jeune temps que si bien il decrit ; UK EEQUIE^r POrE LES BRAVES. 77 Et son cocur fait tic-tac, si qu'il respire a peine A ce penser d'un gioiieux trepas ; 11 jeterait deja, pour si galante aubainc, Ses verts espoirs pour etre aussi la bas ! XI. Tels sont les grands penscrs, qui, dans ce grand royaume, A cliaque instant se font jour dans les cceurs, Dans le palais des grands, du peuple sous le chaume, Sublime echo des publiques douleurs; Ces mots, mouilles de pleurs, mieux qu'un chant heroique, Sur ceux la bas, qu 'abritent nos drapeaux, Disent assez quel est le regard sympathique Dont nous suivons leurs glorieux travaux. XII. Et les echos lointains diront ce chant funebre La bas, la bas, ou, dans sa majeste, Eoule ses flots le Gauge a tout jamais celebre, Et ce grand deuil y sera bien porte ! 78 TJX EEQTJIEIJ: POXTE LES BEAVES.' A Caboiil, a IS'ankin, a Ghuzne, vers le fleuve Du grand Indus, quelque vaillant soldat, En entendant un nom, de valeur qui fit prcuve, Dira : *' Q,u' ici, brave il fut au combat !" XIII. Bien au dela des eaux, ou 1' Occident s'epanche, Le triste echo, messager de douleur, De par la Terre Keuve, et son ecume blanche, Ira porter ce grand deuil au pecheur ; Et pres du St. Laurent, bien plus loin dans les terres Ces nobles morts, ils recevront, encor, Leur tribut, par des coeurs attristes et sinceres, Et bien des pleurs sur eux prendront essor. XIV. Et tout la has, bien plus a 1' Occident encore, Ou Ton entend, dans sa sublimity, Du grand Niagara la mcrveille sonore, Tonnant ses chants dcpuis reternite, Et la bas, tout la bas, de par les forets vierges, Ou I'homme a peine aventure ses j)as, Au milieu des splendours des arbres porte-cierges Le biicheron plcurera vos trepas. VN EEQriEM VOVn LES BEAVES.' 79 XT. Dans d'autres regions oii, sur Ic Pacifique, iNTe brillent pas nos etoiles de nuit, Ou la croix du midi, cc signe symbolique, Sur Teau salee et se rcflete et luit, Parmi les passions, par le lucre enfantees, A ces narres le barbu chercheur d'or ITn instant cessera jcter ses pelletees, Pour essuyer un pleur, le lourd butor ! XYI. Le chasseur de bisons de par le nouveau monde, En pourchassant des troupeaux indomptes, Ou le berger jetant, dans sa langueur profonde, Sur ses toisons des regards liebetes, Tout ce qui, n'importe ou, vecut sous la bannierc Que nos beros out r(§leve la bas, Sc tourneront, par fois, vers toi vieille AngleteiTe, Pour partager le deuil de ces trepas. XTII. Et ce ne seront pas, certes, les seules larmes, Qui tomberont de ces seuls yeux amis, Car il est general Ic dcuil qui nait des amies, Et la valeur est de tons les pays : 80 jmf EEQuiEM rorE les beates. Et bien que I'etendard de la noble Angle terre Flotte a moitie sur ce monde habite, Et sur toutes les mers, — le reste de la terre, Prendra sa part au deuil manifeste. xvni. Et les siecles futurs, a ce noni de Crimee, Associeront de merveilleux hauts faits, Aux noms de nos heros, brillants de renommee Et devenus immortels a jamais; Et quand on parlera de ce rude rivage, En evoquant ces puissants souvenirs, On se racontera les actes de courage De ces heros — des peuples les martyrs ! XiX. Nous avons eu nos chants de triomplie et de gloire, A peine helas se sent ils amortis, Qu' un lai melancolique, enfant de la victoire, Vient murmurcr un long Be Profundis. Que ce lugubre cliant, sur I'aile de la brise, Forte son deuil bien au dela des mers, Et sur nos nobles morts, de sa musique cxqiiise, D'un Requiem verse les plcurs amers ! FLOWEES OF THE BATTLE-FIELD'. Faie llo^YC^s, from fields of bloodiest strife, How came you, thus, your bloom to sbed O'er scenes with saddest memories rife, "WTiere mouldering rest our hero dead ? Most bright and beautiful you've sprung Above the turf that wraps their clay ; As though some loving hand had Hung Your seeds to blossom where they lay. Far off, how many a bleeding breast. Exhales its loving prayers and sighs From lonely dwellings of the West, To where you bloom 'neath Eastern skies. To where the gallant soldier fell, On Balaklava's bloody plain. Or, in the dark and misty dell Of ambushed Inkermann, was slain. 82 FLO WEES OF THE BATTLE-FIELD. "May not the Poet dream that God Wafts every sacred sigh and prayer. At midnight, to the hallowed sod, To blossom into wild-flowers there r If thus you have your gentle birth, Slight marvel your profusion yields ; For half the floral pride of earth Would grace those far-oif battle-fieldi?. TO MINNIE. Laughing, loving, darling Minnie ! All the household's playful pet ! Honey-gathering, humming bee, Full of frolic, full of glee, Dancing, flitting, bright with mirth, Gladdening ever since your birth, Like a sunbeam on the earth. Pretty, playful, Minnie ! Clinging, coaxing, wheedling Minnie ! Dear coquette of four years old ! With your little winning wiles, Infant prattle, scheming smiles. With your silken-shadowed eyes, Cherry lips and arch replies, Tossing head and mocking sighs, Dear coquettish Minnie ! 84 TO MIXNIE. I have known you, darling Minnie, Since your dawning hour of life, Schooled you in your baby lore, Taught you twenty words or more, Paid myself Avith myriad kisses, "Wliich your red lip never misses, From its infant store of blisses, Lovely, loving, Minnie 1 If a poet's wishes, Minnie, Ever yet were worth a thought, When you reach the wondrous age, That your eyes may read my page. Know the writer wished, each hour, Heaven upon your head would shower. All the blessings in its power, Charming, darling Minnie 1 THE POET'S PEIT. YouxG Cupid once came down from heaven, Upon a soft and balmy gale, As the last rosy light of even. Its lustre shed o'er hill and vale : And, in the twilight calm and tender, Bright shone his pinion's varied plumes, AVith all the hues of changeful splendour The neck of Juno's bird assumes. But ah ! a cruel Poet, straying, Whose bosom he had long beguiled, Beheld him, 'mid the roses playing. And seized the unsuspecting child. And, while the lEuse the deed rehearses, Her eye a tear of pity tills — He pluck' d, to pen his amorous verses, From Cupid's pinions, all the quills ! 86 THE poet's PEK". Long time the boy-god -wept, distrest, Till woman saw Ms deep despair, She clasp' d him to her gentle breast, And strove to soothe his sorrows there. And, nestling there, beneath her eyes, It seemed so like his home above, He ceased to miss his native skies 'Nor felt, again, a wish to rove. And ever since, next woman's heart. His choicest dwelling Love has made. While yet his plumes to song impart The sweetness of their tuneful aid. Then shouldst thou ever doubt again, The pow'r of song the soul to move, Bethink thee that the Poet's pen Was stolen from the wing of Love ! THE IRISH HAEP. Whex Erin, fallen from power and pride, "Was reft of all she loved beside, She dreamed her Harp might sometime raise Her sons to thoughts of by-gone days, And notes of glory still might Trake The slumb'ring hearts, by glen and lake ; But Yalour snapped in twain the string, That with his deeds was wont to ring ; And Triumph tore the chord away. That thrilled exulting to his lay, While Hope and Joy, as each withdrew, The strings they gave her shattered too ; Yet Love and Sorrow lingered still. Beside that Harp on Tara's hill, And, when each spirit else had flown, "Waked it to music all their own. 88 THE lEISH HAEP. Not quite their own — a fond regret For kindred virtues touctied them yet, And Sorrow, sometimes, strove to sing Glad music to her moaning string ; While Love to haughtier themes would stray, And wake the chord to Glory's lay. The Harp responded to their call, But their own music spoke through all. And thus it comes, whate'er the strain That wild Harp breathes, the grand, the gay, Some sad and softening tones remain. Of Love and Sorrow in the lay I THE JUDGMENT OF CUPID. Between Janetta's lips and eyes, There ouce arose a warm dispute ; Both claimed, as loveliest, the prize, And Cupid sat to try the suit. The eyes, a pair of archest blue. Glanced at him such a winning look, That, spite of all the God could do, His gravity they sadly shook. The rosy lips' delicious pout Arrested his attention next ; And, if he were, before, in doubt. He then grew ten times more perplex' d. The eyes, who, now, about their case. Began to have no trifling fears, Looked timidly in Cupid's face. And burst into a flood of tears ! 