iiiipjp|Ml^|lH^imj^ m Historic Poems and Ballads Described by RUPERT S. HOLLAND Author of "Historic Boyhoods" "Historic Girlhoods" "Historic Inventions," etc. .-..', •. . .'•^ ' ''.*'.: '•: '•.' « *. • • • • • • • I PHILADELPHIA GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY PUBLISHERS iAmr.ti Copyright, 191 2, by George W. Jacobs & Company Published October, jgi2 • • d • • * • • • • « • * • * ■ ^ All rights reserved Printed in U. S. A. c o I-) w > < O < U r/ H ^ r- ■ \» O ii ' NOTE The object of this book is to tell the story of many of the stirring scenes of history through famous poems and ballads and short descriptions of each event. A glossary of the more unusual words used in the poems, and an explanation of the names of persons and places, are included at the end of the volume. The selections from J, G. Whittier, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Bret Harte are used by per- mission of Houghton-Mifflin Company, author- ized publishers of their works, to whom thanks are hereby extended. Thanks are also due to Harper and Brothers for permission to use " The Little Black-Eyed Rebel," by Will Carleton, and " The Battle of New Orleans," by Thomas Dunn English, to Mr. Will Henry Thompson and the Century Company for the use of the for- mer's poem, " High Tide at Gettysburg," and to David McKay for permission to use the poem entitled " O Captain ! My Captain ! " by Walt Whitman. " The Battle of Lexington," by Sid- ney Lanier, appears by special arrangement with Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons. Contents I. The Destruction of Sennacherib II Lord Byron II. HORATIUS . Lord Macaulay • • • . 14 III. The Skeleton In Armor • • • 39 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow IV. The Sea-King's Burial Charles Mackay • • • . 46 V. Bruce and the Spider Bernard Barton • • • • 53 VI. Bannockburn . Robert Rums • • « . 56 VII. The Battle of Morgarten Felicia Dorothea Hemans • • . 58 VIII. Chew-Chase Anonymous • • • . 64 IX. Ivry .... Lord Macaulay • • • . 75 X. The " Revenge " Lord Tennyson • • « . 81 XI. A Legend of Bregenz Adelaide A. Procter • • • . 87 XII. Landing of the Pilgrim Fath ERS . 92 Felicia Dorothea Hemans XIII. The Cavalier's Escape . • • • 95 Walter Thornbury 6 CONTENTS XIV. Naseby .... Lord Macaulay • i XV. " Les Gants Glaces " Anonymous • 1 XVI. How They Brought the Good News From Ghent to Aix . • i Robert Browning XVII. The Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee . Sir Walter Scott XVIII. Herve Riel . Robert Browning XIX. The Leak In the Dike . Phoebe Gary XX. The Battle of Blenheim Robert Southey XXI. Lochinvar Sir Walter Scott XXII. Battle of Fontenoy Bartholomew Dowling XXIII. Bonnie Prince Charlie . James Hogg XXIV. Boston .... Ralph Waldo Emerson XXV. Paul Revere's Ride Henry Wadsworth Longfellow XXVI. The Battle of Lexington Sidney Lanier • XXVII. Concord Hymn Ralph Waldo Emerson • XXVIII. The Green Mountain Boys William Cullen Bryant • CONTENTS XXIX. TiCONDEROGA V. B. Wilson XXX. The Little Black.-Eyed Rebel Will Carleton XXXI. AIoLLY Maguire at Monmouth William Collins XXXII. Song of A4arion's Men William Cullen Bryant XXXIII. Hail Columbia . Joseph Hopkinson XXXIV. Casabianca . Felicia Dorothea Hemans XXXV. HOHENLINDEN Thomas Campbell XXXVI. Battle of the Baltic . Thomas Campbell XXXVII. An Incident of the French Camp Robert Browning XXXVIII. The Star-Spangled Banner Francis Scott Key XXXIX. The Battle of New Orleans Thomas Dunn English XL. The Eve of Waterloo Lord Byron XLi. Marco Bozzaris . Fitz-Greene Halleck XLII. Ye Mariners of England Thomas Campbell XLIII. Old Ironsides Oliver Wendell Holmes XLIV. America Samuel Francis Smith 7 167 171 175 179 183 187 190 193 197 200 203 213 216 222 225 227 8 CONTENTS XLV. Monterey Charles Fenno HofFiuan t XLVI. The Charge of the Light Brigade Lord Tennyson XLVII. The Relief of Lucknow Robert Trail Spence Lowell XLVIII. Battle Hymn of the Republic Julia Ward Howe XLIX. Dixie's Land Dan Emmett L. Dixie Albert Pike LI. My Maryland James Ryder Randall UI. The Cumberland . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow LIII. Stonewall Jackson's Way John Williamson Palmer LIV. Barbara Frietchie John Greenleaf Whittier LV. High Tide at Gettysburg Will Henry Thompson LVI. John Burns of Gettysburg . Bret Harte LVII. Sheridan's Ride .... Thomas Buchanan Read LVIII. Marching Through Georgia Henry Clay Work LIX. O Captain ! My Captain ! . Walt Whitman LX. Saxon Grit .... Robert CoUyer Glossary .... References to Names Illustrations Charge of the Scotch Greys at Waterloo Horatius at the Bridge Chevy-Chase .... Ivry The Landing of the Pilgrims The Battle of Fontenoy . The Battle of Lexington . , The Capture of Fort Ticonderoga Mollic Pitcher at the Battle of Monmouth Marion and His Men . The Battle of New Orleans The " Constitution " and the " Guerriere " Storming of Palace Hill at Battle of Monterey The Charge of the Light Brigade The Relief of Lucknow .... The " Merrimac " and the " Monitor" Frontispiece Facing page 1 6 << << << (< (( <( « (< (< << <( << << (( << << <( « <( (< <( << (( (( 64 76 92 138 158 168 176 180 204 zz6 230 238 254 I The Destruction of Sennacherib Sennacherib was King of Assyria from 705 B. c. to 681 B. C. He was a very proud and warlike ruler, but also a great builder, and during his reign Assyria became famous for her art and architecture. He seized and destroyed Babylon, conquered Chaldea, and marched into Egypt. City after city of Judah fell before his arms, and Hezekiah, Prince of Judah, was forced to retreat into Jerusalem. The Assyrian king pursued, wasting the land with fire and sword, and taking the people for slaves. As Sennacherib swept up to Jerusalem the Prince of Judah tried to ransom his city with gold, but the invader would not listen to his offer, and prepared to attack the walls. Then sud- denly a plague fell upon the great Assyrian host. It is said that 185,000 men died in a single night. The rest, terrified at what seemed retribution for their destruction of Babylon, fled in a panic, pursued by their enemies. The king himself escaped, but was killed in 681 B. C. in the temple at Nineveh by two of his sons. Byron wrote a number of poems dealing with Hebrew history, and this is one of the most spirited of them. It describes how the great Assyrian army, flushed with scores of victories, came to Jerusalem, ready to conquer on the morrow. That night came the plague, and the 12 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS army melted away before its breath. The widows of Ashur, which means Assyria, bewailed the lost soldiers, and the priests who tended the altars of the god Baal broke the idols in despair, for the Gentiles, or heathens, who had been so powerful before, had fallen, not by men's swords, but at the will of the God of Jerusalem. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB By George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen ; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath flown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still ! And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide. But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride ; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB 13 And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail ; And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! II Horatius This poem gives such a true picture of the patriotic spirit of a citizen of early Rome, and follows the metre of many Latin poets so closely that it might well have been what Macaulay pretended it was, a lay actually written about three hundred and sixty years after the founding of Rome, or in 393 B. C. At that time the most powerful chief in Italy was Lars Porsena, of Etruria, whose capital city was Clusium, which was some ninety miles to the north- west of Rome. Etruria was the home of the twelve Etruscan tribes, and lay to the north and west of Rome, separated from that city by the river Tiber. Among the Etruscans the word Lars meant lord or chief. Like the Romans the Etruscans had a number of gods, to each of whom they ascribed different attributes, as the Romans did to Jupiter, Minerva, Mars, and their other deities. Rome had been a kingdom at one time, and its kings had come from the house of Tarquin. But Tarquin the Proud had ruled so tyrannously, and his son, " false Sextus," had committed so vile a crime, that the people had overthrown his power and driven Tarquin from the city in 505 B. C. He had sought aid from Lars Porsena, and that chief, already jealous of Rome's prosperity, HORATIUS 15 determined to raise a great army and replace Tarquin on his throne. The Etruscan chieftain sent out his messengers, and soon had gathered allies from the twelve tribes. They came from all central Italy, from the fastnesses of the Apennine Mountains, from the city of Volaterrse whose citadel was made of huge uncemented boulders, from Populonia, opposite the island of Sardinia, from the busy city of Pisa, in whose harbor were triremes, or ships with triple-banks of oars, belonging to the colony of Massilia in Gaul, from the country watered by the river Clanis, and from the many-towered city of Cortona. The woodmen left the forests that lay along the river Auser, the hunters deserted the stags of the Ciminian hill in Etruria, the herdsmen forsook the milk-white cattle that browsed on the banks of the stream Clitum- nus. The Volsinian lake was left in peace to its water fowl, old men reaped the harvests in Arretium, young boys cared for the sheep-shearing along the Umbro, and in the city of Luna girls pressed the grapes in the wine-vats while their fathers joined the march to Rome. Meantime Lars Porsena took counsel with his sooth- sayers, and they consulted the books, in which was supposed to be written, from right to left, according to the Etruscan fashion, the future of that nation. The thirty wise men assured him that he would conquer and bring back to his own capital the shields of Rome. The great army of Etruscans, 80,000 footmen and 10,000 horsemen, gathered before the gates of Sutrium. Enemies of Rome, men who had been banished from i6 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS that city, and Mamilius, Prince of Latium, a country south of Rome, came to join the soldiers of Etruria. In Rome there was great dismay. The farmers who lived in the open country drove their cattle, and carried their household goods, inside the city walls. From the high Tarpeian Rock the people could see the blazing towns fired by Lars Porsena on his march. The Senate of the city sat night and day, and every hour new mes- sengers arrived with word of the enemy's advance. As they advanced the Etruscans destroyed all hostile settlements, they leveled Crustumerium, a town in the Sabine country that belonged to Rome ; Verbenna, one of their generals, swept across to the port of Ostia, at the mouth of the Tiber; and Astur, another leader, captured the fortified hill of Janiculum that lay across the Tiber to the west of Rome. That hill commanded the only bridge that spanned the river, and if the Etruscans should seize it they would probably soon break a way into the city. The Consul, who was one of the chief officers of Rome, ordered the bridge destroyed, but at the same moment a messenger brought word that Lars Porsena was in sight. The Consul looked and saw the glitter- ing line of spears and helmets, the banners of the twelve chief cities of Etruria, and the leaders themselves. The Consul saw that the enemy were so close that their vanguard would prevent the Romans destroying the bridge in time. But even as he said this Horatius, the Captain of the Gate, stepped forward, and volun- teered to hold the enemy in check, if two others would fight beside him. Instantly two brave men offered ffl-;r;:;<'iiiirgi^sij;gm;|jiPf"''''^^ HORATIUS AT Tlir. P.RIDOE HORATIUS i; to go forth, the one Spurius Lartius, and the other Herminius. The three Romans armed and stepped forward to the other bank of the Tiber, while the Consul, the City Fathers, and citizens seized hatchets and crowbars, and began to loosen the supports of the bridge. The Etruscan army saw the three Romans standing at the head of the bridge, and thought it would be a simple matter to overcome them. Three chiefs rushed forward, only to fall before the swords of Horatius and his allies. More tried it, and more, but each in turn met the same fate before the Romans. At last the great Etruscan army stood at bay. Time had been gained for the people to destroy the props of the bridge. As it began to fall, the Romans called to their three defenders. Spurius Lartius and Herminius dashed back, but Horatius was left on the other shore when the bridge crashed into the river. Horatius would not yield, but with a prayer to Father Tiber plunged into the stream. While all eyes watched him he swam to the Roman bank. There the people raised him on their shoulders and carried him in triumph through the city gates. Rome gave its hero a section of the public lands, and built a statue of him in the Forum. The story of how Horatius held the bridge became one of the great chronicles of Rome. Macaulay's greatest work was his " History of Eng- land." His poems were written as recreation from heavier work, but in "Horatius" he composed one of the most vivid and stirring historical poems in the 1 8 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS English language. It is a remarkable example of the power of direct narrative, and gains much of its force from the short, simple words and plain recital of events as if seen by the narrator. HORATIUS By Thomas Babbingion, Lord Macaulay (A Lay made about the Year of the City CCCLX.) I Lars Porsena of Clusium By the Nine Gods he swore That the great house of Tarquin Should suffer wrong no more. By the Nine Gods he swore it, And named a trysting day, And bade his messengers ride forth, East and west and south and north, To summon his array. II East and west and south and north The messengers ride fast, And tower and town and cottage Have heard the trumpet's blast. Shame on the false Etruscan Who lingers in his home When Porsena of Clusium Is on the march for Rome. Ill The horsemen and the footmen Are pouring in amain, From many a stately market-place; From many a fruitful plain ; HORATIUS 19 From many a lonely hamlet, Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest Of purple Apennine ; IV From lordly Volaterrse, Where scowls the far-famed hold Piled by the hands of giants For godlike kings of old ; From sea-girt Populonia, Whose sentinels descry Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops Fringing the southern sky ; V From the proud mart of Pisae, Queen of the western waves, Where ride Massilia's triremes Heavy with fair-haired slaves ; From where sweet Clanis wanders Through corn and vines and flowers; From where Cortona lifts to heaven Her diadem of towers. VI Tall are the oaks whose acorns Drop in dark Auser's rill; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs Of the Ciminian hill ; Beyond all streams Clitumnus Is to the herdsman dear ; Best of all pools the fowler loves The great Volsinian mere. 20 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS VII But now no stroke of woodman Is heard by Auser's rill ; ' No hunter tracks the stag's green path Up the Ciniinian hill ; Unwatched along Clitumnus Grazes the milk-white steer ; Unharmed the water fowl may dip In the Volsinian mere. VIII The harvests of Arretium, This year, old men shall reap, This year, young boys in Urabro Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; And in the vats of Luna, This year, the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls Whose sires have marched to Rome. IX There be thirty chosen prophets, The wisest of the land. Who alway by Lars Porsena Both morn and evening stand : Evening and morn the Thirty Have turned the verses o'er. Traced from the right on linen white By mighty seers of yore. X And with one voice the Thirty Have their glad answer given ; "Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena; Go forth, beloved of Heaven ; HORATIUS 21 Go, and return in glory To Clusium's royal dome ; And hang round Nursia's altars The golden shields of Rome." XI And now hath every city Sent up her tale of men ; The foot are fourscore thousand, The horse are thousands ten. Before the gates of Sutrium Is met the great array. A proud man was Lars Porsena Upon the trysting day. XII For all the Etruscan armies Were ranged beneath his eye, And many a banished Roman, And many a stout ally ; And with a mighty following To join the muster came The Tusculan Mamilius, Prince of the Latian name. XIII But by the yellow Tiber Was tumult and affright : From all the spacious champaign To Rome men took their flight. A mile around the city, The throng stopped up the ways ; A fearful sight it was to see Through two long nights and days. 22 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS XIV For droves of mules and asses Laden with skins of wine, And endless flocks of goats and sheep, And endless herds of kine, And endless trains of wagons That creaked beneath the weight Of corn-sacks and of