66 My IV. first was dark o'er earth and air, As dark as she could be! The stars that gemmed her ebon hair 666 Were only two or three: King Cole saw twice as many there 'Away, King Cole,' mine hostess said, Your nag is neighing in the shed, V. COME from my First, ay, come! The battle dawn is nigh; And the screaming trump and the thund'ring drum Are calling thee to die! Fight as thy father fought, Fall as thy father fell, Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought; So-forward! and farewell! Toll ye, my Second! toll! Fling high the flambeau's light; The wreath upon his head, The cross upon his breast, Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed: So take him to his rest! Call ye my Whole, ay, call! Go, call him by his name; No fitter hand may crave To light the flame of a soldier's fame VI. SIR HILARY charged at Agincourt,- And though in that old age of sport 'Tis said Sir Hilary muttered there My First to all the brave and proud My Next with her cold and quiet cloud And both together to all blue eyes III. How shall I woo her?—I will try The charms of olden time, And swear by earth and sea and sky, My knee in other years, I was not half so eloquent, I could not speak for tears! IV. How shall I woo her?-I will bow Before the holy shrine ; And pray the prayer, and vow the vow, V. Away! away! the chords are mute, But souls that lose what I have lost, What have they left to win? STANZAS. The lady of his love, oh, she was changed, As by the sickness of the soul! Byron. Go thou, while in thy soul, and fill a throne Of innocence and purity, in Heaven! Ford. I KNOW that it must be, Yea! thou art changed-all worshipped as thou art— Mourned as thou shalt be! Sickness of the heart Hath done its work on thee! Thy dim eyes tell a tale, A piteous tale, of vigils; and the trace Changed love! but not alone! I am not what they think me; though my cheek Thus in my natural tone. The temple of my youth Was strong in moral purpose: once I felt In the pure shrine of truth. I went into the storm, And mocked the billows of the tossing sea; I said to Fate, "What wilt thou do to me? Vainly the heart is steeled In Wisdom's armor; let her burn her books! Upon his cloven shield. Virtue and Virtue's rest, How have they perished! Through my onward course Repentance dogs my footsteps! black Remorse Is my familiar guest! The glory and the glow Of the world's loveliness have passed away; And Fate hath little to inflict, to-day, And nothing to bestow ! Is not the damning line Of guilt and grief engraven on me now? No matter! I will turn To the straight path of duty; I have wrought, At last, my wayward spirit to be taught What it hath yet to learn. |