90 THE JUDGilENT OF CTPID. Their sorrow quite the God beguiled, And eyes had gained the contest then, But the sweet lips so fondly smiled. That Cupid paused — in doubt again ! And feeling it of little use The question longer to discuss, When both could, still, new charms produce, He wisely gave his judgment thus. '^ Whoe'er does homage to the eyes, • The lips shall pay his rich reward. Whoever dares the lips despise, His woe the eyes shall ne'er regard. '' Go, then, in friendship fond, combine. And cease to quarrel, till you meet With eyes that more irradiant shine, And Kps whose nectar is more sweet!" Thus did the God his judgment speak. And bound them in eternal ties ; For well he knew 'twere vain to seek Por sweeter lips or brighter eyes ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. fWKTTTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A LADY.) My life is like a cloud by niglit, Oa which the sun has ceased to shine, The rays of joy that made it bright, Kow shed no more their light divine. That lonely cloud, ere break of day, Will all dissolve in showers away ; And long ere joy again appears, My life shall melt away in tears. My life is like the parch' d up bed Of some forgotten desert stream, Where roses once their fragrance shed, And glassed their hues in summer's beam. Hope's gushing tide, no more, for me, Will bound along with early glee, 'Nov Love's bright roses shed their bloom, And with their sweets the soul perfume. 92 STANZAS FOE MUSIC My life is like the mournful lamp That burns within a vaulted tomb, "Whose lustre, dimm'd by vapours damp, Yields barely light to show the gloom. That lonely watcher o'er the dead, Still lingers on when all are fled — Ah ! thus Life's lamp for me burns on. When Joy, and Love, and Hope are gone. ELACK AND BIXE EYES. [pllOil TilE ITALIAN.] A STEiFE arose once, fierce and loud, Between a black eye and a blue, ^' You're sullen," exclaims Blue, " and proud ;" '' J^ot fickle," Black retorts, ^4ike you"— '* Y'our gloomy looks all joys estrange" — " Each hour to some new whim you change" — " Y^'ou never wear a jo^'ous smile" — " Your flirting with the men is vile" — " The azure tint of Heaven is mine" — ''Like blaze of burning torch I shine" — ''Pallas' and Juno's eves are blue" — " And Yenus's of jetty hue." Thus did they scold, the pretty things, "VYhen Love flew down on golden wings. By his decree to end the fight, The notes of which set down aright. 94 BLACK Ai!fD BLUE EYES. At his command, remain to guide us, Amongst the codices of Gnidos, *'It matters little which their hue, Those eyes are sure the loveliest, Whether their tint be black or blue, That speak the heart's emotions best." LOYE. Dakli:n"g, I'm lonely, when tliou art not near me, Lonely Tvith even the dearest beside, Yoices, whose tone used to gladden and cheer me, Seem to have all their old magic denied ! Yet, in thy presence, each dear one is dearer, Music is sweeter, and starKght is clearer, Friendship and Truth appear truer, sincerer — ^ Oh ! is it this that they tell us is Love ? Absent, thine image floats ever before me. Present, I only can feel what thou art, In the vague sense of delight that comes o'er me, lYildering my brain and oppressing my heart. There's nothing like thee where beauty assembles ; Nothing my dreaming about thee resembles — Save some pale star, in the far sky that trembles — Oh ! is it this that they tell us is Love ? 96 LOVE. Earth has no tie but would leave us too single — None that could wholly our hearts intertwine ; I'd long for death, if my spirit could mingle, Into one essence and being ^ith thine. Earest of gems were unworthy a shrine for thee ; There is no worship too deep, too divine for thee ; There is no bliss that I would not resign for thee — Surely 'tis this that they tell us is Love ! ANACREONTIC. Lovely Thetis, on the morn When her hero son was born, From the shafts of Death to save, Plunged him in the Stygian wave ; Then, from fear of danger free. Bade him laugh at destiny. Thus, in Bacchus' rosy bowl, I had plunged my reckless soul, Heeded neither lips nor eyes, Mocked at woman's fairest guise, Scorned the listless lover's woe, Laugh'd at Cupid's tiny bow. And, with foolish, vaunting, pride, All the urchin's arts defied ! But, alas ! one evening, hid Underneath thy drooping lid, 98 AlS'ACEEOXTIC. As I fondly turned to gaze, On thy soft eyes* languid rays, Forth the archer aimed a dart, From the bow I spurned so long, "Wliich, within my stricken heart, Rankles now, with venom strong ; Then I found — oh ! who does not r — That the wine-cup's soothing rill Leaves some weak, uncharmed, spot, Bare to Cupid's arrows still, Thus my soul — like Thetis' son, Too much trusting, was undone ! TO When, rudely severed from liis kind, The child of Genius dwells alone, His soul can stiU companions find, And make the world of Thought its own. And Fancy's yivid pencil di'aws Bright forms to cheer his lonely hours, Whose solitude no longer awes. When thus bedecked with living flowers. Were such creative talent mine, Though here secluded, far from all, I would not use the gift divine, Xor fancied forms around me calL ISo, could my soul with Genius warm, Trace loveliness for ever new, Still, 3Iemory paints a dearer form, Than ever Fancy's pencil drew. CUPID'S BOWSTEING. Whex Yulcan the arrows of Cupid Had forged, in the crater's red glow, The child, by some oversight stupid, Ko string had that suited his bow. ^& In vain every vulgar material He tried, for impelling his dart, It needed some bow-string ethereal, To send it right home to the heart. ■^o^ At last, from the lyre of Apollo, A string the sly baby-God stole, And since beats all archery hollow, For his shaft never misses its goal. THE IIOO:?^ AND THE SEA. » > > 1 > > I ) > • > J » 1 > When, in the silent noon of night, I've looked upon the heaving sea, Where every star was imaged bright, I've thought upon myself and thee. Though every orb of light on high, Was mirrored by that ocean wave, The Moon, ''pale regent of the sky," Alone could claim it as her slave. Absent or present, night or day. Seen or unseen, in calm or storm, Its tide obeys her gentle sway. Where freeze the poles, or tropics warm. 102 THE MOON AND THE SEA. Yet none, upon a moonless night, That saw returned each starry smile. Could think that orb, no more in sight. Alone that Ocean ruled, the while. So 'tis with me — while many win -The transient smile, which all may see. My spiiit's hidden depths within, • , llDvm of my, soul, are ruled by thee ! THE GREEN FLAG.^ A.D. 1G47. I. Boys, fill your glasses ! Each hour that passes, Steals, it may be, on our last night's cheer. Day soon shall come, boys. With roll of drum, boys, Breaking, shrilly, on the soldier's ear. Drink the faithful hearts that love us, 'Mid to-morrow's thickest fight. While our green flag floats above us. Think, boys, 'tis for them we smite ! Down with each mean flag, None but the green flag Shall, above us, be, in triumph, seen ; Think on its glory. Long told in story, Charge for Erin and her Elag of Green ! 