household goods, Choked every roaring gate. XV Now, from the rock Tarpeian, Could the wan burghers spy The line of blazing villages Red in the midnight sky. The Fathers of the City, They sat all night and day, For every hour some horseman came With tidings of dismay. XVI To eastward and to westward Have spread the Tuscan bands ; Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecot In Crustumerium stands. Verbenna down to Ostia Hath wasted all the plain ; Astur hath stormed Janiculum, And the stout guards are slain. XVII I wis, in all the Senate, There was no heart so bold. But sore it ached, and fast it beat, When that ill news was told. HORATIUS ' 23 Forthwith up rose the Consul, Up rose the Fathers all ; In haste they girded up their gowns, And hied them to the wall. XVIII They held a council standing Before the River-Gate ; Short time was there, ye well may guess, For musing or debate. Out spake the Consul roundly : " The bridge must straight go down ; For, since Janiculum is lost. Naught else can save the town." XIX Just then a scout came flying. All wild with haste and fear : " To arms ! to arms ! Sir Consul : Lars Porsena is here." On the low hills to westward The Consul fixed his eye, And saw the swarthy storm of dust Rise fast along the sky. XX And nearer fast and nearer Doth the red whirlwind come ; And louder still and still more loud, From underneath that rolling cloud, Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, The trampling and the hum. And plainly and more plainly 24 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Now through the gloom appears, Far to left and far to right, In broken gleams of dark-blue light, The long array of helmets bright, The long array of spears. XXI And plainly and more plainly, Above that glimmering line. Now might ye see the banners Of twelve fair cities shine ; But the banner of proud Clusium Was highest of them all, The terror of the Umbrian, The terror of the Gaul. XXII And plainly and more plainly Now might the burghers know. By port and vest, by horse and crest, Each warlike Lucumo. There Cilnius of Arretium On his fleet roan was seen ; And Astur of the fourfold shield. Girt with the brand none else may wield, Tolumnius with the belt of gold, And dark Verbenna from the hold By reedy Thrasymene. XXIII Fast by the royal standard, O'erlooking all the war, Lars Porsena of Clusium Sat in his ivory car. HORATIUS 25 By the right wheel rode Mamilius, Prince of the Latian name ; And by the left false Sextus, That wrought the deed of shame. XXIV But when the face of Sextus Was seen among the foes, A yell that rent the firmament From all the town arose. On the housetops was no woman But spat towards him and hissed, No child but screamed out curses, And shook its little fist. XXV But the Consul's brow was sad. And the Consul's speech was low, And darkly looked he at the wall, And darkly at the foe. "Their van will be upon us Before the bridge goes down ; And if they once may win the bridge, What hope to save the town ? " XXVI Then out spake brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate : " To every man upon this earth Death comelh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his Gods, 26 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS XXVII "And for the tender mother Who dandled him to rest, And for the wife who nurses His baby at her breast, And for the holy maidens Who feed the eternal flame, To save them from false Sextus That wrought the deed of shame ? XXVIII ** Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, With all the speed ye may ; I, with two more to help me, Will hold the foe in play. In yon strait path a thousand May well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, And keep the bridge with me?" XXIX Then out spake Spurius Lartius; A Ramnian proud was he : " Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, And keep the bridge with thee." And out spake strong Herminius; Of Titian blood was he : " I will abide on thy left side, And keep the bridge with thee." XXX " Horatius," quoth the Consul, " As thou sayest, so let it be." And straight against that great array Forth went the dauntless Three. HORATIUS 27 For Romans in Rome's quarrel Spared neither land nor gold, Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, In the brave days of old. XXXI Then none was for a party ; Then all were for the state ; Then the great man helped the poor, And the poor man loved the great : Then lands were fairly portioned ; Then spoils were fairly sold : The Romans were like brothers In the brave days of old. XXXII Now Roman is to Roman More hateful than a foe, And the Tribunes beard the high, And the Fathers grind the low. As we wax hot in faction, In battle we wax cold : Wherefore men fight not as they fought In the brave da)s of old. XXXIII Now while the Three were tightening Their harness on their backs, The Consul was the foremost man To take in hand an axe : And Fathers mixed with Commons, Seized hatchet, bar, and crow. And smote uyxjn the planks above, And loosed the props below. 28 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS XXXIV Meanwhile the Tuscan army, Right glorious to behold, Came flashing back the noonday light, Rank behind rank, like surges bright Of a broad sea of gold. Four hundred trumpets sounded A peal of warlike glee. As that great host, with measured tread, And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head. Where stood the dauntless Three. XXXV The Three stood calm and silent, And looked upon the foes. And a great shout of laughter From all the vanguard rose : And forth three chiefs came spurring Before that deep array ; To earth they sprang, their swords they drew And lifted high their shields, and flew To win the narrow way ; XXXVI Annus from green Tifernum, Lord of the Hill of Vines ; And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves Sicken in Ilva's mines ; And Picus, long to Clusium Vassal in peace and war, Who led to fight his Umbrian powers From that gray crag where, girt with towers, The fortress of Nequinum lowers O'er the pale waves of Nar. HORATIUS 29 xxxvii Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus Into the stream beneath : Herminius struck at Seius, And clove him to the teeth : At Pious brave Horatius Darted one fiery thrust ; And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms Clashed in the bloody dust. XXXVIII Then Ocnus of Falerii Rushed on the Roman Three ; And Lausulus of Urgo, The Rover of the sea ; And Aruns of Volsinium, Who slew the great wild boar, The great wild boar that had his den Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen, And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, Along Albinia's shore. XXXIX Herminius smote down Aruns : Lartius laid Ocnus low : Right to the heart of Lausulus Horatius sent a blow. " Lie there," he cried, "fell pirate! No more, aghast and pale, From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark The track of thy destroying bark. No more Camijania's hinds shall fly To woods and caverns when they spy Thy thrice accursed sail." 30 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS XL But now no sound of laughter Was heard among the foes. A wild and wrathful clamor From all the vanguard rose. Six spears' length from the entrance Halted that deep array, And for a space no man came forth To win the narrow way. XLI But hark ! the cry is Astur : And lo ! the ranks divide; And the great Lord of Luna Comes with his stately stride. Upon his ample shoulders Clangs loud the fourfold shield, And in his hand he shakes the brand Which none but he can wield. XLII He smiled on those bold Romans A smile serene and high ; He eyed the flinching Tuscans, And scorn was in his eye. Quoth he, " The she-wolf's litter Stand savagely at bay : But will ye dare to follow. If Astur clears the way ? " XLIII Then, whirling up his broadsword With both hands to the height, He rushed against Horatius, And smote with all his might. With shield and blade Horatius HORATIUS 31 Right deftly turned the blow. The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ; It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh : The Tuscans raised a joyful cry To see the red blood flow. XLIV He reeled, and on Herminius He leaned one breathing-space ; Then, like a wildcat mad with wounds, Sprang right at Astur's face. Through teeth, and skull, and helmet So fierce a thrust he sped. The good sword stood a hand-breadth out Behind the Tuscan's head. XLV And the great Lord of Luna Fell at that deadly stroke As falls on Mount Alvernus A thunder-smitten oak. Far o'er the crashing forest The giant arms lie spread ; And the pale augurs, muttering low, Gaze on the blasted head, XLVI On Astur's throat Horatius Right firmly pressed his heel, And thrice and four times tugged amain Ere he wrenched out the steel. <' And see," he cried, "the welcome. Fair guests, that waits you here ! What noble Lucumo comes next To taste our Roman cheer? " 32 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS XL VI I But at this haughty challenge A sullen murmur ran, Mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread, Along that glittering van. There lacked not men of prowess, Nor men of lordly race ; For all Etruria's noblest Were round the fatal place. XLVIII But all Etruria's noblest Felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the bloody corpses. In the patli tlie dauntless Three : And, from the ghastly entrance Where those bold Romans stood. All shrank, like boys who unaware. Ranging the woods to start a hare. Come to the mouth of the dark lair Where, growling low, a fierce old bear Lies amidst bones and blood. XLIX Was none who would be foremost To lead such dire attack : But those behind cried " Forward ! " And those before cried " Back ! " And backward now and forward Wavers the deep array ; And on the tossing sea of steel, To and fro the standards reel ; And the victorious trumpet-peal Dies fitfully away. HORATIUS 33 L Yet one man for one moment Stood out before the crowd ; Well known was he to all the Three, And they gave him greeting loud, " Now welcome, welcome, Sextus ! Now welcome to thy home ! Why dost thou stay, and turn away ? Here lies the road to Rome." LI Thrice looked he at the city ; Thrice looked he at the dead ; And thrice came on in fury, And thrice turned back in dread : And, white with fear and hatred, Scowled at the narrow way Where, wallowing in a pool of blood. The bravest Tuscans lay, LII But meanwhile axe and lever Have manfully been plied ; And now the bridge hangs tottering Above the boiling tide. " Come back, come back, Horatius ! " Loud cried the Fathers all. "Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! Back, ere the ruin fall ! " LIII Back darted Spurius Lartius ; Ilcrminius darted back : And, as they passed, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack. 34 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS But when they turned their faces, And on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, They would have crossed once more. LIV But with a crash like thunder Fell every loosened beam, And, like a dam, the mighty wreck Lay right athwart the stream : And a long shout of triumph Rose from the walls of Rome, As to the highest turret-tops Was splashed the yellow foam. LV And, like a horse unbroken When first he feels the rein. The furious river struggled hard, And tossed his tawny mane. And burst the curb, and bounded, Rejoicing to be free, And whirling down, in fierce career, Battlement, and plank, and pier, Rushed headlong to the sea. LVI Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind ; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. "Down with him ! " cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face. "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, " Now yield thee to our grace." HORATIUS 35 LVII Round turned he, as not deigning Those craven ranks to see; Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus nought spake he ; But he saw on Palatinus The white porch of his home ; And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome. LVIII *• O Tiber ! Father Tiber ! To whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms. Take thou in charge this day ! " So he spake, and speaking sheathed The good sword by his side, And with his harness on his back, Plunged headlong in the tide. LIX No sound of joy or sorrow Was heard from either bank ; But friends and foes in dumb surprise, With parted lips and straining eyes. Stood gazing where he sank ; And when above the surges They saw his crest appear. All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, And even the ranks of Tuscany Could scarce forbear to cheer. LX But fiercely ran the current, Swollen high by months of rain : And fast his blood was flowing ; And he was sore in pain, 36 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS And heavy with his armor, And spent with changing blows : And oft they thought him sinking, But still again he rose. LXI Never, I ween, did swimmer, In such an evil case, Struggle through such a raging flood Safe to the landing place : But his limbs were borne up bravely By the brave heart within. And our good father Tiber Bore bravely up his chin. LXII "Curse on him ! " quoth false Sextus; " Will not the villain drown ? But for this stay, ere close of day We should have sacked the town !" ♦' Heaven help him ! " quoth Lars Porsena, "And bring him safe to shore; For such a gallant feat of arms Was never seen before." LXIII And now he feels the bottom ; Now on dry earth he stands ; Now round him throng the Fathers To press his gory hands ; And now, with shouts and clapping, And noise of weeping loud, He enters through the River-Gate, Borne by the joyous crowd. HORATIUS 37 LXIV They gave him of the corn-land, That was of public right, As much as two strong oxen Could plough from morn till night ; And they made a molten image, And set it up on high, And there it stands unto this day To witness if I lie. LXV It Stands in the Comitium, Plain for all folk to see ; Horatius in his harness. Halting upon one knee : And underneath is written, In letters all of gold, How valiantly he kept the bridge In the brave days of old. LXV I And still his name sounds stirring Unto the men of Rome, As the trumpet-blast that cries to them To charge the Volscian home ; And wives still pray to Juno For boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so well In the brave days of old. LXVII And in the nights of winter, When the cold north winds blow, And the long howling of the wolves Is heard amidst the snow ; i491.^.'5 38 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS When round the lonely cottage Roars loud the tempest's din, And the good logs of Algid us Roar louder yet within ; LXVIII When the oldest cask is opened, And the largest lamp is lit; When the chestnuts glow in the embers. And the kid turns on the spit ; When young and old in circle Around the firebrands close ; When the girls are weaving baskets, And the lads are shaping bows ; LXIX When the good man mends his armor, And trims his helmet's plume; When the goodwife's shuttle merrily Goes flashing through the loom ; With weeping and with laughter Still is the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave days of old. Ill The Skeleton in Armor Longfellow was always greatly interested in the legends and poetry of Northern Europe, and in this poem he tells the story of such a Viking as might well have crossed the sea with Leif, son of Eric. Accord- ing to history Bjarni, the son of Herjulf, sailing west from Iceland in 986, bound for Greenland, met with dense fogs and had to steer by guesswork. After many days he came to land, but realizing it was not Greenland, he turned north and finally reached his goal. The tale of his voyage came in time to Leif, son of red Eric, and he set out in the year 1000, with thirty-five men, to find the strange land to the south. He reached the coast of Labrador, and named it " Helluland," or " slate-land." Farther south he came to densely wooded shores that he called "Markland," or " woodland," and afterwards to a country full of grapes which he christened " Vinland." Leif and his men spent the winter in Vinland, and in the spring carried news of their discovery back to their home. But later parties of Norsemen were attacked by the native Indians when they tried to ex- plore the new country, and in 1012 the Vikings gave up their voyages thither. A skeleton clad in armor was discovered near Fall 40 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS River, Massachusetts, in 1835, and doubtless furnished the idea for this poem, although it was later declared to be the skeleton of an Indian, and not of a Norse- man. The lofty tower built by the Viking in the poem might have been the old stone tower which still stands at Newport, Rhode Island, and which was for a long time believed to have been built by Norsemen. Historians now claim that it was erected by Benedict Arnold, governor of Newport about 1676, who used it for a windmill. This Benedict Arnold was, of course, not the man of the same name who figured in the American Revolution. The rhythm and flow of the poem are splendid, and the story of the young Viking who loved the blue-eyed daughter of the old Prince Hildebrand, and carried her across seas to the new Western land is as stirring as any of the hero-tales of the Scandinavian sagas. THE SKELETON IN ARMOR By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow " Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me ! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy fleshless palms Stretched, as if asking alms, Why dost thou haunt me ? " THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 41 Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale flashes seemed to rise, As when the Northern skies Gleam in December ; And, like the water's flow Under December's snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber. •' I was a Viking old ! My deeds, though manifold, No Skald in song has told, No Saga taught thee ! Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehearse. Else dread a dead man's curse ; For this I sought thee. •' Far in the Northern Land, By the wild Baltic's strand, I, with my childish hand. Tamed the gerfalcon ; And, with my skates fast-bound, Skimmed the half- frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on. " Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow ; Oft through the forest dark Followed the were-wolf's bark, Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow. 42 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS " But when I older grew, Joining a corsair's crew, O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led ; Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders. " Many a wassail-bout Wore the long winter out; Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing. As we the Berserk's tale Measured in cups of ale, Draining the oaken pail. Filled to o'erflowing. " Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea. Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender ; And as the white stars shine On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendor. *' I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest's shade Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted. THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 43 "Bright in her father's hall Shields gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chanting his glory ; When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter's hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story. <« While the brown ale he quaffed. Loud then the champion laughed, And as the wind -gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly. <* She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded ! Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew's flight, Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded ? " Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me, Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen ! When on the white sea-strand, Waving his armed hand, Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen. 44 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS " Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us ; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us. " And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, ' Death ! ' was the helmsman's hail, ' Death without quarter ! ' Midships with iron keel. Struck we her ribs of steel ; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water I " As with his wings aslant. Sails the fierce cormorant. Seeking some rocky haunt, With his prey laden, So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden. " Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er. Cloudlike we saw the shore Stretching to leeward ; There for my lady's bower Built I a lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward. THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 45 " There lived we many years ; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother ; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies ; Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another ! ** Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen ! Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful ! In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear. Oh, death was grateful ! ** Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended ! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal! to the Northland ! skoal ! " — Thus the tale ended. IV The Sea-King's Burial This poem, written by a Scotchman, describes a strange custom of the old Norse Vikings. The kings of that northern country, when they felt that they were soon to die, had their servants lift them from bed and place them on their battle-ship. They clad the king in his armor, set his crown upon his head, and his sword in his hand. A fire was lighted in the hold of the ship. The sails were set, and the vessel headed out to sea. When the ship was far from land the flames would reach the deck, and the king would die, sword un- sheathed, the winds of the ocean about him. His spirit would then go straight to the halls of Valhalla, where dwelt all the former heroes and warriors of Scandinavia. So King Balder went out to sea in his battle-ship, and called aloud to the great All-Father, to the Norse gods Odin and Thor, and to the Vikings waiting for him. The metre fits the story perfectly. It has the swing of the ocean waves, and the long and short lines at the end of each stanza give a strong dramatic effect. It is interesting to compare it with that other Viking poem by Longfellow, " The Skeleton in Armor." THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL 47 THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL By Charles Mackay *' My strength is failing fast," Said the sea-king to his men ; — ** I shall never sail the seas Like a conqueror again. But while yet a drop remains Of the life-blood in my veins, Raise, oh, raise me from the bed; Put the crown upon my head ; Put my good sword in my hand ; And so lead me to the strand, Where my ship at anchor rides Steadily ; If I cannot end my life In the bloody battle-strife, Let me die as I have lived. On the sea." They have raised King Balder up, Put his crown upon his head ; They have sheathed his limbs in mail. And the purple o'er him spread \ And amid the greeting rude Of a gathering multitude, Borne him slowly to the shore — All the energy of yore From his dim eyes flashing forth — Old sea-lion of the north — As he looked upon Iiis ship 48 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Riding free, And on his forehead pale Felt the cold refreshing gale, And heard the welcome sound Of the sea. They have borne him to the ship With a slow and solemn tread ; They have placed him on the deck With his crown upon his head, Where he sat as on a throne ; And have left him there alone, With his anchor ready weighed. And the snowy sails displayed To the favoring wind, once more Blowing freshly from the shore; And have bidden him farewell Tenderly, Saying, " King of mighty men. We shall meet thee yet again. In Valhalla, with the monarchs Of the sea." Underneath him in the hold They have placed the lighted brand; And the fire was burning slow As the vessel from the land, Like a stag-hound from the slips. Darted forth from out the ships. There was music in her sail As it swelled before the gale. And a dashing at her prow As it cleft the waves below, And the good ship sped along. THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL 49 Scudding free; As on many a battle morn In her time she had been borne, To struggle, and to conquer On the sea. And the king with sudden strength Started up, and paced the deck, With his good sword for his staff, And his robe around his neck: Once alone, he raised his hand To the people on the land ; And with shout and joyous cry Once again they made reply, Till the loud exulting cheer Sounded faintly on his ear; For the gale was o'er him blowing Fresh and free ; And ere yet an hour had passed, He was driven before the blast, And a storm was on his path. On the sea. And still uix)n the deck, While the storm about him rent, King Balder paced about Till his failing strength was spent. Then he stopped awhile to rest — Crossed his hands upon his breast, And looked upward to the sky With a dim but dauntless eye; And heard the tall mast creak. And the fitful tempest speak Shrill and fierce, to the billows so HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Rushing free; And within himself he said : " I am coming, O ye dead ! To join you in Valhalla, O'er the sea. *' So blow, ye tempests, blow, And my spirit shall not quail ; I have fought with many a foe; I have weathered many a gale; And in this hour of death, Ere I yield my fleeting breath — Ere the fire now burning slow Shall come rushing from below, And this worn and wasted frame Be devoted to the flame — I will raise my voice in triumph, Singing free ; — To the great All-Father's home I am driving through the foam, I am sailing to Valhalla, O'er the sea. "So blow, ye stormy winds — And ye flames ascend on high; — In the easy, idle bed Let the slave and coward die ! But give me the driving keel, Clang of shields and flashing steel;— Or my foot on foreign ground, With my enemies around ! Happy, happy, thus I'd yield, On the deck, or in the field, My last breath, shouting ' On THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL 51 To victory.* But since this has been denied, They shall say that I have died Without flinching, like a monarch Of the sea." And Balder spoke no more, And no sound escaped his lip ; — And he looked, yet scarcely saw The destruction of his ship. Nor the fleet sparks mounting high. Nor the glare upon the sky ; — Scarcely heard the billows dash. Nor the burning timber crash ; — Scarcely felt the scorching heat That was gathering at his feet. Nor the fierce flames mounting o'er him Greedily. But the life was in him yet, And the courage to forget All his pain, in his triumph On the sea. Once alone a cry arose. Half of anguish, half of pride, As he sprang upon his feet, With the flames on every side. "I am coming ! " said the king, "Where the swords and bucklers ring- Where the warrior lives again With the souls of mighty men — Where the weary find repose. And the red wine ever flows ; — I am coming, great All- Father, 52 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Unto thee ! Unto Odin, unto Thor, And the strong, true hearts of yore — I am coming to Valhalla, O'er the sea." Bruce and the Spider This poem tells the legendary story of how " The Bruce," Robert I, King of Scotland, after six successive defeats by the English armies, was a fugitive in a lonely hut, and there saw a spider try six times to cast his thread from one beam to another and succeed on the seventh try. Bruce took courage from the spider's perseverance, fought a seventh time, and won. Robert Bruce was a great leader of his people, and from early youth fought against the tyranny of the English kings. The battle of Bannockburn in 13 14 won freedom for Scotland and at the same time assured the crown to Bruce. Before that time he had had many rivals for the throne of Scotland, but after the battle his power over his people became so great that the parlia- ment of the land unanimously proclaimed him king. BRUCE AND THE SPIDER By Bernard Barton For Scotland's and for freedom's right The Bruce his part has played ; — In five successive fields of fight Been conquered and dismayed : 54 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Once more against the English host His band he led, and once more lost The meed for which he fought ; And now from battle, faint and worn, The homeless fugitive, forlorn, A hut's lone shelter sought. And cheerless was that resting-place For him who claimed a throne ; — His canopy, devoid of grace, The rude, rough beams alone ; The heather couch his only bed — Yet well I ween had slumber fled From couch of eider down ! Through darksome night till dawn of day, Absorbed in wakeful thought he lay Of Scotland and her crown. The sun rose brightly, and its gleam Fell on that hapless bed. And tinged with light each shapeless beam Which roofed the lowly shed ; When, looking up with wistful eye, The Bruce beheld a spider try His filmy thread to fling From beam to beam of that rude cot — And well the insect's toilsome lot Taught Scotland's future king. Six times the gossamery thread The wary spider threw ; — In vain the filmy line was sped. For powerless or untrue Each aim appeared, and back recoiled The patient insect, six times foiled, BRUCE AND THE SPIDER 55 And yet unconquered still ; And soon the Bruce, with eager eye, Saw him prepare once more to try His courage, strength, and skill. One effort more, his seventh and last ! — The hero hailed the sign ! — And on the wished -for beam hung fast That slender silken line ! Shght as it was, his spirit caught The more than omen ; for his thought The lesson well could trace. Which even " he who runs may read," That Perseverance gains its meed. And Patience wins the race. VI Bannockburn The Scotch poet, Robert Burns, pictured to himself the national hero of Scotland, Robert Bruce, address- ing his soldiers before the battle of Bannockburn, and j wrote what he imagined Bruce might have said. The battle was fought near Sterling in 13 14, between the Scotch and the army of Edward II of England. Bruce reminds his men of their history, of how they had bled with Wallace, a Scotch leader of the thirteenth century who had risen against the English when that people invaded the Highlands, and of how they had followed Bruce himself in many a battle. It is a fine appeal to the always ardent patriotism of his countrymen. The English army greatly outnumbered the Scotch, but were decisively beaten, and Edward II narrowly escaped being taken prisoner. BANNOCKBURN By Robert Burns At Bannockburn the English lay,- The Scots they were na far away, But waited for the break o' day That glinted in the east. BANNOCKBURN 57 But soon the sun broke through the heath And lighted up that field of death. When Bruce, \vi' saul-inspiring breath, His heralds thus addressed : — " Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled — Scots, wham Bruce has aften led — Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victorie ! <« Now's the day, and now's the hour ; See the front o' battle lower ; See approach proud Edward's power — Chains and slaverie ! « Wha will be a traitor knave ? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave ? Let him turn and flee ! «* Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand or freeman fa' — Let him follow me ! *' By oppression's woes and pains 1 By your sons in servile chains ! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free ! *< Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe ! Liberty's in every blow ! Let us do or die I " VII The Battle of Morgarten The Swiss people regard the battle of Morgarten as one of the noblest events in their stirring history. The small Swiss cantons, or Forest states, as they were often called, there successfully withstood the might of the powerful Austrians. It happened in this way : After the death of Henry VII, King of Germany, there was much confusion in central Europe, due to the fact that two men had been elected to succeed him, Louis of Bavaria, and Frederick the Handsome, of Austria. The Swiss canton of Schwyz began to attack the Abbey of Einsiedehn, which belonged to the Hapsburgs, of whom Frederick was the head. The Austrian ruler protested, and when he found that the rest of the For- est states sided with Schwyz, he vowed he would crush them. He gave command of his army to his brother, Duke Leopold, and the Austrians marched into Switzer- land late in the autumn of 13 15. Duke Leopold divided his army, and sent one part of it, under Count Otto of Strasburg, to break into Unterwalden by the Briinig Pass. Two roads led from the town of Zug to Schwyz, and Leopold, probably through ignorance, chose the more difficult one for the troops of his own command. On November 15th he reached ^geri, and marched along the shore of that THE BATTLE OF MORGARTEN 59 lake, paying no attention to the enemy. He and his noblemen held the Swiss peasants in the greatest scorn, and his army was more like a hunting party than like troops ready for battle. They reached Hasel- matt, and from there began to climb the steep, icy slopes of Morgarten, heading towards Schornen. As soon as the Austrians were hemmed in by the lake and the mountains, an avalanche of boulders, rocks, and tree trunks came pouring down on the dense masses of soldiers. The Swiss peasants, few in num- ber, knew that country well, and were posted on a mountain ridge that gave them complete command of the narrow pass of Morgarten. While the confused Austrians tried to keep their footing the main Swiss army, from Schwyz and Uri, appeared on the other side of the pass, and rushed down upon their enemy. The Austrians were caught in a trap, and the Swiss mowed them down with their halberds, a weapon of their own invention. In a short time the Austrian army was broken to pieces, many rushed into the lake, and those who were left fled back through the passes and out of the coun- try. Otto of Strasburg, when he heard of the retreat of Leopold, turned back, and the forest country was soon free of all invaders. The battle of Morgarten has sometimes been called the Swiss Thermopylae, because a few men withstood such a great army. It was the first of a long series of great victories for the hardy mountain people, and showed them how they might maintain their inde- pendence from their vastly more powerful neighbors. 