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Rebuckled thecheck-strap, chained slackerthe bit, | Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. | Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,

Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, 'T was a moonset at starting ; but while we drew Called my Roland his pet name, my horse withnear

out peer, Lokeren, the cockscrew and twilight dawned clear; Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any noise, At Boom a great yellow star came out to see ; l bad or good, At Düffeld 't was morning as plain as could be ; Tillat length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,

And all I remember is, friends flocking round, So Joris broke silence with “ Yet there is time !" As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the

ground; At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun, And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, And against him the cattle stood black every one, As I poured down his throat our last measure of To stare through the mist at us galloping past; wine, And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) With resolute shoulders, each butting away Was no more than his due who brought good The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray ;| news from Ghent.

ROBERT BROWNING.

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear

bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his

THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. track; And one eye's black intelligence, - ever that

10, That last day in Lucknow fort !

We knew that it was the last; glance

That the enemy's lines crept surely on, O'erits white edge at me, his own master, askance;

And the end was coming fast. And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye

and anon His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on.

To yield to that foe meant worse than death ;

And the men and we all worked on ; By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris,

It was one day more of smoke and roar, “Stay spur!

And then it would all be done.
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her;
We'll remember at Aix," — for one heard the There was one of us, a corporal's wife,
quick whceze

A fair, young, gentle thing, Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and stag. Wasted with fever in the siege, gering knees,

And her mind was wandering. And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, Asdown on her haunches she shuddered and sank. She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid,

And I took her head on my knee ; So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

“When my father comes hame frae the pleugh," Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; she said, The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh; “Oh! then please wauken me." 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff ;

She slept like a child on her father's floor, Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, In the flecking of woodbine-shade, And “Gallop,” gasped Joris, "for Aix is in When the house-dog sprawls by the open door, sight!"

And the mother's wheel is stayed.

“How they 'll greet us !” — and all in a mo- It was smoke and roar and powder-stench, ment his roan

| And hopeless waiting for death ; Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child, And there was my Roland to bear the whole seemed scarce to draw her breath.

weight of the news which alone could save Aix from I sank to sleep; and I had my dream her fate,

of an English village-lane, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And wall and garden ;- but one wild scream And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. | Brought me back to the roar again.

HUDIBRAS' SWORD AND DAGGER.

There Jessie Brown stood listening

Till a sudden gladness broke All over her face; and she caught my hand

And drew me near as she spoke :

"The Hielanders! 0, dinna ye hear

The slogan far awa? The McGregor's, -0, I ken it weel;

It's the grandest o' them a'!

“God bless the bonny Hielanders!

We're saved ! we're saved !" she cried ; And fell on her knees; and thanks to God

Flowed forth like a full flood-tide.

His puissant sword unto his side Near his undaunted heart was tied, With basket hilt that would hold broth, And serve for fight and dinner both. In it he melted lead for bullets To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets, To whom he bore so fell a grutch He ne'er gave quarter to any such. The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty, For want of fighting was grown rusty, And ate into itself, for lack Of somebody to hew and hack. The peaceful scabbard, where it dwelt, The rancor of its edge had felt ; For of the lower end two handful It had devoured, it was so manful ; And so much scorned to lurk in case, As if it durst not show its face.

Along the battery-line her cry

Had fallen among the men, And they started back ; – they were there to die ;/

But was life so near them, then ?

They listened for life; the rattling fire

Far off, and the far-off roar,
Were all ; and the colonel shook his head,

And they turned to their guns once more. But Jessie said, “The slogan's done ;

But winna ye hear it noo. The Campbells are comin'? It's no a dream ;

Our succors hae broken through !”.

We heard the roar and the rattle afar,

But the pipes we could not hear; So the men plied their work of hopeless war,

And knew that the end was near.

This sword a dagger had, his page,
That was but little for his age,
And therefore waited on him so
As dwarfs unto knight-errants do.
It was a serviceable dudgeon,
Either for fighting or for drudging.
When it had stabbed or broke a head,
It would scrape trenchers or chip bread,
Toast cheese or bacon, though it were
To bait a mouse-trap 't would not care ;
'T would make clean shoes, and in the earth
Set leeks and onions, and so forth :
It had been 'prentice to a brewer,
Where this and more it did endure;
But left the trade, as many more
Have lately done on the same score.