104 THE GEEEN FLAG. n. Think on great Brien,^ "War's fearless lion, 'Keath that banner 'twas he smote the Dane. Northman and Saxon Oft turned their backs on Those who bore it o'er each crimson' d plain ! Beal-an-atha-Buidhe beheld it^ Bagenal's fiery onset curb : Scotch Monroe would fain have fell'd it,* How we drove him, boys, from red Beinnburb ! Down with each mean flag, 'None but the green flag. Shall, in triumph, be, above us, seen ; Think on its glory. Long dear to story. Charge for Erin and her Flag of Green I m. And if, at eve, boys, Comrades shall grieve, boys. THE GEEEN FLAG. 105 O'er our corses, let it be with pride ; Seeing how each, boys. High ou the beach, boys, I^otes the flood-mark of the battle-tide ! See — the first faint ray of morning Streaks the cast with yellow light ! Hark ! the bugle-note gives warning — Ah ! boys, which of us shall meet to-night ? Down with each mean flag, N'one but the green flag. Shall, in triumph, be, above us, seen ! Think on its glory. Long told in story. Win, or perish, by our Flag of Green ! TOIL AND THOUGHT. 'Mid the peoples' worst disasters, 'Mid the ruin wildly wrought, Wrong has still two giant masters, And their names are Toil and Thought ; Twin magicians, great and glorious, Power of limb and power of mind, Now, as from the first, victorious O'er the ills of human kind. Thought the planner — Toil the doer — Onward still they speed their way, Neither, of himself, subduer, Both together nought can stay. Mighty oceans crossed like fountains. Mighty forests, mowed like grass, Dammed-up seas and levelled mountains. Make the paths by which they pass. TOIL a:nd Tnorcnx. , 10* Every good worth mankind's winning, Every deed that great we call, To our day, from Earth's beginning, Thought and Toil have done them all. Vain the efforts of the spoiler, Vain the worst his power can do, While the Thinker and the Toiler To their mission still ai^c true. AN APOLOGY. !N"ay, blame her not — sweet liuiiiaii flower, Glad at her own young loveliness ! Who would not envy her the power, By her mere presence, thus to bless ? Who would not wish her own the charm, Through life, where'er her glances fell; Each foe, save Envy, to disarm, With beauty's overwhelming spell r Is it an error — when those eyes Survey the happiness they make — If brighter radiance, half surprise, Half triumph, through their lashes break ? Is it an error — when that face And form attract admiring gaze. If something of a haughtier grace A passing pride of soul betrays ? AN APOLOGY. 109 Would not the Eose — could it but feel, Like her, the joy its presence yields, AVith richer sigh and blush, reveal Its happiness to skies and fields ? Oh ! trust me, yes. The precious right Of gLadd'ning, whercsoe'er we go, Confers such innocent delight, As angels need not fear to knovr. S K G. A FIG for Philosophy's rules ! Our stay is too brief upon Earth, To pass any time in the schools, Save those of Love, Music, and Mirth I Oh ! their's is the exquisite lore, "We can learn in life's summer by heart, While the winter of gloomy four-score, Finds us fools in Philosophy's art. Then, surely, if life's but a day, 'Tis vain o'er dull volumes to pine ; Let the sage choose what studies he may. But Mirth, Love, and Music be mine. What a fool was the Chaldean seer, Who studied the planets afar ; A^Tiile the bright eye of woman is near, Mij book be that beautiful star ! SONG. Ill The lore of tlic planets who seeks, Is years in acquiring his art ; "WTiilc the science dear woman's eye speaks, Is learned in a minute by heart. Then, surely, if life's but a day, 'Tis vain o'er dull volumes to pine. Let the stars be his book as they may, But the bright eye of woman be mine. The Chymist may learnedly tell. Of the treasures his art can unmask, Eut this goblet has in it a spell, AMiich is all of his learning I, ask. In gazing on woman's soft eyes, I feel all a star- student's bliss, And chymistry's happiest prize, I find in a bumper like this. Then fill up ! since life's but a day ; 'Tis vain o'er dull yolumes to pine, Love and ^irth be our guides on its way. And t ^ praise them in Music be mine ! EPITAPH. (FEOil MALHEEBE.) She was of earth, where all with beauty rife Finds swiftest doom. Herself a rose, she had the rose's life, A morning's bloom ! OEIGn^AL. Elle etait de ce monde, ou les plus belles choses Out un pire destin ; Et, rose, elle a vecu ce que yivent les roses, L'espace d'un matin ! TO PYRRHA. (PEOil HOEACE.) nS 'What tender youth, with perfumed hair, On couch of roses thee caresses, In pleasant grotto, Pyrrha fair ? Por whom thou bind'st thy yellow tresses, With simple neatness. Ah ! how oft False faith and fickle Gods he'll weep And TNind-lashed billows, tossed aloft, "Will marvel at — deceitful deep ! "Wlio now enjoys thee beauteous there, "WTio hopes to find thee always free — Unlesson'd in the treacherous air — And always lovely ? Hapless he Por whom, unknown, you shine ! Tor me, The sacred tablet notes that I Have hung my dripping garments high, Yotive to him who rules the sea. I THE STJPPER OF BACCHUS.^ Yenus and Bacchus, of a night, Sat, tete-d-tete, to sup together, The fire, beside them, blazing bright, 'Twas in December's chilly weather. Love chanced, just then, to pass, with Mirth — Two comrades close as Tom and Jerry, Whose motto, from their very birth, Was "Hang old Care, and let's be merry."' And when they saw the lights above — I give their words, as would old Elaccus — Ho ! llirth, my gay old boy," says Love, '' Let's stop and have a glass with Bacchus !" THE SUrrEE OF BACCHUS. 116 '' By Jove," says Mirth, '^ I'm rather dnj, And this vile rain is deuc'd unpleasant ; His Avine's superh, and you and I Could relish it, I guess, at present." They knocked, and Bacchus oped the door, And, when they entered, locked it after ; Mirth set them, soon, in such a roar. That Venus nearly died of laughter. They sang and joked the goblet o'er, And ne'er more fun the veil of night hid ; For never met together four, Whom song and frolic more delighted. Old Care, tow'rds morning, loudly knocked, He heard their sport, and thought to mar it. But Bacchus, who was then *' half-cocked," Upset him in a butt of claret. 0*erv,"helm'd beneath the crimson tide. In vain he sought for help around liim ; ^' Come, drink, old fellov/ !" Bacchus cried, And in the rosy nectar drown' d him ! b 116 THE ST7PPE11 OF EACCHL'S. And, ever since, the sons of Care, Still wrathful at their sire's immersion^ A lasting grudge to Bacchus bear, And hold his wine in like aversion. But, let them drain their watery draught, In vain the dullards think to wean us, From nectar glorious Bacchus quaffed, With laughing Mirth, and Love, and Tenus I THE SAYOBD/ I. What rights the brave ? The S^Yord ! What frees the slave ? The Sword ! What cleaves in twain The despot's chain, And makes his gyves and dungeons vain ? The Sword 1 CHORUS. Then cease thy proud task never, While rests a link to sever ! Guard of the free, We'll cherisli thee, And keep thee bright for ever I 118 THE SWOED. n. "Wliat checks the knave ? The Sword ! AVhat smites to save r The Sword ! "What wreaks the wrong Unpunished long, * At last, upon the guilty strong r The Sword ! CHOEFS. Then cease thy proud task never, &c- m. What shelters right ? The Sword ! What makes it might ? The Sword ! What strikes the cro^yn Of tyrants down. And answers with its flash their frown r The Sword ! CHOEIIS. Then cease thy proud task never, &c. THE SWORD. 110 IV. Still be thou true, Good Sword! We'll die or do, Good Sword I Leap forth to light, If tyrants smite, And trust our arms to wield thee right, Good Sword ! cnoKrs. Yes I cease thy proud task never, While rests a link to sever, Guard of the free, We'll cherish thee, And keep thee bright for ever ! A LAMENT. An ! sorrow is a silent thing, or, surely, not till now, My voice had wanted words of wail, for one sc loved as thou, The friend of few, but fateful, years — the trusted and the true. To whom each thought of mine was known, whose every thought I knew. And now, even, when the heart has grown familiar with its grief, And strives to find, in bitter words, from bitter thoughts, relief, 'Tis hard to speak in measured tone, for stifling sobs will come — True Sorrow's only eloquence — and bid the lips be dumb. How full of life and hope thou wast, when last I saw thee here ! How Eriendship augured for thee, then, a long and proud career ! A LAMENT. 