6o HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS The Swiss gave thanks to God for their victory, and declared that the anniversary of the battle should be a day of thanksgiving each year. Morgarten itself is the name given to the pasture slopes that descend to the southern end of the lake of .^geri in the canton of Zug. A monument to the victory stands near the Haselmatt Chapel, some two \ miles from the station at Sattel on the railroad line from Schwyz to Zurich. jj THE BATTLE OF MORGARTEN By Felicia Dorothea Hemans The wine-month shone in its golden prime, And the red grapes clustering hung, But a deeper sound, through the Switzer's clime, Than the vintage-music, rung. A sound, through vaulted cave, A sound, through echoing glen, Like the hollow swell of a rushing wave ; — 'Twas the tread of steel-girt men. And a trumpet, pealing wild and far, 'Midst the ancient rocks was blown. Till the Alps replied to that voice of war With a thousand of their own. And through the forest-glooms Flash'd helmets to the day. And the winds were tossing knightly plumes, Like the larch-boughs in their play. THE BATTLE OF MORGARTEN 6i In Hash's wilds there was gleaming steel, As the host of the Austrian pass'd ; And the Schreckhorn's rocks, with a savage peal, Made mirth of his clarion's blast. Up 'midst the Righi snows The stormy march was heard, With the charger's tramp, whence fire-sparks rose, And the leader's gathering word. But a band, the noblest band of all, Through the rude Morgarten strait, With blazon'd streamers, and lances tall, Moved onwards in princely state. They came with heavy chains. For the race despised so long — But amidst his Alp-domains, The herdsman's arm is strong ! The sun was reddening the clouds of mom When they entered the rock defile, And shrill as a joyous hunter's horn Their bugles rung the while. But on the misty height, Where the mountain-people stood, There was stillness, as of night, When storms at distance brood. There was stillness, as of deep dead night. And a pause — but not of fear, While the Switzers gazed on the gathering might Of the hostile shield and spear. On wound those columns bright Between the lake and wood, But they look'd not to the misty height Where the mountain-people stood. 62 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS The pass was fiU'd with their serried power, All helm'd and niail-array'd, And their steps had sounds like a thunder- shower In the rustling forest-shade. There were prince and crested knight, Hemm'd in by cliff and flood, When a shout arose from the misty height Where the mountain-people stood. And the mighty rocks came bounding down, Their startled foes among, With a joyous whirl from the summit thrown — Oh ! the herdsman's arm is strong ! They came like lauwine hurl'd From Alp to Alp in play, _When the echoes shout through the snowy world And the pines are borne away. The fir-woods crash'd on the mountain-side. And the Switzers rush'd from high. With a sudden charge, on the flower and pride Of the Austrian chivalry : Like hunters of the deer, They storm'd the narrow dell, And first in the shock, with Uri's spear, Was the arm of William Tell, There was tumult in the crowded strait, And a cry of wild dismay. And many a warrior met his fate From a peasant's hand that day ! And the empire's banner then From its place of waving free, Went down before the shepherd-men, The men of the Forest-sea. THE BATTLE OF MORGARTEN 63 With their pikes and massy clubs they brake The cuirass and the shield, And the war-horse dash'd to the reddening lake From the reapers of the field ! The field — but not of sheaves — Proud crests and pennons lay, Strewn o'er it thick as the birch-wood leaves, In the autumn tempest's way. Oh ! the sun in heaven fierce havoc view'd, When the Austrian turn'd to fly, And the brave, in the trampling multitude, Had a fearful death to die ! And the leader of the war At eve unhelm'd was seen, With a hurrying step on the wilds afar, And a pale and troubled mien. But the sons of the land which the freeman tills, Went back from the battle-toil. To their cabin homes 'midst the deep green hills, All burden'd with royal spoil. There were songs and festal fires On the soaring Alps that night, When children sprung to greet their sires From the wild Morgarten fight. ' VIII Chevy-Chase This is a very old English ballad, and the author of it is unknown. The title actually means the hunt or chase among the Cheviot Hills which divide England and Scotland. According to the story there had long been keen rivalry between the families of Percy, Earl of Northumberland in England, and of the Scotch Earl of Douglas. Each made continual raids into the other's territory. One day Earl Percy vowed that he would hunt for three days in the Scotch border, or Cheviot Hills, without asking leave of the Douglas. He set out to do this, but as soon as the hunt begins the ballad mixes with it an account of the Battle of Otterburn, which was fought by English and Scotch in 1388 in the county of Northumberland, and which re- sulted in a Scotch victory. The poem describes both the hunt and the battle, but many of the facts are incorrectly given. Earl Percy's son, Henry, known as Hotspur, killed Earl Douglas at Otterburn, although here Douglas is de- scribed as being killed by the arrow of an English archer. The English king is called Henry, and the Scotch James, but in 1388 Richard II was king of England, and Robert II king of Scotland. In return for the English defeat at Otterburn, they did, as the ,,ff% ■ ^ CHEVY-CHASE 65 poem states, win a great victory over the Scotch at Humbledown in Northumberland in 1402. Many of these old ballads contain curious mixtures of several poems, made into one years after the events described. This is a very good example of such a combination, and one of the best of the old popular narratives in rhyme. CHEVY- CHASE Ano7iymoiis God prosper long our noble king, Our lives and safeties all ; A woful hunting once there did In Chevy-Chase befall. To drive the deer with hound and horn Earl Percy took his way ; The child may rue that is unborn The hunting of that day. The stout earl of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three summer days to take — The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chase To kill and bear away. These tidings to Earl Douglas came, In Scotland where he lay ; Who sent Earl Percy present word He would prevent his sport. The English earl, not fearing that, Did to the woods resort. 66 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS , With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in lime of need To aim their shafts aright. The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran To chase the fallow deer ; On Monday they began to hunt When daylight did appear ; And long before high noon they had A hundred fat bucks slain ; Then having dined, the drovers went To rouse the deer again. The bowmen mustered on the hills, Well able to endure; And all their rear, with special care. That day was guarded sure. The hounds ran swiftly through the woods. The nimble deer to take, That with their cries the hills and dales An echo shrill did make. Lord Percy to the quarry went. To view the slaughtered deer ; Quoth he, " Earl Douglas promised This day to meet me here; " But if I thought he would not come, No longer would I stay; " With that a brave young gentleman Thus to the earl did say : CHEVY-CHASE 67 •* Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come, His men in armor bright ; Full twenty hundred Scottish spears All marching in our sight ; «' All men of pleasant Teviotdale, Fast by the river Tweed ; " «' Then cease your sports," Earl Percy said, " And take your bows with speed ; " And now with me, my countrymen, Your courage forth advance ; For never was there champion yet, In Scotland or in France, " That ever did on horseback come, But if my hap it were, I durst encounter man for man, With him to break a spear." Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed. Most like a baron bold, Rode foremost of his company. Whose armor shone like gold. " Show me," said he, " whose men you be. That hunt so boldly here, That, without my consent, do chase And kill my fallow-deer." The first man that did answer make, Was noble Percy he — Who said, " We list not to declare. Nor show whose men we be : 68 HISTORIC POKMS AND BALLADS " Yet will we spend our dearest blood Thy chiefest harts to slay." Then Douglas swore a solemn oath, And thus in rage did say : *' Ere thus I will out-braved be, One of us two shall die ; I know thee well, an earl thou art — Lord Percy, so am L *' But trust me, Percy, pity it were, And great offence, to kill Any of these our guiltless men, For they have done no ill. " Let you and me the battle try. And set our men aside." "Accursed be he," Earl Percy said, •* By whom this is denied." Then stepped a gallant squire forth, Witherington was his name. Who said, ' ' I would not have it told To Henry, our king, for shame, "That e'er my captain fought on foot. And I stood looking on. You two be earls," said Witherington, "And I a squire alone; " ril do the best that do I may. While I have power to stand ; While I have power to wield my sword, I'll fight with heart and hand." CHEVY-CHASE 69 Our English archers bent their bows — Their hearts were good and true ; At the first flight of arrows sent, Full fourscore Scots they slew. Yet stays Earl Douglas on the bent, As chieftain stout and good ; As valiant captain, all unmoved, The shock he firmly stood. His host he parted had in three, As leader ware and tried ; And soon his spearmen on their foes Bore down on every side. Throughout the English archery They dealt full many a wound ; But still our valiant Englishmen All firmly kept their ground. And throwing straight their bows away, They grasped their swords so bright ; And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, On shields and helmets light. They closed full fast on every side — No slackness there was found ; And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground. In truth, it was a grief to see How each one chose his spear. And how the blood out of their breasts Did gush like water clear. 70 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS At last these two stout earls did meet ; Like captains of great might, Like lions wode, they laid on lode, And made a cruel fight. They fought until they both did sweat. With swords of tempered steel, Until the blood, like drops of rain, They trickling down did feel. ( 'Yield thee, Lord Percy," Douglas said; *' In faith I will thee bring Where thou shalt high advanced be By James, our Scottish king. " Thy ransom I will freely give. And this report of thee, Thou art the most courageous knight That ever I did see." "No, Douglas," saith Earl Percy then, " Thy proffer I do scorn ; I will not yield to any Scot That ever yet was born." With that there came an arrow keen Out of an English bow, Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart, A deep and deadly blow ; Who never spake more words than these ; " Fight on, my merry men all ; For why, my life is at an end ; Lord Percy sees my fall." CHEVY- CHASE 71 Then leaving life, Earl Percy took The dead man by the hand ; And- said, "Earl Douglas, for thy life Would I had lost my land. «« In truth, my very heart doth bleed With sorrow for thy sake ; For sure a more redoubted knight Mischance did never take." A knight amongst the Scots there was Who saw Earl Douglas die. Who straight in wrath did vow revenge Upon the Earl Percy. Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he called, Who, with a spear full bright, Well mounted on a gallant steed. Ran fiercely through the fight ; And past the English archers all, Without a dread or fear ; And through Earl Percy's body then He thrust his hateful spear ; With such vehement force and might He did his body gore, The staff ran through the other side A large cloth-yard and more. So thus did both these nobles die, Whose courage none could stain. An English archer then perceived The noble earl was slain. I 1 72 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS He had a bow bent in his hand, ] Made of a trusty tree ; H An arrow of a cloth-yard long To the hard head haled he. Against Sir Hugh Mountgomery So right the shaft he set, The gray goose wing that was thereon In his heart's blood was wet. This fight did last from break of day Till setting of the sun : For when they rung the evening-bell, The battle scarce was done. With stout Earl Percy there were slain Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, Sir James, that bold baron. And with Sir George and stout Sir James, Both knights of good account, Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain. Whose prowess did surmount. For Witherington my heart is wo That ever he slain should be, For when his legs were hewn in two, He knelt and fought on his knee. And with Earl Douglas there was slain Sir Hugh Mountgomery, Sir Charles Murray, that from the field One foot would never flee. CHEVY-CHASE 73 Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too- His sister's son was he; Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed, But saved he could not be. And the Lord Maxwell in like case Did with Earl Douglas die : Of twenty hundred Scottish spears, Scarce fifty-five did fly. Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, Went home but fifty-three ; The rest in Chevy-Chase were slain, Under the greenwood tree. Next day did many widows come, Their husbands to bewail ; They washed their wounds in brinish tears, But all would not prevail. Their bodies, bathed in purple blood. They bore with them away ; They kissed them dead a thousand times, Ere they were clad in clay. The news was brought to Edinburgh, Where Scotland's king did reign, That brave Earl Douglas suddenly Was with an arrow slain : * Oh, heavy news," King James did say; " Scotland can witness be I have not any captain more Of such account as he." 74 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Like tidings to King Henry came Within as short a space, That Percy of Northumberland Was slain in Chevy-Chase : " Now God be with him," said our king, " Since 'twill no better be; I trust I have within my realm Five hundred as good as he : ** Yet shall not Scots or Scotland say But I will vengeance take : I'll be revenged on them all, For brave Earl Percy's sake." This vow full well the king performed After at Humbledown ; In one day fifty knights were slain, With lords of high renown ; And of the best, of small account, Did many hundreds die : Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase, Made by the Earl Percy. God save the king, and bless this land, With plenty, joy, and peace ; And grant, henceforth, that foul debate 'Twixt noblemen may cease ! IX Ivry This splendid poem tells of the battle of Ivry, fought in 1590 between the Huguenots, or Protestants, under Henry of Navarre, and the Catholics, led by the Duke of Mayenne. Navarre was a small kingdom lying partly in France and partly in Spain, and Henry's mother was its queen. The king of France, Henry III, had tried to reconcile the Catholics and Huguenots, but the Catholics distrusted him, and formed a "League" to fight for their faith. This brought about a great civil war in France. Henry III was assassinated in 1589. He had chosen his cousin, Henry of Navarre, to succeed him, but the leaders of the League and the people of Paris opposed this. Henry of Navarre defeated Mayenne at Ivry, which is about thirty miles west of Paris, and as a result of this victory became undisputed king of France. He made a wise ruler, and was one of the best loved of all French kings. He was famous for his gallant bearing, his chivalry, and his bravery, all of which he had shown very strikingly at Ivry. Macaulay pictures the enthusiasm of a follower of Henr}' at the battle. The Huguenots have won, thanks to the Lord of Hosts and their king, and there shall be 76 HISTORIC POEMS AND 13ALLADS rejoicing in the city of La Rochelle, a Huguenot strong- hold on the western coast of France. Then the Huguenot soldier describes the battle. The army of the Catholic League faced them, made up of citizens led by priests and rebellious nobles, Swiss infantry under Appenzel, spearmen brought from Flanders by Philip, Count of Egmont, the troopers of the Guise family, who came from the province of Lorraine, with the Duke of Mayenne him- self in command of them. As the Huguenots looked at their enemies they remembered the Massacre of St. Bartholomew in 1572, when Catherine de' Medici had tried to kill all the Huguenots in France, and had killed so many in Paris that the River Seine ran with blood ; and they remembered that their great leader, Admiral Coligny, had been one of the first to fall. Then Henry of Navarre rode out before his troops, with a snow-white plume fastened to his helmet. He bade his men follow him, and if the standard-bearer fell to take his white plume for their guide and flag of battle. The enemy charged, the Duke of Mayenne leading the mercenary troops of Guelders and Almayne across the open field. A thousand Huguenot knights set their spears in rest, and followed Henry's plume as he dashed forward. The armies met, and Mayenne was driven back, the Duke d'Aumale forced to surrender, and the Count of Egmont killed. The Huguenots raised the cry, "Remember St. Bartholomew!" but Henry called to them to pursue the foreign soldiers' but to spare their French brothers. As if to mark the IVRY Tj downfall of the great Catholic house of Guise, the Huguenot Duke of Sully, Baron of Rosny, captured the black and white standard of that family. The poem ends with a call to the daughters and wives of Vienna and Lucerne to weep for their fathers and husbands who had been killed fighting for the League, to Philip II of Spain, an ally of Mayenne, to send his Mexican gold to Antwerp so that the monks might pray for his Flemish spearmen, to the soldiers of the League to be prepared for further battle, and to the people of St. Genevieve's city of Paris to watch for the victorious arrival of the Huguenots under their valiant king. In this poem Macaulay catches the gallant spirit of the follower of Henry of Navarre as vividly as he de- scribes the simple patriotism of a citizen of the Roman Republic in " Horatius." IVRY By Thomas Babbington, Lord Macaulay Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ! And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre ! Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France ! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters. Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. Hurrah ! Hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war, Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre. 78 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ; With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ; And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand : And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. The King is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, " God save our Lord the King ! " *« And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray. Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war. And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre." Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin. The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, Witli all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies, — upon them with the lance. A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. IVRY 79 Now, God be praised, the day is ours. Mayenne hath turned his rein. D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, " Remember St. Bartholomew," was passed from man to man. But out spake gentle Henry, " No Frenchman is my foe : Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go." Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war. As our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ? Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France to- day; And many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey. But we of the religion have borne us best in fight ; And the good Lord of Rosny hath ta'en the cornet white. Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath ta'en. The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine. Up with it high ; unfurl it wide ; that all the host may know How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought His church such woe. Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest point of war. Fling the red shreds, a footcloth neat for Henry of Navarre. Ho ! maidens of Vienna ; ho ! matrons of Lucerne ; Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls. Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright; Ho ! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night. So HISTORIC POKMS AND BALLADS For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave. Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are ; And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre. X The Revenge This ballad of the Revenge tells a true story of the war that was fought between Queen Elizabeth of Eng- land and Philip II of Spain. A fleet of six English ships was overtaken at the Azore Islands in August, 1 59 1, by fifty-three Spanish men-of-war, many of them of very large size and carrying big guns. The Eng- lish ships were in need of repairs, and many of their sailors were ill on shore. The Admiral, Lord Thomas Howard, seeing how great were the odds against him, gave orders to fly at once. But Sir Richard Grenville, commander of the small ship Revenge, said that more than ninety of his crew were ill on shore, and that he could not leave them there to fall into the hands of the Spaniards, who would treat them as heretics and ill-use them. The Admiral left with his five ships, and Sir Rich- ard carried all his sick sailors, men from Bideford in Devonshire, on board the Revenge, while they blessed him for not surrendering them to the cruel Spaniards. Then he sailed from the Azores, with a crew of only a hundred men. The Spanish fleet, built so high at bow and stern that they looked like castles on the water, caught up with the Revcjige. Sir Richard sent his little craft 82 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS straight through the enemy's men-of-war, and fought them all that afternoon and all that night. At dawn they were still fighting, and then Sir Richard wanted to sink his ship rather than let her fall into the hands of Spain. But his men protested, saying they could get honorable terms of surrender from their foes. Sir Richard was wounded and dying when his men yielded. The Spaniards carried him like a hero to their flag-ship, where he died. Then they manned the little Revenge with their own crew, and the whole fleet set sail. But that night a great gale rose and shat- tered the Spanish fleet, and together with the other ships the Revenge sank at sea. Tennyson follows the account of the actual sea-fight closely. The words of Sir Richard as he fell on the deck of the Spanish man-of-war are said to have been : " Here die I, Richard Grenville, with a joyful and quiet mind ; for I have ended my life as a good soldier ought to do, who has fought for his country and his queen, for his honor and religion." THE REVENGE By Alfred, Lord Tennyson (A Ballad of the Fleet) (August, 1 59 1) At Flores in the Azores, Sir Richard Grenville lay, ^ And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away : " Spanish ships-of-war at sea ! we have sighted fifty-three ! " Then sware Lord Thomas Howard : " 'Fore God I am no coward; But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, And the half my men are sick. I must fly but follow quick. THE REVENGE 83 We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three? " Then spake Sir Richard Grenville : "1 know you are no coward ; You fly them for a moment to fight with them again. But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore. I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard, To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain." So Lord Howard passed away with five ships-of-war that day, Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven ; But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land Very carefully and slow. Men of Bideford in Devon, And we laid them on the ballast down below ; For we brought them all aboard. And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain, To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord. He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight, And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight, With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather-bow. "Shall we fight or shall we fly? Good Sir Richard, tell us now, For to fight is but to die ! There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set." And Sir Richard said again : "We be all good Englishmen. Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil. For I never turned my back upon don or devil yet." Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we roared a hurrah, and so The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe, With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below; For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea-lane between. 84 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks and laughed, Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft Running on and on, till delayed By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons, And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed. And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud, Whence the thunderbolt will fall Long and loud, Four galleons drew away From the Spanish fleet that day. And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay, And the battle-thunder broke from them all. But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and went, Having that within her womb that had left her ill-content ; And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand, For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers. And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes his ears. When he leaps from the water to the land. And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea. But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three. Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came. Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder and flame ; Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame. For some were sunk and many were shattered, and so could fight us no more — God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before ? THE REVENGE 85 For he said, "Fight on ! fight on ! " Though his vessel was all but a wreck ; And it chanced that, when half of the summer night was gone, With a grisly wound to be drest, he had left the deck, But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead, And himself, he was wounded again in the side and the head. And he said, " Fight on ! fight on ! " And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea, And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring ; But they dared not touch us again, for they feared that we still could sting, So they watched what the end would be. And we had not fought them in vain, But in perilous plight were we, Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, And half of the rest of us maimed for life In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife ; And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold. And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent ; And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side ; But Sir Richard cried in his English pride, " We have fought such a fight, for a day and a night, As may never be fought again ! We have won great glory, my men 1 And a day less or more At sea or ashore, We die — does it matter when ? Sink me the ship. Master Gunner — sink her, split her in twain ! Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain ! " 86 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS And the gunner said " Ay, ay," but the seamen made reply: " We have children, we have wives, And the Lord hath spared our lives. We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go ; We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow." And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe. And the stately Spanish men to their flag-ship bore him then, Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last. And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace ; But he rose upon their decks, and he cried : " I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true; I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do : With a joyful spirit I, Sir Richard Grenville, die ! " And he fell upon their decks, and he died. And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true, And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap That he dared her with one little ship and his English few; Was he devil or man ? He was devil for aught they knew, But they sank his body with honor down into the deep. And they manned the Revenge with a swarthier, alien crew, And away she sailed with her loss and longed for her own ; When a wind from the lands they had ruined awoke from sleep, And the water began to heave and the weather to moan, And or ever that evening ended, a great gale blew. And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew, Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags, And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shattered navy of Spain, And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags, To be lost evermore in the main. XI A Legend of Bregenz This is a story of the old city of Bregenz that stands on the shore of Lake Constance, on the borders of Switzer- land, Germany, and that province of Austria called the Tyrol. A girl of Bregenz left her home and went to a Swiss village to live. She entered a household there, taught her master's children, and tended his cattle. The people were kind to her, and in time she forgot that she w^as among strangers. But one day she learned that the Swiss were planning to attack Bregenz by stealth. Instantly all her old love of home awoke. She stole from the house at night, mounted a horse, and rode to Bregenz, hoping to warn the city before the Swiss soldiers should arrive. She had to cross the Rhine, but her steed carried her safely over, and she reached Bregenz in time. The brave girl became the greatest heroine of her city ; a picture of her on her charger is carved over the stone gateway on the hill, and the watchman of Bregenz calls her name each midnight. A LEGEND OF BREGENZ By Adelaide A. Procter Girt round with rugged mountains the fair Lake Constance lies; In her bhae heart reflected, shine back the starry skies ; And, watching each white cloudlet float silently and slow. You think a piece of heaven lies on our earth below I 88 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Midnight is there; and silence, enthroned in heaven, looks down Upon her own cahn mirror, upon a sleeping town : For Bregenz, that quaint city upon the Tyrol shore, Has stood above Lake Constance a thousand years and more. Her battlements and towers, upon their rocky steep. Have cast their trembling shadows for ages on the deep; Mountain and lake and valley, a sacred legend know, Of how the town was saved one night, three hundred years ago. Far from her home and kindred a Tyrol maid had fled. To serve in the Swiss valleys, and toil for daily bread ; And every year that fleeted so silently and fast Seem'd to bear further from her the memory of the past. She served kind, gentle masters, nor ask'd for rest or change ; Her friends seem'd no more new ones, their speech seem'd no more strange ; And, when she led her cattle to pasture every day, She ceased to look and wonder on which side Bregenz lay. She spoke no more of Bregenz, vi^ith longing and with tears ; Her Tyrol home seem'd faded in a deep mist of years; She heeded not the rumors of Austrian war or strife ; Each day she rose, contented, to the calm toils of life. Yet, when her master's children would clustering round her stand, She sang them the old ballads of her own native land ; And, when at morn and evening she knelt before God's throne, The accents of her childhood rose to her lips alone. And so she dwelt : the valley more peaceful year by year ; When suddenly strange portents of some great deed seem'd near. The golden corn was bending upon its fragile stalk. While farmers, heedless of their fields, paced up and down in talk. A LEGEND OF BREGENZ 89 The men seem'd stern and alter'd, with looks cast on the ground; With anxious faces, one by one, the women gather' d round ; All talk of flax, or spinning, or work, was put away ; The very children seem'd afraid to go alone to play. One day, out in the meadow with strangers from the town, Some secret plan discussing, the men walk'd up and down. Yet now and then seem'd watching a strange, uncertain gleam, That look'd like lances 'mid the trees that stood below the stream. At eve they all assembled, all care and doubt were fled ; With jovial laugh they feasted, the board was nobly spread. The elder of the village rose up, his glass in hand. And cried, " We drink the downfall of an accursed land ! " The night is growing darker ; ere one more day is flown Bregenz, our foeman's stronghold, Bregenz shall be our own I " The women shrank in terror, (yet pride, too, had her part,) But one poor Tyrol maiden felt death within her heart. Before her stood fair Bregenz, once more her towers arose ; What were the friends beside her? Only her country's foes ! The faces of her kinsfolk, the days of childhood flown, The echoes of