SAMUEL BUTLER.

It was not long ere it made its way,

A thrilling, ceaseless sound :
It was no noise from the strife afar,

Or the sappers under ground.
It was the pipes of the Highlanders!

And now they played Auld Lang Syne ! It came to our men like the voice of God,

And they shouted along the line.

And they wept, and shook one another's hands,

And the women sobbed in a crowd ;
And every one knelt down where he stood,

And we all thanked God aloud.

That happy time, when we welcomed them,

Our men put Jessie first; And the general gave her his hand, and cheers

Like a storm from the soldiers burst.

HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FOP.

FROM "KING HENRY IV.," PART 1. But I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain loru, neat, trimly dressed, Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reaped, Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home; He was perfumed like a milliner ; And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box which ever and anon He gave his nose, and took 't away again ;Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff :- and still he smiled and talked; And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse | Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed,

Marching round and round our line ; And our joyful cheers were broken with tears, As the pipes played Auld Lang Syne.

ROBERT Lowell

With many holiday and lady terms

1 “Castile's proud dames shall never point the He questioned me ; among the rest, demanded | finger of disdain, My prisoners in your majesty's behalf.

And say there's one that ran away when our I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, good lords were slain! To be so pestered with a popinjay,

I leave Diego in your care, — you 'll fill his Out of my grief and my impatience,

father's place; Answered neglectingly, I know not what, - Strike, strike the spur, and never spare, — God's He should, or he should not; for he made me mad blessing on your Grace !" To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, So spake the brave Montanez, Butrago's lord was Of guns, and drums, and wounds,- God save he; the nark!

And turned him to the coming host in steadfastAnd telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth ness and glee ; Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;

He flung himself among them, as they came And that it was great pity, so it was,

down the hill, That villanous saltpeter should be digged He died, God wot! but not before his sword had Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,

drunk its fill. Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed

JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART. So cowardly, and, but for these vile guns, He would himsclf have been a soldier.

SHAKESPEARE.

THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS ; * OR, THE

BRITISH SOLDIER IN CHINA.
THE LORD OF BUTRAGO.

(“Some Seiks, and a private of the Buffs, having remained behind with the grog-carts, fell into the hands of the Chinese. On the next

day they were brought before the authorities and ordered to perYour horse is faint, my King, my lord ! your

form Kotou. The Seiks obeyed, but Moyse, the English soldier, gallant horse is sick,

declared he would not prostrate himself before any Chinaman alive, His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his

and was immediately knocked upon the head, and his body thrown

upon a dunghill." -China Correspondent of the London Times." eye the film is thick; Mount, mount on mine, 0, mount apace, I pray Last night, among his fellow roughs, thee, mount and fly!

He jested, quaffed, and swore ; Or in my arms I'll lift your Grace, – their A drunken private of the Buffs, trampling hoofs are nigh!

Who never looked before.

To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, “My King, my king ! you're wounded sore, -|| He stands in Elgin's place, the blood runs from your feet ;

Ambassador from Britain's crown, But only lay a hand before, and I'll lift you to

And type of all her race. your seat; Mount, Juan, for they gather fast !- I hear Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught, their coming cry, —

Bewildered, and alone, Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy, - I'll A heart, with English instinct fraught, save you though I die !

He yet can call his own.

Ay, tear his body limb from limb, “Stand, noble steed! this hour of need, – be

Bring cord or ax or flame, gentle as a lamb;

He only knows that not through him I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth, — thy

Shall England come to shame. master dear I am, Mount, Juan, mount; whate'er betide, away the

Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed, bridle fling,

Like dreams, to come and go; And plunge the rowels in his side. — My horse

Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed, shall save my King !

One sheet of living snow; “Nay, never speak; my sires, Lord King, re

The smoke above his father's door ceived their land from yours,

In gray soft eddyings hung; And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it

Must he then watch it rise no more, thine secures ;

Doomed by himself so young ? If I should fly, and thou, my King, be found among the dead,

Yes, honor calls ! — with strength like steel How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn

He put the vision by; on my gray head ?