121 , Who could have tlioiiglit llio summer flower so short-lived in its bloom, That smiled upon thy bridal morn, should fade above thy tomb ? But — thou art gone. — Ah! few can guess how much that bitter phrase, To those whose hearts were linked with thine, of solitude conveys. Can guess how much of all the light, whose warm and cheering ray Shed its bright sunshine on their world, with thee has passed away. Enough — 'tis not for vain lament these tearful lines should flow, JS'ot for the false parade that makes *' a mockery of woe."* A lesson from thy early grave — a thought, whose light may be, A beacon on life's stormy wave, were tribute worthier thee. ,122 A LAMENT. ^ Why wast thou loved as few are loved — why wept as few are wept ? Because the "■ whiteness of thy soul" untainted thou hadst kept ; Because no sordid earthly stain, caught from its house of clay, Had dimmed thy spirit's lustrous sheen — ere snatched by God away. Hence came the Love, that clung to thee, through- out thy brief career, That strove, with more than human strength, to hold thy spirit here ; That, when all hope and chance were gone, still, to thy latest breath. Seemed almost strong enough to win the awful strife with Death. And if that Love has vainly striven, and crushed and bleeding lies. The Merciful will heal its wounds^ and calm its stifling sighs. A LAMENT. 12;J AVill dry its tears, and kindly turn its longin;^ tliOTights on liigh, From all it cherished that hath died, to that which cannot die. Farewell — yet no — to such as thee there can be no farewell. The life-long guest of Memory, with us thou still shalt dwell, Still gently warn, if Error lures, still cheer, if Fortune frowns, Still point the way to that success alone which Virtue crowns. Then let us not, at God's behest, unthinkingly repine, But do our duty in the world, as thou wouldst have done thine, And be the light thy Tii^tues shed, reflected thii'ough our tears, A rainbow of immortal hope, to cheer our futiu'e years. TO A LADY. 'TwEiiE surely rashness to declare That you are good as you are fair, How could it be so, when we know Perfection cannot dwell below ? When some one charm of yours grows faint I'll think you may be quite a saint. YACHTING SOKG. I. Sta]S'd by, lads, to liaiil on each haliard and sheet ! Our swift little Phantom is Queen of the fleet. — The good breeze is curling the foam-crested sea, And she'll soon leave the best of them under her lee ! There flies the Blue-Peter ! Ha ! there goes the gun ! There, fill jib and foresail ! well done, lads, well done ! A good craft, a stiff breeze, a crest-tossing sea, And a staunch-hearted crew leave dull care on the lee ! 126 ■ YACHTING SONG. II. Strain taut on the peak, lads, and down with the tack ! She's round. !N"ow, sheet home ! though your cordage should crack. Sway well on your bowsprit, and in with the stay I She flies, like a flash, through the white cloud of spray. Though under the water our lee-gunnel lies, Dry decks are bad omen, my lads, of the prize. A good craft, a stiff breeze, a crest-tossing ♦ sea. And a staunch-hearted crew leave dull care on the lee ! III. Now — Ready about, boys ! Down helm ! How she spins ! Let draw, there I Sheet home ! Xow the tough work begins ! Stand by for the puff, lads ! She meets it I Hurrah^! Brave craft you'll have plenty to try you to-day. YACHTING SONG. 127 Look out, boys ! Yon sea threatens more than its foam. "Who heeds a wet-jacket were better at home I A good craft, a stiff breeze, a crest-tossing sea, And a staunch-hearted crew leave dull care on the lee ! IT. llight bravely yon rival the rough billows ploughs ; But we cross, like a sea-bird, his labouring bows. Our fleet little Fliantom may bid him good-bye, For she sails, like a witch, in the very wind's eye, One tack, and we scud with free-sheet o'er the foam. And we'll give him a chance, in a stern- chase for home ! A good craft, a stiff breeze, a crest-tossing sea, And a staanch -hearted crew leave dull care on the lee ! 128 YACHTING SOXG. V. l^ow plenty of sheet, boys, she's fairly about, — Let big jib and topsail spread gloriously out ! Huge pinions that gleam, white as sun-lighted snow, O'er the dark little sea-bii'd that's gliding below; Hurrah ! boys, the gun tells that ours is the race. Where, where, are the laggards that held us in chase ? A good craft, a stiff' breeze, a crest-tossing sea, And a stout-hearted crew are the comrades for me ! TO A LADY. 1 GAVE tliee uji xEolian iyre, yritli chords complete of string and wire, Eut you complain the night wind's sigh A\'ins to its whispers no reply. Ah ! say do not the sighs of Love Thy heart, as vainly, try to move, AVoo idly as that summer air, ]Xor wake one- chord responsive there? UlELAND ijy^ THE SE^^ATE. (to G. F. S , F.T.C.D.) I. Heee, at the close of casual lays, The reflex of the passing hour ; That varied, with life's varying clays, Like April's sun and April's shower ; A graver verse than those of youth. Perchance, were not unmcetly penn'd^ Addressed to one whose manly truth !Makes it a pride to call him Friend. II. The glorious mission is not mine — Who weakly touch a languid string — To waken, on the harp divine, The sounds that through the ages ring ; rp lEELAXD IN THE SENATE. 131 But, had it been, I well might find, In themes discuss' d between us twain, With earnest hope for human kind, Fit subjects for its loftiest strain. III. But mine is not the poet's gift, Nor mine has been the poet's life; Yet do I strive, at least, to lift My soul above poor party strife ; And prize the man, in every hour, "Whose spirit, self-sustained and proud, Can scorn, alike, the lures of pow'r, And senseless clamours of the crowd ! IV. Here, 'mid the war of clashing creeds, And venomed factions' hateful jar; Where every honest bosom bleeds, To think how fair a land they mar ; 'Tis well, if even a few be found. Of better purpose — nobler aim — Wlio, pitying, view the scene around. And stand aloof, in grief and shame. 132 lEELAKD ry THE SEPTATE. V. For saddest sight 'tis to behold A people's sacred suffrage won, By arts more base than bribes of gold, AYhose touch the honest dupe would shun ; Yet sells his proudest right on carth^ — To guard which free-born men would die — To creatures grovelling from their birth. For braggart speech and slavish lie ! VI. The bigot and the bigot's tool, The knave, that patriot's name blasphemes. Are sent to share the haughtiest rule, That dazzles young Ambition's dreams ; Or, rather, win the power to mar Each plan their country's rank to raise, That still, beneath som.e luckless star, Drass on her chain of darksome davs ! VII. In that great Senate, that decides The mightiest destinies of man ; AVithin wliose walls a power resides, Unrivalled since the world began ; IRELAND IX THE SEX ATE. I'Vo When does the lofty hall resound, To Irish voice, in high debate ? A voice, alas ! too promptly found, Por vulgar words of factious hate. vin. Yes ! Ireland hardly lifts a voice, Amid the Councils of the Isles, Except to make her foes rejoice, Aud curl the lip with scorning smiles ; x^o word of Wisdom speaks the sense. That dwells, despondent, in the land ; j^oY breathes, as once, the Eloc[uence, Whose fervour made even follies grand ! IX. At such a time, even lyre like mine, May strive to raise