her mountains, reclaim' d her as their own ! Nothing she heard around her, (though shouts rang forth again,) Gone were the green Swiss valleys, the pasture, and the plain ; Before her eyes one vision, and in her heart one cry. That said, "Go forth, save Bregenz, and then, if need be, die ! " With trembling haste and breathless, with noiseless step she sped ; Horses and weary cattle were standing in the shed ; She loosed the strong white charger, that fed from out her hand, She mounted and she turn'd his head towards her native land. 90 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Out — out into the darkness — faster, and still more fast ; The smooth grass flies behind her, the chestnut wood is pass'd ; She looks up ; clouds are heavy : Why is her steed so slow ? — Scarcely the wind beside them can pass them as they go. "Faster!" she cries, " O, faster!" Eleven the church-bells chime : "O God," she cries, "help Bregenz, and bring me there in time ! " But louder than bells' ringing, or lowing of the kine. Grows nearer in the midnight the rushing of the Rhine, Shall not the roaring waters their headlong gallop check ? The steed draws back in terror, she leans above his neck To watch the flowing darkness, the bank is high and steep; One pause, — he staggers forward, and plunges in the deep. She strives to pierce the blackness, and looser throws the rein ; Her steed must breast the waters that dash above his mane ; How gallantly, how nobly, he struggles through the foam. And see, in the far distance shine out the lights of home I Up the steep bank he bears her, and now they rush again Toward the heights of Bregenz, that tower above the plain. They reach the gate of Bregenz just as the midnight rings. And out come serf and soldier to meet the news she brings. Bregenz is saved ! Ere daylight her battlements are mann'd; Defiance greets the army that marches on the land : And, if to deeds heroic should endless fame be paid, Bregenz does well to honor the noble Tyrol maid. Three hundred years are vanish'd, and yet upon the hill An old stone gateway rises, to do her honor still. And there, when Bregenz women sit spinning in the shade. They see in quaint old carving the charger and the maid. A LEGEND OF BREGENZ 91 And when, to guard old Brcgenz, by gateway, street, and tower, The warder paces all night long, and calls each passing hour : "Nine," "ten," "eleven," he cries aloud, and then (O crown of fame ! ) When midnight pauses in the skies he calls the maiden's name. XII Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers A LITTLE band of English men and women, who had left their homes because of religious persecution, sailed from Southampton, in England, on August 15, 1620. They had two vessels, the Mayflower and the Speediuell. The Speedivcll soon proved unseaworthy and had to put back to Plymouth for repairs, while twelve of her thirty voyagers were added to the ninety who were already on board the Mayflower. Nine weeks later land was sighted, and on the evening of November 19, 1620, the pilgrims brought their ship into what came to be known as Cape Cod harbor. Two days later the Mayflower dropped anchor off what is now Provincetown, which is the extreme point of Cape Cod, and a band of sixteen men, headed by Captain Miles Standish, landed to explore the shore. The first actual settlement was made a month later, on December 21, 1620, at Plymouth, a more pro- tected harbor than that of Provincetown. This desire of the Pilgrims for a place where they might be free to worship God as they pleased was the cause of the founding of the first colony in New England. r > o 5 o •n LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS 93 LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS By Felicia Dorothea Hematis 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 ; 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. 94 HISTORIC rOEMS AND BALLADS 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. XIII The Cavalier's Escape The Civil War in England was fought during the years from 1642 to 1649 between the followers of King Charles I, who were called the " Cavaliers," and the men led by Oliver Cromwell, who sided with the Parliament, and were called " Roundheads," because they wore their hair cut short. In this poem one of the Cavaliers has met a band of Roundheads, and is trying to outride them and reach his own men at the town of Salisbury, five miles away. His chestnut mare Kate can outstrip both the roan and the gray that are following her. It is almost dawn as the Cavalier starts. He hears the heavy hoof-beats of the roan, and the quicker tread of the gray. But Kate dashes off ahead of them, and her rider doffs his hat in mock courtesy and wishes his pursuers good-day. They splash through the mire and come to a gate. Kate clears it, but the others falter. The Cavalier gains a lead, but soon the Roundheads are close behind him again. He turns like a stag at bay, strikes a blow at the first pursuer and drops him from his horse ; the second fires, but misses, and the Cavalier wounds him with a stroke of his sword. Then he fights his way through the others who have caught up, and dashes on. The enemy fol- 96 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS low with sword and match-lock gun. They are almost on him when he reaches Salisbury gate. One long leap by the faithful chestnut steed, and he is safe within the town, leaving the Roundheads bafiled of their prey. The Cavalier calls them the "canting band" because the Roundheads were supposed to be religious zealots, and fond of cant and hypocrisy from the standpoint of the dashing Cavaliers. THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE By Walter Thornbury Trample ! trample ! went the roan, Trap ! trap ! went the gray ; But pad ! pad ! pad ! like a thing that was mad, My chestnut broke away. It was just five miles from Salisbury town, And but one hour to day. Thud ! THUD ! came on the heavy roan. Rap ! RAP ! the mettled gray ; But my chestnut mare was of blood so rare, That she showed them all the way. Spur on ! spur on ! — I doffed my hat, And wished them all good-day. They splashed through miry rut and pool, — Splintered through fence and rail ; But chestnut Kate switched over the gate, — I saw them droop and tail. To Salisbury town — but a mile of down. Once over this brook and rail. THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE 97 Trap ! trap ! I heard their echoing hoofs Past the walls of mossy stone ; The roan flew on at a staggering pace, But blood is better than bone. I patted old Kate, and gave her the spur, For I knew it was all my own. But trample ! trample ! came their steeds, And I saw their wolf's eyes burn; I felt like a royal hart at bay, And made me ready to turn. I looked where highest grew the May, And deepest arched the fern. I flew at the first knave's sallow throat ; One blow, and he was down. The second rogue fired twice, and missed ; I sliced the villain's crown, — Clove through the rest, and flogged brave Kate, Fast, fast to Salisbury toivn ! Pad ! pad ! they came on the level sward, Thud ! thud ! upon the sand, — With a gleam of swords and a burning match, And a shaking of flag and hand ; But one long bound, and I passed the gate. Safe from the canting band. XIV Naseby This poem represents the views of a Roundhead soldier who fought in the great civil war between King Charles I of England and the Parliamentary troops under Oliver Cromwell. Naseby is a small village in Northamptonshire, in central England, and one of the most important batdes of the war was fought there on June 14, 1645. The Roundheads were led by Cromwell, Lord Fairfax, and General Ireton, and the Cavaliers, or Royal Army, by Prince Rupert. King Charles himself watched the battle from a neigh- boring hill. The batde was a defeat for the King's army, and his troops w^ere so badly beaten that the Cavaliers en- gaged in no more meetings with their foes. Not long afterward Charles became a prisoner of the Parliament, and was tried and beheaded by them in 1649. The Roundheads were fond of using phrases from the Bible, and the speaker of this poem indulges in many allusions to the Scriptures. His party called themselves the Saints of God, and fought with all the bitter zeal of religious fanatics. He refers most bitterly to the Cavaliers and their leaders, to the "man of blood," King Charles, with his long, curling, perfumed NASEBY 99 hair, to Lord Astley, who commanded the Royalist infantry, to Sir Marmaduke Langdale, and to Rupert, Prince Palatine of the Rhine. In contrast to these sin- ful leaders the Roundhead general rode before his troops with the Bible in his hand. The battle began with the cheers of the two sides. Then Prince Rupert charged, to the sound of clarions and drums, leading, as the Roundhead says, his ruffians from Alsatia, the slums of London, and his lackeys from the King's palace of Whitehall. The Round- heads grasped their pikes and stood manfully, but the charge broke their left wing. Major-General Skippen was wounded, when suddenly Cromwell himself dashed to the rescue of that side of his army. The Roundheads charged behind him, and in their turn broke the Cava- lier line. Cromwell pursued ; the gallants retreated, trying to save their heads that the Roundheads would like to set up on Temple Bar in London, where the heads of traitors were shown to public view ; and King Charles turned and fled. The speaker calls on his friends to strip lockets and gold from the slain Cavaliers, and then cries shame on the luxury-loving men who were so fond of silks and satins, of music, of theatres, and of cards. He wants to destroy the mitre of the Bishops of the Church of England and the crown of the King, the wickedness of the court and the love of wealth of the Church. Ox- ford, which sided with Charles, Durham, the seat of a great cathedral, shall be downcast, and both the Roman and the English Church despair. " Naseby " gives a fine idea of the bigotry and hate 100 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS of Cromwell's men for all the pomp and glamour of King Charles' court and church. NASEBY By Thomas Babbington^ Lord Macaulay Oh ! wherefore come ye forth in triumph from the north, With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red ? And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout ? And whence be the grapes of the wine-press that ye tread ? Oh ! evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit, And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod ; For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong. Who sate in the high places and slew the saints of God. It was about the noon of a glorious day of June, That we saw their banners dance and their cuirasses shine, And the man of blood was there, with his long essenced hair. And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of the Rhine. Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword, The general rode along us to form us for the fight ; When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled into a shout Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's right. And hark ! like the roar of the billows on the shore, The cry of battle rises along their charging line : For God ! for the Cause ! for the Church ! for the laws ! For Charles, king of England, and Rupert of the Rhine ! NASEBY loi The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums, His bravoes of Alsatia and pages of Whitehall ; They are bursting on our flanks ! Grasp your pikes ! Close your ranks ! For Rupert never comes, but to conquer or to fall. They are here — they rush on — we are broken — we are gone — Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast. O Lord, put forth thy might ! O Lord, defend the right ! Stand back to back, in God's name ! and fight it to the last ! Stout Skippen hath a wound — the centre hath given ground. Hark 1 Hark ! what means the trampling of horsemen on our rear ? Whose banner do I see, boys? 'Tis he ! thank God ! 'tis he, boys ! Bear up another minute ! Brave Oliver is here ! Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row : Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dikes, Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the accurst. And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes. Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple Bar; And he — he turns ! he flies ! shame on those cruel eyes That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war ! Ho, comrades ! scour the plain ; and ere ye strip the slain, First give another stab to make your search secure ; Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad-pieces and lockets, The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor. 102 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Fools ! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold, When you kissed your lily hands to your lemans to-day ; And to-morrow shall the fox from her chambers in the rocks Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey. Where be your tongues, that late mocked at heaven, and hell, and fate ? And the fingers that once were so busy with your blades? Your perfumed satin clothes, your catches and your oaths ? Your stage plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades? Down ! down ! forever down, with the mitre and the crown ! With the Belial of the court, and the Mammon of the Pope ! There is woe in Oxford halls, there is wail in Durham's stalls ; The Jesuit smites his bosom, the bishop rends his cope. And she of the seven hills shall mourn her children's ills, And tremble when she thinks on the edge of England's sword ; And the kings of earth in fear shall shudder when they hear What the hand of God hath wrought for the houses and the word ! XV "Les Gants Glaces" The Fronde was the name given to a civil war in France which lasted from 1648 to 1652. The word "fronde" means a "sling" in French, and the war was given that name because it began by the mob of Paris throwing stones at the windows of the houses of the friends of Cardinal Mazarin, who was fighting many of the nobles of France. Turenne, a great general, led a revolt against Cardi- nal Mazarin in 1650. Turenne expected to receive aid from the Spaniards in the Netherlands, and a Spanish army was ready to march to join him when the coun- try people of the French province of Champagne took up arms to keep out the foreigners. One of Turenne's allies was holding the town of Rethel, which lay in Ardennes, near the river Vosges. A battle was fought there December 15, 1650, between Turenne's Frondeurs, as his ^j'l :liers were called, and the army of Duplessis- Pras'iiu, or, as the name is given in the poem, De Ras- lin. This poem tells how the attacking army was beaten back from the walls by the Frondeurs, until, goaded with desperation, the weary soldiers taunted the gaily- clad gentlemen of the Household Brigade, who were waiting in reserve, and dared them to advance on the town. 104 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS The " Gants Glaces," or " Kid Gloves," as the Brigade was nicknamed, took the challenge, marched forward, and carried the walls, although half their number were swept down in the storm of bullets. That charge of " Les Gants Glaces " won the day for Cardinal Mazarin and his king, Louis XIV of France. " LES GANTS GLACES " Ano7iymous Wrapped in smoke stood the towers of Rethel, The battle surged fierce by the town ; On terror and struggle and turmoil The sweet skies of Champagne looked down. Far away smiled the beautiful uplands, The blue Vosges lay solemn beyond ; Well France knew such discord of color In the terrible days of the Fronde. At the breach in the ramparts of Rethel Each stone was bought dearly by blood, For De Raslin was leadmg the stormers, And Turenne on the battlements stood. Again and again closed the conflict, The madness of strife upon all ; Right well fought the ranks of the marshal, Yet twice they fell back from the wall. Twice, thrice repulsed, baffled, and beaten. They glared, where in gallant array, Brave in gilding and 'broidery and feather, The guards in reserve watched the fray. " LES GANTS GLACES " 105 Go in, ye kid-gloved dandies ! " they shouted As sullenly rearward they bore ; The gaps deep and wide in their columns, The lilies all dripping in gore. Come on, ye kid-gloved dandies ! " and laughing At the challenge, the Household Brigade Dressed ranks, floated standards, blew trumpets, And flashed out each glittering blade. And carelessly as to a banquet, And joyously as to a dance. Where the Frondeurs in triumph were gathered, Went the best blood of Scotland and France. The gay plumes were shorn as in tempest ; The gay scarfs stained crimson and black ; Storm of bullet and broadsword closed o'er them, Yet never one proud foot turned back. Though half of their number lay silent On the breach their last effort had won. King Louis was master of Rethel Ere the day and its story was done. And the fierce taunting cry grew a proverb Ere revolt and its horrors were past ; For men knew, ere o'er France's fair valleys Peace waved her banner at last, That the softest of tones in the boudoir, The lightest of steps in the "ronde," Was theirs whose keen swords bit the deepest In the terrible days of the Fronde. XVI How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix There is no actual incident in history such as that described in this poem, but such an adventure might very easily have taken place during one of the wars in the Netherlands. Three riders set out from the cit}'^ of Ghent, which is in the country now called Belgium, to carry certain news to the town of Aix, in Rhenish Prussia. This news, if it reaches Aix in time, will save that town. The distance to be covered is over a hun- dred miles. The three riders, Joris, Dirck, and the one who tells the story, set off from Ghent at full speed, as the moon is setting. The watch opens the city gate, and they gallop out, and race neck and neck mile after mile. Dawn comes as they ride through the towns of Lokeren and Boom and Diiffeld. At Mecheln they hear the clock chime. The sun rises at Aerschot. As they near Hasselt Dirck's horse staggers and falls. The other two race on past Looz and Tongres. As they reach Dalhem Joris cries, " Aix is in sight I " but his roan drops ; and the man on Roland is left alone to carry the message. He throws off his coat, and boots, and belt, and urges Roland on. At last HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS 107 they reach Aix, and the noble horse, the hero of the ride, falls as the people crowd about him. The rider, with Roland's head resting between his knees, pours down his steed's throat the last measure of wine left in Aix. The " good news " had arrived in time to save the city. HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX By Robert Browning I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he : I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; "Good speed ! " cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew, "Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping through, Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast. Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace — Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. \- 'Twas a moonset at starting ; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear ; At Boom a great yellow star came out to see; At Diiffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be ; And from Mecheln church-steeple wc heard the half chime — So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is time ! " io8 HISTORIC POEMS AND IJALLADS At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black every one, To stare through the mist at us galloping past ; And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last. With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray ; And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track ; And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance; And the thick heavy spume- flakes, which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on. By Hasselt Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, " Stay spur ! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her ; We'll remember at Aix " — for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank. As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; 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 croup 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. HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS 109 Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 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 voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. XVII The Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee Sir Walter Scott loved ballads of the dashing, free-riding, hard-fighting cavaliers, and this is one of the finest that he wrote. The " Bonnets " were the caps of the Scotch horsemen, and Dundee was John Graham of Claverhouse, who was made Viscount of Dundee by James II of England in 1688. Claverhouse was a leader of wonderful dash and courage, but so cruelly did he treat the Scotch Cove- nanters against whom he fought that the country people nicknamed him *' Bloody Claver'se," When James II was driven from his throne, and William of Orange became King of England Claverhouse planned to raise an army in Scotland and, by defeating the English troops, make James king again. He rode into Edinburgh with his troop of horsemen. The Scottish Parliament, or " Lords of Convention " were assembled there, and he called on them to follow his lead. He bade them open the Westport, or western gate of Edinburgh, and ride forth with him. But the people of Edinburgh sided with King Will- iam, and so the bells were rung backward and the drums sounded to give the alarm. The provost, how- ever, bade the crowd let Claverhouse go, knowing the city would be better off with the wild cavalier safely out of it. THE BONNETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE iii Dundee rode down the turnings of the West Bow, a street where the Scottish Church had met. Every •' carline," or old woman, was scolding and shaking her head, but the young girls, the " plants of grace," looked kindly and slyly at him, wishing luck to the dashing soldier. In the Grass-Market, a famous square of the city, the Whigs, or followers of King William, had gathered, as if half the west of Scodand had come to a hanging. These people had no liking for Claverhouse, but feared his sword. They had pikes and spears and long- handled knives, but they did not dare to attack, and stood close together, leaving the road open to the flaunting troopers. On a high rock stood Edinburgh Castle, which was held by the Duke of Gordon for King James. Dundee rode to the castle and bade the Duke fire Mons Meg, the great cannon, and the other guns, or " marrows," on the walls. The Duke asked whither he was riding. Dundee answered that he should go wherever the shade of the great Marquis of Montrose, who had fought and died for King Charles II, should lead him. He would go to the country north of the Pentland Hills and the Firth of Forth, and find followers among the wild " Duniewassals " or Scottish chieftains who lived in the Highlands. He would rather live as an outlaw than serve the Whigs' King William, who had usurped King James's throne. So he waved his hand to the castle, and led his men out of the city, riding to the north. The cause of King James was lost a little later, and 112 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Claverhouse was killed in the battle of Killiecrankie, in 1689. Sir Walter Scott always preferred the Jacobites to the Whigs, and such a man as Claverhouse, with his " bonnets of Bonnie Dundee," appealed most strongly to his love of romance. The metre of this ballad has the note of galloping horses, flashing swords, and the reckless gaiety of the Cavaliers. THE BONNETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE By Sir Walter Scott To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claverhouse who spoke, " Ere the king's crown shall fall, there are crowns to be broke ; So let each cavalier who loves honor and me Come follow the bonnets of bonnie Dundee ! " Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; Come open the Westport and let us gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of bonnie Dundee ! Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat ; But the provost, douce man, said, " Just e'en let him be, The gude toun is well quit of that deil of Dundee ! " As he rode doun the sanctified bends of the Bow, Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow ; But the young plants of grace they looked cowthie and slee, Thinking, Luck to thy bonnet, thou bonnie Dundee ! THE BONNETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE 113 With sour-featured wliigs the Grass-Market was thranged, As if half the west had set tryst to be hanged ; There was spite in each look, there was fear in each ee, As they watched for the bonnets of bonnie Dundee. These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers ; But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free At the toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. He spurred to the foot of the proud castle rock, And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke : " Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three. For the love of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee." The Gordon demands of him which way he goes. " Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose ! Your grace in short space shall hear tidings of me, Or that low lies the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. There are hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond Forth ; If there's lords in the lowlands, there's chiefs in the north ; There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three Will cry ' Hoigh ! ' for the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. There's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide, There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside ; The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free, At a toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. " Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks. Ere I own an usuriier I'll couch with the fox : And tremble, false whigs, in the midst of your glee, You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me." H4 . HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown, The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on, Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lea Died away the wild war-notes of bonnie Dundee. Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle the horses, and call up the men ; Come open your doors and let me gaefree. For it's up with the bonnets of bonnie Dundee. XVIII Herve Riel The poet Robert Browning discovered the story of a brave Breton sailor and wrote tiiis poem concerning it. At first it was doubted whether the story was true, but a search of the records of the French navy proved that the facts described actually happened. The events took place during the war between Louis XIV of France and William III of England in 1692. The French king was fighting the English in order to try to restore James II to his throne. Ad- miral Tourville, and the French fleet joined battle with the English off Cape La Hogue, and were defeated there May 31, 1692. The French ships were put to flight and headed for the old fortified seaport of St. Malo on the Brittany coast at the mouth of the river Ranee. The great fleet, sailing full in the wind, signaled to St. Malo to give them harbor or the English would take them. The pilots of St. Malo put out in their small boats and reached the fleet, but told the captains it would be impossible to steer such great vessels through the narrow channel and up the shallows of the Ranee. The French captains called a council, and were about to order their ships beached and set on fire rather than ii6 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS surrendered when a simple coasting-pilot, named Herve Riel, a sailor from the Breton town of La Croisic, who had been pressed into service by Admiral Tourville, stepped out and told them he knew every turn of the channel and could take the fleet through. He asked them to let him steer the biggest ship, the Formidable^ and he would save them all, or pay the price of failure with his head. The captains gave the Breton pilot charge, and true to his word he steered the whole fleet up the Ranee to safety. The English ships reached the harbor just in time to see the French escape them. Captains and men cheered Herve Riel, and Damfre- ville, in command, told him to name his own reward and, whatever it might be, he should have it. For his great service Herve Riel simply asked for a day's holi- day in order that he might go back to La Croisic to see his wife, whom he called " La Belle Aurore." To complete his poem Browning says that there is no record of the brave sailor in his native town nor among the heroes of France who are painted in the Louvre at Paris, and offers the tribute of his verse to the daring man who saved the French fleet from the English and for reward asked to see his wife. Browning wrote this poem at the time when Paris was besieged by the Germans in the winter of 1870- 187 1. He sent it to the Cornhill Magazine, saying they might have it for ;^ioo, which he would give to the fund to aid the starving people of Paris. The money was paid him, and given to help the French when the siege had ended. HERV£ KIEL 117 HERVE KIEL By Robert Browning I On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, Did the EngHsh fight the French, — woe to France ! And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Ranee, With the English fleet in view. II 'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase ; First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville j Close on him fled, great and small. Twenty-two good ships in all ; And they signaled to the place *' Help the winners of a race ! Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick — or, quickerstill, Here's the English can and will !" Ill Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board ; " Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass? " laughed they : «• Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored, Shall the Formidable here with her twelve and eighty guns Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way. Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, And with flow at full beside ? Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide. Reach the mooring ? Rather say, While rock stands or water runs, Not a ship will leave the bay I " Il8 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS IV Then was called a council straight. Brief and bitter the debate : *' Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, For a prize to Plymouth Sound ? Better run the ships aground ! " (Ended Damfreville his speech). " Not a minute more to wait ! Let the Captains all and each Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach ! France must undergo her fate. V " Give the word I " But no such word Was ever spoke or heard ; For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these — A Captain ? A Lieutenant ? A Mate — first, second, third ? No such man of mark, and meet With his betters to compete ! But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet, A poor coasting-pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese. VI And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Herve Riel : "Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues ? Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell 'Twixt the offing here and Grdve where the river disem- bogues ? Are you bought by English gold ? Is it love the lying's for? Morn and eve, night and day, Have I piloted your bay. Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. HERVl: RIEL 119 Bum the fleet and ruin France ? That were worse than fifty Hogues ! Sirs, they know I speak the truth ! Sirs, believe me, there's a way ! Only let me lead the line, Have the biggest ship to steer, Get this For^nidable clear, Make the others follow mine, And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, Right to Solidor past Greve, And there lay them safe and sound ; And if one ship misbehave, — Keel so much as grate the ground. Why, I've nothing but my life, — here's my head I " cries Herv6 Riel. VII Not a minute more to wait. Steer us in, then, small and great ! Take the helm, lead theline,savethesquadron ! " cried its chief. Captains, give the sailor place ! He is Admiral, in brief. Still the north-wind, by God's grace I See the noble fellow's face As the big ship, with a bound. Clears the entry like a hoiuid, Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound ! See, safe through shoal and rock, How they follow in a flock, Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, Not a spar that comes to grief ! The peril, see, is past, All are harbored to the last, And just as Herve Riel hollas "Anchor ! " — sure as fate, Up the English come — too late ! 120 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS VIII So, the storm subsides to calm : They see the green trees wave On the heights o'erlooking Grdve. Hearts that bleii are stanched with balm. " Just our rapture to enhance, Let the EngHsh rake the bay. Gnash their teeth and glare askance As they cannonade away ! 'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Ranee ! " How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance 1 Out burst all with one accord, " This is Paradise for Hell ! Let France, let France's king Thank the man that did the thing ! " What a shout, and all one word, •'HerveRiel !" As he stepped in front once more, Not a symptom of surprise In the frank blue Breton eyes, Just the same man as before. Then said Damfreville, " My friend, I must speak out at the end, Though I find the speaking hard. Praise is deeper than the lips : , You have saved the King his ships, You must name your own reward. 