.." The Buffs" are the East Kent regiment.

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All quiet along the Potomac," they say,

| “RIFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot Except now and then a stray picket | Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette ; Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, Ring me a ball in the glittering spot By a rifleman hid in the thicket.

That shines on his breast like an amulet!” 'T is nothing : a private or two, now and then,

Will not count in the news of the battle; “Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, Not an officer lost, - only one of the men,

There's music around when my barrel's in Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle."

tune!"
Crack ! went the rifle, the messenger sped,

And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon. All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming ; Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,

“Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming.

snatch

From your victim some trinket to handsel first A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind

blood; Through the forest leaves softly is creeping;

A button, a loop, or that luminous patch While stars up above, with their glittering eyes,

That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!” Keep guard, — for the army is sleeping.

“O captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track, There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette,

As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, And he thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed, That my heart rose upon me, and masters me

Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack ; his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,

“But I snatched off the trinket, — this locket As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, I of gold; For their mother, -- may Heaven defend her! An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,

Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, I Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."

That night when the love yet unspoken Leaped up to his lips, — when low, murmured “Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket !- 't is she, vows

My brother's young bride, and the fallen Were pledged to be ever unbroken;

dragoon Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, Was her husband - Hush! soldier, 't was HeavHe dashes off tears that are welling,

en's decree, And gathers his gun closer up to its place, We must bury him there, by the light of the As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

moon !

yet.

“ But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite; That's what the brier-wood said, as nigh as my War is a virtue, - weakness a sin;

tongue can tell, There 's a lurking and loping around us to-night; And the words went straight to my heart, like Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in !" I the stroke of the fire-bell. CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY.

To-night I lie in the clover, watching the blos

somy smoke;

I'm glad the boys are asleep, for I ain't in the THE BRIER-WOOD PIPE.

humor to joke.

HA! bully for me again, when my turn for I lie in the hefty clover : up between me and picket is over,

the moon And now for a smoke as I lie, with the moonlight, The smoke from my pipe arises : my heart will out in the clover.

be quiet, soon.

My pipe, it's only a knot from the root of a brier. My thoughts are back in the city, I'm everywood tree,

thing I've been ; But it turns my heart to the Northward — Harry I hear the bell from the tower, I run with the gave it to me.

swift machine,

And I'm but a rough at best, bred up to the I see the red shirts crowding around the enginerow and the riot ;

house door, But a softness comes over my heart, when all are The foreman's hail through the trumpet comes asleep and quiet.

with a hollow roar.

For, many a time, in the night, strange things The reel in the Bowery dance-house, the row in appear to my eye,

the beer-saloon, As the breath from my brier-wood pipe curls up Where I put in my licks at Big Paul, come bebetween me and the sky.

tween me and the moon.

Last night a beautiful spirit arose with the wisp. I hear the drum and the bugle, the tramp of the ing smoke;

cow-skin boots, 0, I shook, but my heart felt good, as it spread We are marching on our muscle, the Fire-Zouave out its hands and spoke ;

recruits !

Saying, “I am the soul of the brier; we grew White handkerchiefs wave before me — 0, but at the root of a tree

the sight is pretty Where lovers would come in the twilight, two On the white marble steps, as we march through ever, for company.

the heart of the city.

“Where lovers would come in the morning - Bright eyes and clasping arms, and lips that ever but two, together;

bade us good hap; When the flowers were full in their blow; the And the splendid lady who gave me the havelock birds, in their song and feather.

for any cap.

“Where lovers would come in the noon-tide, o, up from my pipe-cloud rises, there between loitering - never but two,

me and the moon, Looking in each other's eyes, like pigeons that A beautiful white-robed lady; my heart will be

kiss and coo.

quiet, soon.

“And O, the honeyed words that came when The lovely golden-haired lady ever in dreams I the lips were parted,

see, And the passion that glowed in the eyes, and the Who gave me the snow-white havelock — but lightning looks that darted !

what does she care for me? “Enough : Love dwells in the pipe — so ever it Look at my grimy features ; mountains between glows with fire !

us stand : I am the soul of the bush, and the spirits call I with my sledge-hammer knuckles, she with her me Sweet Brier.”

jeweled hand !

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