The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh;

'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like

chaff;

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,

And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!”

"How they'll greet us! — and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup1 over, lay dead as a stone;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buff-coat,2 each holster3 let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots let go belt and all,
4

Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without

peer

Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any noise, bad or good,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is friends flocking round,

As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses 5 voted by common consent)
Was no more than his due who brought good news from
Ghent.

1 Croup: rump.

ROBERT BROWNING.

2 Buff-coat: a leather coat.

8 Holster a leather case for holding a horse-pistol.

4 Jack-boots: large, heavy boots coming up above the knee. 5 Burgesses: the citizens, those who had a right to vote.

BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.

MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored,

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword;

His truth is marching on.

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling

camps;

They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and

damps,

I have read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;

His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel; "As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal:

Let the hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel,

Since God is marching on."

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;

He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment

seat:

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him, — be jubilant, my feet!

Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me: As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

While God is marching on.

JULIA WARD HOWE.

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND.1

BRYANT.

"Look now abroad- another race has filled

Those populous borders-wide the wood recedes,
And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled;
The land is full of harvests and green meads."

THE breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark,

The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted, came;

Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear;

They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard, and the sea;

1 December 21, 1620, is the traditional date of the landing.

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 197

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free.

The ocean eagle soared

From his nest by the white wave's foam; And the rocking pines of the forest roared — This was their welcome home.

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band:

Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow, serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod ;

They have left unstained what there they found —

Freedom to worship God.

FELICIA HEMANS.