a warning lay ; To waken, from their sleep supine. The minds that might the millions sway I For better far to see our isle, Ey despot edict, firmly ruled, Than thus — the prey of tricksters vile — Stand self -degraded, self -befooled ! -134 IRELA^^D IX THE SEXATE. X. I've striven to do Avliat one man could, 'Who — vritli but feeble pen to wield — For Thought's supremacy has stood, ^>Vith few to aid him in the field ; Eewarded not by loud acclaim Of fools, who phantom good pursue, But consciousness of useful aim, And thanks and praise from men like you!' XI. Eut better far than thanks or praise, Sublime reward 'twould prove, indeed. To see our country's Genius raise Its voice, o'er jar of clique or creed; Her better, nobler, sons to see Their just and fitting place attain, And, 'mid the Councils of the free, The part of free-born men sustain ! NOTES. In the former Editions allusion was made, in the Notes , to three or four Officers, by name, who were not mentioned in the " Lays," but who had distinguished themselves during the Campaign. As, hoAvever, the Author felt that others, equally distinguished, had equal claim to such allusion to their services, and that he could not mention all deserving of it, he has thought it better to omit the references to any individual not named in the verses, in the present Edition. NOTES. NOTES ON INTRODUCTION. Note i. — Pag-e 2. The allusion here is to the original Crystal Palace, pulled down to raise the grander one at Sydenham. Note ii. — Page 3. It is hoped that the references, in this stanza, to Transatlantic Steam Navigation, Hiihvay communication, and the Electric Tele- graph, are sufficiently intelligible. Note iii. — Page 6. It will be remembered that her Majesty was present at the departure of the first detachment of the Guards from London, the fact here noticed. THE BATTLE OF ALMA. In the Ballad descriptive of the battle of Alma, as in all the rest, the writer has adhered, as closely as metrical rules would admit ©f, to the text of Mr. Russell's letters to the Titnes. His brilliant account of the various actions have been read by ever}' one ; and their general accuracy has been as little impugned, as their singular beauty of style is unquestionable. It is the duty of the narrator of an event, whether in prose or poetry, to be as faithful, in matters of fact, as possible, and the merit of fidelit5% as far as the Author had the means of information, it is hoped will be accorded to the Lays. The notes to this, and the subsequent poems, refer chieliy to the passages in the Times cor- respondence, adopted or paraphrased in them. IV NOTES. Note i.— Paje 10. " The order in which our army advanced was in columns of brigades at deploying distance." * * * " For the first time one was struck with the splendid appearance of our Infantry in line, in the distance. Red is the colour after all, and the white slashing's of the breast of the coat and cross belts arive a man an appearance of size which other uniforms do not produce. The dark Frencli columns on the right looked very small compared to our battalions." * * * "The rig-ht of the Allied forces ■was covered by the fleet, which moved along with it in magnificent order." Note ii. — Page 10. The cholera, it will be remembered, raged violently at the period. During the march Mr. Eussell says :— " Many sick men fell out and were carried to the rear. It was a painfvil sight — a sad contrast to the magnificent appearance of the army in front, &c." "Onward the torrent of Avar swept, wave after w'ave, while the rumble of the artillery and the tramp of cavalry accompanied their progress." Note in. — Page ll. " Presently, from the top of the hill, a wide plain was visible beyond wliich rose a ridge darkened here and there by masses which the practised eye recognised as cavalry. It was our first sight of the enemy " * * * " Suddenly, one of the Kussian cavalry squares opened — a spirit of white smoke rose out of the gap, and a round shot, which pitched close to my horse, tore over the column of our cavalry behind, and rolled away, &c." Note iv. — Page 11. " At last, the smoke of burning villages and farm-houses an- nounced that the enemy in front were aware of our march." Note v. — Page 14. The march took place on the 19th ; the battle on the following day. The description in this stanza is almost literally that given by Mr. Hussell. The llussians occupied the height, southward of the Alma—" a tortuous little stream" in some places "too deep to be forded, though it can generally be crossed by waders who do not fear to wet their knees." On the north bank are little hamlets, and " the bridge over which the post-road passes, from Bouljinak to Sebastopol, is close to one of these hamlets." The Russian position was strengthened by redoubts and batteries, commanding the bridge and ravines, up the hill-side, and the whole of the latter was " filled with masses of skirmishers, armed with an excellent two-grooved rifle." Note vr. — Page 15. The description here is also Mr. Russell's. "Some of the houses," he says, "are scattered wide apart amid little vineyards surrounded by walls of mud and stone of three feet in height." NOTES. The iTinark of ^^al•shal St. Arnacd and the reply to it are ^iveii verbatim from the correspondciue, but the incident occurred during' a halt on the IDth, and not on the day of the battle. Note vii. — Page 16. "The French practice commenced abont half-past twelve" — that is, the shelllii"- from the lleet.— " A jiowder tumbril was blown up bv a Frencli shell * * * and at last the enemy drew'ofl" from the sea-side." * * * «« At one o'clock ■we saw the French columns strucrclinsr up the hill, covered by a cloud of skirmishers. Once they paused, but it was only to collect their skirmishers, for as soon as they had formed they ran up the hill, at the pas de chnrpc, and broke up the Ftussians at once, who fled, in disorder, with loss, up the hill." Note viii. — Pag^e 17. "At 1.50, our skirmishers got within range of the battery on the hill. * * * Shortly ere this time dense volumes of smoke rose from the river, and drifted along- to the eastward, rather interfering;- with the view of the enemy on the left of our position. The Russians had set the village on fire. It was a fair exercise of military skill," oic. Note ix.— Page 17. " The round shot whizzed in every direction. * * •* The Infantry therefore were ordered to lie down. * * * Our Artiller'y poured forth an unceasing fire, * * * they did not waver but replied manfully, their shot falling among- our men as they lay, and carrying ofllegs and arms at every round." Note x. — Page 18. "Lord Il.\GLAN became weary of this inactivity * * * he gave ciders for our who le line to advance. P'p rose those serried masses * * * dashed into the Alma, and floundered through its -waters, which were literally torn into foam by the deadly hail." Note xi. — Page 18. This fact -was vouched for by several eye-witnesses. Note xii. — Page 19. "A valour rivalling that of antiquity."— Marshal St. Arn.\ud's anguage in his despatch. Note xiii.— Page 19. "Three of the staff," says Mr. Rcssf.ll, " were here shot down, but led by Loid EaglanJ in person, they advanted, cheering on the men." Vi NOTES. Note xiv. — Page 19. "The 7th Fusiliers,'' writes Mr. Russell, "led by Colonel Yka, were swept down by fifties." This °-allant officer fell gloriously, on the 18lh of June, "in advance of his men, struck at once in head and stomach by grape shot." The above-named gentleman, in writing of his death, says — " At the Ahna, he never went back a step, and there Mere tears in liis eyes, on that eventful afternoon, as lie exclaimed to me, Avhen the men had formed on the sloiie of the hill after the retreat of the enemy, ' There, look there, that's all that remains of my poor Fusiliers! A colour's missing; but, thank God, no Russians have it.' Throughout the winter, his attention to his regiment was conspicuous. They were the first who had huts. * * * At Inkermann his valour was conspicuous. What did he get for it?" Note xv. — Page 19. Sir De Lacy Evans commanded the Second Division, which, in Mr. Russell's words, "in the most dashing manner, crossed the stream on the right." Of the valour and services of this true soldier it is unnecessary to speak. On the desperate day of Inker- mann, he left his sick bed, and rode to witness the action, though not able to take the command, which consequently devolved on Brigadier (now Lieutenant) General Pennefather. The Second Division had, throughout, more than its share of the fatigues and dangers of the campaign. Note xvr. — Page 19. Sir George Brown led the Light Division, with dauntless intrepidity. This Division, like the Second, has hsd ample occa- sion to exhibit its hereditary valour. The colours of the regiments composing it may indeed be said to form a constellation of victories. Note xvii. — Page 20. "Down went Sir George, in a cloud of dust, in front of the battery. He was soon up, and shouted, '23rd, I'm all right. Be sure I'll remember tliis day,' and led them on again."— 2'««ra Correspondence. Note xvrii.— Page 20. "At this very moment, an immense mass of Russian Infantry were seen moving down towards the battery. * * * • Sharp, angular, and solid, they looked as if they were cut out of the solid rock." — Ibid. Note xix. — Page 21. " It was the crisis of the day." • • • '" Lord Raglan saw the difficulties of the situation. lie asked if it would be; pos- sible to get a couple of guns to bear on these masses. The reply was ' Yes,' and an officer, whose name I do not knoAV, brought up two guns to fire on tlie Russian squares. The first shot missed, but the next, and the next, and the next, cut through the ranks, so cleanly and so keenly, that 'a clear lane could be seen for a moment through the square." — Ibid. XOTES. "Vil Note xx Pa^o 22. The Diikeof CAMnRiDGEcommanded the First Division, " and," says Mr. llussKi-L, "proved liiin-srlf worthy of his command, and of 'the lloyal race from whiidi he comes." At one moment, he wa;* about to order tlie Bris-ade of Guards back to re-form, when Sir Colin t'AMi'iiicLL urt^ed him not, and tlie advance was pcr- evered in. NoTi; >;xi — Page 22. Sir CoLTN Campbell commanded the Hi?hland Brigade, in the Duue's Division, viz.:— the 42nd, 7'.)lh, and ii^rd Regiments. Note xxii — Page 22. '" Iliirhlanders,' said Sir C. Campbell, ere they came to the tharge, ' I'm goin? to ask a favour ."ot so, reader. Let us not do the grievous wron'jf, to tlitj noble memories of those who fell, that such luii;uage would in- volve. The hero never falls in vain. The blood that valour sheds NOTES. IX is never fruitless. Not for nothing did Leonidas perish at Thor- mopylie, or the Decii, father, son, and i^randson, devote them- selves in battle to the gods, for the safety and the honour of tln'ir country. And no man fi-U in that splendid char^'■e that was not a Uecius. The ' red rain' that moistened the arid soil over whicli they sped, will have its fruit, helicve us — it will give bloom and vigour to many a noble imi)ulse, will make many a glorious action germinate, in days to come Let no man calumniate our fallen heroes by the dastard epitaph, 'They fell in vain.' There is not a nerve of their surviving comrades that has not been steeled tu heroism, by the example they have shewn. " They had to die — as all of us have — and they died like men. They might have lived for an ignoble end. A few years, a few niontlis, ay, a few days, might have laid the bravest of them low, by some of tlie conunon casualties of our race. Accident or disease might have stilled, for ever, the noblest heart whose last proud throb was given in the midst of that splendid onslaught. M'ho that loves their memories would have preferred that it was thus they perished .' For themselves, for their friends, for their countiy, they have fallen gloriously. 'They died like heroes, for no recreant step Had eredishonoured them, no stain of fear, Xo base retreat, no cowardly recoil — They had the hearts of freemen, to the last, And the free blood that bounded in their veins Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy.' — Let no man say they died in vain." Note i. — Page 25. Our heavy cavalry, it Avill be remembered, — the Scots Greys and Enniskilleners, followtd up by the 1st Itoyals, 4th Dragoon Guards and 5tli Dragoon Guards, — led by Brigadier-General Scaklett, had utterly routed, at this time, a vast body of liussian Cavalry corps d' elite; the 93rd liighlaudcrs having, a little before, splen- didly repulsed a cavalry attack made on them, without even forming four deep, but remaining in their ordinary formation, in line, two deep. Note ii — Page 26. The enemy got possession of four redoubts, which the Turks had garrisoned, at their first onset, in the morning. Note hi.— Page 27. Poor Captain Nolan — an Irishman — and "bravest of the brave." Note iv.— Page 27. " When Lord Lucan," says Mr. Russell, " received the order from Captain Nolan, and had read it, he asked, we are told, ' Where are we to advance to .'' Captain Nolan pointed with his finger to the line of Russians, and said, ' There are the enemy, and there arc the guns, Sir, before them ; it is your duty to take XOTES. them,' or words to that effect." — All the circumstances connected with the order, however, have been the subject of constant and angry controversy. Note v.— Page 28. The gallant fellow was killed at the first discharg-e, struck by a shell in the bre.ist, and was borne back dead in the saddle, for some distance, by his horse. He was riding about thirty paces in advance of the Hussars. Note vi. — Page 29. "With a halo of flashin? steel above their heads, and •with a cheer, that was many a noble fellow's death-cry, they flew into tho s-.noke of the batteries." — Times' Correspondence. Note vii. — Page 30. The number who got back after the charge was only 230, in the first instance, the rest creeping in wounded, or strag'gling back having- lost their horses. The actual loss, in killed, wounded and prisoners was 27'J ; but the verses are supposed to describe the event, as presented at the moment to the spectator. THE BATTLE OF IXKERMAXN. The details of this nobly-contested engagement are all taken, with minute particularity, Ironi Mr. Rcssell's correspondence, to -which the reader is referred, for such matters as are not indicated in the notes. Note i. — Page 31. " It had rained incessantly, the night before. * * * The fogs and vapours of drifting rain were so thick, as morning broke, that one could scarcely see two yards before him." Note ii. — Page 32. " During the night a sharp-eared sergeant, on an outlying picket of the Light Division, heard the sound of wheels in the valley below. * * * It was supposed that the sound was from ammunition cars or Arabas, going into Sebastopol by the Inkermann road." * * * '« At four o'clock tb.e bells of the churches were heard ringing drearily, but the occurreuce had been so usual that it excited no particular attention." Note hi. — Page 33, "It was a little after 5 o'clock, when Brigadier-General Cod- RINGTON visited the pickets of his brigade. * * * It was reported to him that ' All was well.' • * He had only NOTES. XI proceeded a few paces when a sharp rattle of musketry was heard down the liill, &e." "The llu.-sians were advanein<,' in force. Their groy <:reat-eoats rench-red them ahnost invisible, even when elose at hand." •' The pickets of the 'Jnd Division * . • * were driven upwards towards the brow of the hill, contesting every step of it, and firing as long- as they had a round of ammunition." NOTB IV. — Page 33. " The men in our camp had just begun a struggle with tiic rain, in endeavourin<.,' to light tlieir tires for breakfast, when the alarm was given, tliat the llussians were advancing in force." NoTB V. — Pag I! 31. " Brigadior-CJeneral PENNKF.VTiiKn, to wliom the illness of Sir De Lacv Evans, had given for the time the command of the Second Division, at once got the troops under arms." Note vi.— Page 34. *' The Duke of Camhuidoe Avas not behind hand in bringing up tlie Guards umler Brigadier Hentincic — all of liis Division now- left with him, the Highlanders being with Sir Colin Campbell at Balaklava." Note vii. — Page 35. " Sir Georg e Catiioart, with tlic greatest promptitude turned out as many of his Division as were not engaged in the trenches." Note viii.— Pack 35. " It was soon found that the Russians had brought up, at least, forty pieces of lieavy artillery to bear on us." » * * * " They had, no doubt, taken the bearings of the ground, ere they placed their guns, and tired at random, indeed, but with too mucii etlect, on the advancing columns." Note ix. — Page 37. This and the foregoing stan/.a simply embody Mr. Russell's description in an abridged form. "And now conunenced one of tlve bloodiest struggle's ever witnessed." * * « tt \y^. were obliged to resist, bayonet to bayonet, the Russian Infantry again and again, as tiiey charged us with incredible fury anil determination." "A contest the like of which, perhaps, never took ])l:ice bi>forc, was going on between the Guards :uid dense columns of Russian Infantry five times tlielr n\unber. The Guards had charged and driven them back, wlieii they perceived tliat the; Russians had outtlanked them. They were out of amnuuiition too. * *» * They had no support, no reserve, and were XU ]S'OTES. fig'htin'j with the bayonet, asrainst an enemy who stoutly contested every inch of ground, when the corps of another llussian cohxmn, ;ippeared on tlie right, far in the rear. Then a fearful mitrotUe was poured into them and volleys of rifle and musketry. The a mehiii- choly trutlifuliicss about tlio lines in reference to Lord Raulan : — • To fall, if need, as Cvthcvrt fell, to die as Raoi.an died, The soldier's duty nobly done, witliout the soldier's pride, Ko poni]) of battle im liis brow its clorious lustre shed, But calumny and falsehood hung above his dying bed.' The lament for the fallen heroes of the war i.« very solemn and pathetic; it resembles the best of Macaulay's Lays of Ancii'nt Rome iu its picturesque and fjraceful portraitures. In describing the devoted courage of IIokatius, Macaulay says — '"When the girls ;ire weaving baskets. And the lads are shaping bows,' the story of the warrior's prowess shall be told in Rome; and Mr. Bahky brliig;s before the 'mind's eye' portraits equally graphic and pleasing. " We hope to see these poems either published separately, with illustrations, or included in a handsome volume, dedicated to a collection of the fine.st poems on the war, amongst which are Mackay's ballad of Inkerniann, Tennyson's 'Charge of Light Cavalry,' and Story's 'Navoleon rules again,' which would adorn the libraries of the noblest families in England, few of whom alas! are without a vacant clutir at the social board, and a sad enduring memory of some gallant spirit, whose life-blood has flowed in the Crimean war." {From the Duhl'm Daily Express.) " Mr. Barry describes, with considerable vigour and much poetic feeling, the chief events enacted by the allied armies in Sebastopol, commencing with the baptismal onslaught on the heights of Alma, and concluding with a ' Requiem for the Brave,' after the late successful assault, wlien Sebastopol fell into our hands. With the varieties of style, and the laws laid down in reference to versification, Mr. Barry evidently is familiar ; his imagery, also, is bold, and his language nervous ; but to our mind the most striking feature in his poetry is the faculty shown for carrying the reader away into the heat of battle, and surrounding him with ' all the pomp and circumstance of glorious war ' This is great praise, but no more than is really due." {From the Dublin Evening Post.) " We are not surprised that the public has called for a Second Edition of these spirited Lays. Indeed we should be very much £0, if the first and even the present were not very speedily bought up. Mr. Barky has sung the leading events of the war and the achievements of our heroes in strains fully worthy of his lofty theme. There is a boldncL-s in his execution, a smoothness in his versification, which evince poetic powers of no ordinary magnitude ; and he has but to cultivate his noble gift, and apply it to worthy OiS- THE "lays of the -SYAE." purposes, as in the present instance, to associate his name with those of other g-ifted men of which his country has been so prolific. Want of space prevents us from enlarg-ing- as we could wish upon the merits of the poems contained in this modest little volume ; but it is the less necessary we should do so that the Lays are sure to force their own way to the reg-ard of the lovers of good poetry, and thus establish their independence of every species of criticism. They are now for the first time on sale in Dublin." {From the Cork Constitution.) "These are the 'Lays' which we have had such pleasure in reprinting from the Reporter. Before we were aware that the Author was thinking of it we suggested their publication in a more permanent form than that of 'the Poet's Corner' of a newspaper; and a plainer indication of our sense of their merits we could not give. The stamp of a high poetic spirit is on tliem, and few can have read them without feeling their pulses thrill to the nervous, and eloquent, and animating strain. * * * In an Appendix the Author intimates that ' The Battle of the Alma ' ' has been considerably altered.' As we received the volume only last night, we have not had time to read it; but if it has by the alteration been improved, it must be as nearly perfect as a Battle Piece can be, though we, for our parts, give the preference to ' Inkermann.' At all events, the lover of good poetry will find in these pages what he will in vain seek for in most others of the kind that come under our observation, and we are sure he will thank us for directing his attention to them." {From the Cork Examiner.) " No theme in all the range of literature has just now so much interest for the public ear as the deadly war in the East, and every- thing touching on its events is sought with a greedy anxiety. The ballads, therefore, of Mr. Barry, celebrating some of its grandest scenes, have been received with avidity by the public, as affording a worthv echo of the popular sentiment. They are written, as the Author himself states in his appendix, from the spirited text of the Times correspondence, but with the long details which prose involves excluded ; the incidents compressed into a series of pictures^ and the charm of ringing verse thrown over all. To these has been added a poetical introduction, an ode on the war itself, written in a more reflective spirit, but with the same enthu- siasm and beauty as characterise the ballads." {From the Tipper ary Free Press.) " We have seen the Lays of the War in the neatly printed volume before us, not for the first time, but their re-publication from the Cork Daily Reporter brings thpm before us under a ditferent aspect. We are glad, indeed, that Mr. Barry has had them thus collected, for we never remember to have read of heroic deeds so fittingly celebrated, as the incidents of the Crimean campaign by his grace- ful pen. The struggle by the waters of the Alma— the glorious OnXIOXS OF THE TRESS but deadly charge at Balaklava — the fierce contest in tbe Valley of Inkcrmann, are depicti^'d ^itli a beauty and enthusiasm but seldom possessed by the votiries of the Muse. .... Throughout the entire eolh'ction the spirit of true poetry breathes, and wlu'thcr he describes the inarcli, the battle, the victory, or the death of our Crimean heroes, tlie ofifted Autlior is equally elFectivi!. The Lays of the War will have a wide circulation — but not wider than their merits deserve." {From the Watcrford Mail.) "These 'Lays of the War' are the product of a highly gifted mind. We liad, previous to them, heard of the Author's poetic ability, but we must say that these perfornuinces are far beyond what we had given him credit for. They were published originally in the Cork Daily Reporter, and we believe we re-published all of them as they appeared, so that it is unnecessary for us to give any extracts. They are distinguished by a very high tone of feeling, a rare appre- ciation of Avhatis chivalrous and noble, and rich raciness of style, and admirable spirit. We warmly congratulate the Author on his success, and hope we may have on many occasions to praise his future eflFusions." {From the Neivry Telegraph.) "As a political writer, Mr. Barky is distinguished for the purity and force of his style, as well as for the variety and extent of his information. He has also written some very excellent poetry, so that 'The Lays of the War,' as this admirable little volume is styled, come recommended to us by reason of the high reputation which their Author has acquired in the literary world. We hesitate not to say, that the merits of the verses before us are such as to add materially to the estimate Avhich may have been formed of the acquirements of the accomplished writer. They are each and all Avritt(Mi with vigour and ability, and characterised by a singular felicity of sentiment and expression. The heroic achievements and martial exploits of the allied arms are chronicled in a manner in every way worthy the spirit-stirring theme, while the more remarkable incidents are narrated with a graphic poAver, grace and minuteness of description, not often attained in produc- tions of this class. Of the several ballads in the collection, we ]irefer that with the title ' Sebastopol is Won.' It is a splendid poetic burst, and remarkable alike for patriotic sentiment and correct versilication. ****** " We hope that this excellent little publication will attain a circulation equivalent to iis deserts, in Avhich event it will be extensively perused." {From the Carloic Post.) " We have before us Mr. Barry's ' Lays of the War,' and feel ourselves almost carried into the thickest of the fight by the inspiring strain of his gallant Muse. Whether on the Alma, at Balaklava, or Inkermann the same martial fire glows in the flowing ox THE '' LAYS OF THE WAE." numbers and sustains the terrible interest in the progress and spirit of the battle, the charge, and the siege. So numerous in- deed are the specimens in the ' Lays' of poetic capabilities soarmo above the general order, that the business of selection becginse unusually facile. We take, however, the following exquisite passages from ' Sebastopol is Won,' as a fair criterion of the Author's powers. * * * *.*.,* * "Of the ' Kequiem for the Brave' it Avould be impossible to speak too highly. It breathes throughout a tenderness and intensity of feeling that few of our modern bards have equalled. Th*; natural atfections are described with a sweetness of expression and a felicity of diction, and, as it were, a harmony of thought that render this piece the happiest effort of poetic composition wc have met with for some years. We can only find space for the following- extract from what we consider Mr. Barry's chefd'onurre. *°* ****** " But this piecemeal exhibition of the delisfhtfnl whole is at once unjust to the Author and the reader. We shall, therefore, refer the latter to the little volume itself, as he will find in it another proof of the genius -wliich abounds in our land. * * " Of the ' L?ys of the War,' all we shall therefore say, in con- clusion, is that they cy^mot be more successful than they deserve." {From the Banner of Ulster.) " The nearest approach to good poetry, on our late military achievements, is to be found in the unassuming little Avork, the title of which heads our notice. Tennyson made an effort to do justice to 'The Charge of Light Cavalry;' Smith pub- lished some verses which had their day, and are not likely to go down to posterity; Mackay wrote a tolerable ballad on ' Inker- mann.' * * * * * * , * Mr. Barry possesses the true poetic vein; he has enriched our ^;ational Magazine and the journal which he edits with many excellent compositions ; and, if the lays Avhich make up the present publication are not faultless — no human production is so— there will be found in them as much poetic thought, exquisite senti- - ment, and genuine descriptive power, as is contained in a cart-load of the \ersifications occasionally thrown upon the British public, by the publishers of the Kingdom. Mr. Barry writes vigorously, truthfully, and with true Irish feeling. His verses well from the heart, like a stream from its natural fountain— pure, free, health- ful, refreshing. * * * * We could hardly have believed that the spirit-stirring lay ' Sebastopol is Won,' which Avas recently inserted in our columns, appeared in his journal the second morning alter the announcement of the fall of the liussian stronghold on the shores of the Black Sea. The fact, however, is as stated, and it affords convincing proof of the writer's ability to elaborate that which he has so well begun, into a composition still more creditable to himself, and still more worthy of the subject which forms the theme of his poetic inspiration. * * , * We Avould readilv, had we space at oar disposal, m:ike a few extracts from the"' Lay of the Alma' and the 'Ballad of Inker- OPINIONS OF THE PRESS, ETC., ETC. uianu.' In the inonntimc, avc nm^t content ourselves witli rceoni- inentliiig' those Mho desire to obtixiii the only iea(hihU' jioems which have, as yet, been published ou the war, to piirchuse Mr.'BAUKV's work, and enjoy the rare gratification which its perusal must afford ." {From the Clare Journal.) " Many, if not the majority of our readers, arc acquainted with the ' Lays of the War,' wo having' from time to time, in connnon with the £rrcater number of our cotemporaries, reprinted several of theni in our columns Tlieir singular beauty, their melody, the range of thought they exhibited, made them at once licneral favourite?, and the range of their admirers has been considerably increased since their appearance in a collected form. * * * \Ve could wish All the events of the War left such a pleasing- recul- lectioa on the mind as the jirosc of Mr. Kusskll und the swclliiii,' intellectual melody of Mr. liAiiUY. ' * ' We are glad, but not surjirised, to he:vr that the second edition is exhausted, and we have not the slightest doubt that many more v/ill be reijuircd, ere the demand is satisfied." {From the. L'mcrick Chronicle.) " Nothing equal to Mr. B.\!u?y's ' Lays of the War,' has appeared in the poetry oi the south of Ireland for the i)resent age. There i& classical taste, beauiy, and nervous eloquence harmonized in every stani;a, gciiuine properties, surely of the Epic bard.'' PRINTED BY GEOUGE N.VSH, PUINCE'S-STKEET, CORK. 9iL. ii 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Frill 11 fill Imiilif ]\f 'ii]\^\<^ tn itnmi»Ai<,ti> fecall. 1 ICLF (K) 1 1 ^ ~. 1 |«AY?.2^968 79 Kt ■- MAy22'68.i3 I uf " LD 2 ] A-4 5m-9 , '67 , , . General fi brary / (H5067sl0)476B University of Cabforma / Berkeley / 7697S1 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY i' BOUND BY ''^] > .r