'Faith our sun was near eclipse ! Demand whate'er you will, France remains your debtor still. Ask to heart's content and have ! or my name's not Damfre- ville." HERVE KIEL 121 X Then a beam of fun outbroke On the bearded mouth that spoke, As the honest heart laughed through Those frank eyes of Breton blue : " Since I needs must say my say, Since on board the duty's done. And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run? — Since 'tis ask and have, I may — Since the others go ashore — Come ! A good whole holiday ! Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore ! " That he asked and that he got,— nothing more. XI Name and deed alike are lost : Not a pillar nor a post In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell ; Not a head in white and black On a single fishing-smack, In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. Go to Paris : rank on rank « Search the heroes flung pell-mell On the Louvre, face and flank ! You shall look long enough ere you come to Herv6 Riel. So, for better and for worse, Herv6 Riel, accept my verse ! In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore ! XIX The Leak in the Dike A GREAT part of the land of Holland is lower than the level of the sea about its shores. For this reason that country and the provinces that adjoin it gained the name of "The Low Countries," or "The Nether- lands." In order to keep the sea from flooding their homes the Hollanders built great walls of earth, called dikes, and spent large sums of money in repairing them. The smallest leak was a tremendous danger. In a very short time it would cause a break in the dike and let the ocean in to sweep across farms and cities. Sometimes, when the country was at war with Spain, or some of the other great powers that tried to conquer it, the people of Holland would break the dikes them- selves, and flood their country in order to defeat the invaders. This was a very costly method of defense, but several times the brave people had to resort to it. Phoebe Gary, an American poet, wrote this poem of a Dutch boy named Peter. His mother sent him at sunset one day to carry some cakes to an old man who lived near the dike. He did the errand, and turned homeward, stopping to pick some flowers on the way. As he walked along he heard the angry sea dashing against the wall that kept it out, and he thought it was THE LEAK IN THE DIKE 123 well that the wall was strong and that his father and other men watched it carefully. Presently he heard a trickling noise. He looked for it, and saw a small stream, not as large as his hand, coming through the dike. He knew what that meant. If it was not stopped the leak would tear down the wall, the sea would sweep in, and destroy hundreds of villages. No one was there to help him, and there was no time to lose. So he pressed his hand to the crack and held it there while he called again and again for aid. No one came, and Peter had to stay, holding back the sea, while the night passed. His mother wondered what had happened to him, and was up at dawn look- ing across the fields for him. After a while she saw some neighbors coming toward her, carrying some one. They had found the boy at his post of duty, and they brought him back alive to his mother. By hold- ing the sea outside the dike he had saved his country. This story has been told many times in prose and poetry. It is one of the legends of Holland that fathers tell their sons when the boys are old enough to under- stand how the dikes divide the land from the sea. THE LEAK IN THE DIKE By Phoebe Cary The good dame looked from her cottage At the close of the pleasant day, And cheerily called to her little son Outside the door at play : 124 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS " Come, Peter, come ! I want you to go, While there is light to see. To the hut of the blind old man who lives Across the dike, for me ; And take these cakes I made for him — They are hot and smoking yet ; You have time enough to go and come Before the sun is set." Then the good wife turned to her labor, Humming a simple song, And thought of her husband, working hard At the sluices all day long ; And set the turf a-blazing, And brought the coarse, black bread, That he might find a fire at night. And see the table spread. And Peter left the brother With whom all day he had played, And the sister who had watched their sports In the willow's tender shade ; And told them they'd see him back before They saw a star in sight — Though he wouldn't be afraid to go In the very darkest night ! For he was a brave, bright fellow, With eye and conscience clear ; He could do whatever a boy might do. And he had not learned to fear. Why, he wouldn't have robbed a bird's nest. Nor brought a stork to harm, Though never a law in Holland Had stood to stay his arm ! THE LEAK IN THE DIKE 125 And now, with his face all glowing, And eyes as bright as the day With the thoughts of his pleasant errand, He trudged along the way ; And soon his joyous prattle Made glad a lonesome place — Alas ! if only the blind old man Could have seen that happy face ! Yet he somehow caught the brightness Which his voice and presence lent ; And he felt the sunshine come and go As Peter came and went. And now, as the day was sinking, And the winds began to rise, The mother looked from her door again, Shading her anxious eyes. And saw the shadows deepen, And birds to their homes come back. But never a sign of Peter Along the level track. But she said, " He will come at morning, So I need not fret or grieve — Though it isn't like my boy at all To stay without my leave." But where was the child delaying ? On the homeward way was he. And across the dike while the sun was up An hour above the sea. He was stooping now to gather flowers ; Now listening to the sound. As tlie angry waters dashed themselves Against their narrow bound. 126 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS "Ah ! well for us," said Peter, " That the gates are good and strong, And my father tends thenn carefully, Or they would not hold you long ! You're a wicked sea," said Peter; " I know why you fret and chafe ; You would like to spoil our lands and homes; But our sluices keep you safe I " But hark ! through the noise of waters Comes a low, clear, trickling sound ; And the child's face pales with terror, As his blossoms drop to the ground. He is up the bank in a moment, And, stealing through the sand, He sees a stream not yet so large As his slender, childish hand. ' Tis a leak in the dike ! He is but a boy. Unused to fearful scenes ; But, young as he is, he has learned to know The dreadful thing that means. A leak in the dike ! The stoutest heart Grows faint that cry to hear. And the bravest man in all the land Turns white with mortal fear. For he knows the smallest leak may grow To a flood in a single night ; And he knows the strength of the cruel sea When loosed in its angry might. And the boy ! He has seen the danger, And, shouting a wild alarm. He forces back the weight of the sea With the strength of his single arm ! THE LEAK IN THE DIKE 127 He listens for the joyful sound Of a footstep passing nigh ; And lays his ear to the ground, to catch The answer to his cry, — And he hears the rough winds blowing, And the waters rise and fall. But never an answer comes to him Save the echo of his call. He sees no hope, no succor, His feeble voice is lost ; Yet what shall he do but watch and wait, Though he perish at his post ! So, faintly calling and crying Till the sun is under the sea ; Crying and moaning till the stars Come out for company ; He thinks of his brother and sister, Asleep in their safe warm bed ; He thinks of dear father and mother ; Of himself as dying, and dead ; And of how, when the night is over. They must come and find him at last ; But he never thinks he can leave the place Where duty holds him fast. The good dame in the cottage Is up and astir with the light. For the thought of her little Peter Has been with her all the night. And now she watches the pathway, As yester-eve she had done ; But what does she see so strange and black Against the rising sun ? 128 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Her neighbors are bearing between them Something straight to her door ; Her child is coming home, but not As he ever came before 1 ♦♦ He is dead ! " she cries ; " my darling ! " And the startled father hears, And comes and looks the way she looks, And fears the thing she fears ; Till a glad shout from the bearers Thrills the stricken man and wife — " Give thanks, for your son has saved our land, And God has saved his life ! " So, there in the morning sunshine They knelt about the boy ; And every head was bared and bent In tearful, reverent joy. 'Tis many a year since then ; but still, When the sea roars like a flood. Their boys are taught what a boy can do Who is brave and true and good. For every man in that country Takes his dear son by the hand, And tells him of little Peter, Whose courage saved the land. They have many a valiant hero, Remembered through the years ; But never one whose name so oft Is named with loving tears. And his deed shall be sung by the cradle, And told to the child on the knee, So long as the dikes of Holland Divide the land from the sea ! XX The Battle of Blenheim This battle was fought near the village of Blenheim, in Bavaria, on the left bank of the river Danube, on August 13, 1704. The French and Bavarians, under Marshals Tallard and Marsin, were defeated by the English and Austrians, under the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene. The French and Bavarians were taken by surprise in the village, and their armies were badly handled. On the opposite side Marlborough and Prince Eugene showed themselves splendid cavalry leaders and led an attack that proved successful through its very reckless- ness. The French and Bavarians lost 30,000 in killed, wounded, and prisoners, while Marlborough's loss was only 11,000. The battle broke the prestige of the French king, Louis XIV ; and when Marlborough re- turned to England his nation built a magnificent man- sion for him and named it Blenheim Palace after this battle. Southey's poem tells how a little girl found a skull near the battle-field many years afterward, and asked her grandfather how it came there. He told her that a great battle had been fought there, and many of the leaders had won great renown. But he could not tell why it was fought nor what good came of it. He I30 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS only knew that it was a " great victory." That was the moral of so many of the wars that devastated Europe for centuries. The kings fought for more power and glory ; and the peasants fled from burning homes, and the soldiers fell on the fields. The poem gives an idea of the real value to men of such famous victories as that of Blenheim. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM By Robert Southey It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun, And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. ^ She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found ; He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by ; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh, " 'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, " Who fell in the great victory. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM 131 " I find them in the garden, For there's many here about ; And often when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out ! For many thousand men," said he, " Were slain in that great victory." " Now tell us what 'twas all about," Young Peterkin, he cries ; And little VVilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes ; «* Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for," " It was the English," Kaspar cried, " Who put the French to rout ; But what they fought each other for I could not well make out ; But everybody said," quoth he, " That 'twas a famous victory. " My father lived at Blenheim then. Yon little stream hard by ; They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly ; So with his wife and child he fled. Nor had he where to rest his head. " With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide. And many a childing mother then, And new-born baby died ; But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. 132 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS " They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won ; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun ; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. " Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene." " Why, 'twas a very wicked thing ! " Said little Wilhelraine. " Nay . . . nay . . . my little girl," quoth he, " It was a famous victory. " And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win." ** But what good came of it at last ? " Quoth little Peterkin. " Why, that I cannot tell," said he, " But 'twas a famous victory." XXI Lochinvar Young Lochinvar, a gallant of the Border country of Scotland that lies just north of England, rides from his home in the west to seek the maid he loves, the fair Ellen. He goes alone, he pays no heed to bush or stone, he swims the Eske, a river of the Border that flows into Solway Firth, and so comes to Ellen's home, Netherby Casde in England, on the eastern bank of the Eske. But before he could reach the castle the lady Ellen had said she would wed another, a man slow to court her, and backward in war. The wedding guests were gathered at the castle when Lochinvar entered the hall. The bride's father, hand on sword, demands whether the gallant has come to fight or to dance with the rest. Lochinvar says he comes to dance once with the bride, and drink her one toast. The maid kisses a goblet ; he drains it, and throws it away. Then he takes her hand and leads her out into the gay steps of the galliard, while the bridegroom frowns and the guests admire the grace of the two dancers. They dance to the door. Lochinvar stoops and whispers to the lady. Out at the door they go ; he swings her to his charger, vaults up, and away they dash, while after them over the Cannobie meadows 134 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS ride all of the Netherby clan. But they never caught Lochinvar and his lady. Sir Walter Scott had matchless skill in writing such ballads as this of the old days in the Border country. He loved every stick and stone of Scotland, and every gallant deed in her history. When he wrote such a poem as this or " The Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee " he struck at once into the dash and glamour of true romance, and the swing of his lines gives the swing of the deeds he describes. His longer poems, *' Marmion," "The Lady of the Lake," and "The Lay of the Last Minstrel," give us wonderful pictures of Scotch history, as simple and as glowing as the ballads the troubadours used to sing of famous deeds of chivalry. " Lochinvar " is a part of the poem of " Marmion." LOCHINVAR By Sir Walter Scott O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide border his steed was the best ; And save his good broadsword, he weapon had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske River where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate. The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. Was to wed the fair Ellen of young Lochinvar. LOCHINVAR 135 So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen and kinsmen, and brothers, and all : Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) " O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar? " I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." The bride kissed the goblet : the knight took it up. He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — " Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better by far. To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. So light to the saddle before her he sprung. "She is won ! we are gone over bank, bush and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. 136 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fen wicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? XXII Battle of Fontenoy FONTENOY is a village of Belgium, and famous as the scene of the battle fought May ii, 1745, between the French under Marshal Saxe and the allied army of English, Dutch, and Austrians, under the Duke of Cumberland. The campaign was part of what is known as the War of the Austrian Succession, which involved almost all the countries of Europe on one side or the other, and which, although it began over a question as to the succession to the throne of Austria, came to have many other objects. At the time of this batde the French were trying to keep the allied army from marching to relieve the siege of the fortress of Tournai. The French were posted on a hill behind Fontenoy, and at first appeared to have all the advantage. But soon after the batde began the Duke of Cumberland placed himself at the head of his army, and marched a column of fourteen thousand men with fixed bayonets down the ravine between the two forces and up the opposite slope. Legend has it that the advancing English invited the French to fire first, and that the French refused ; but the French were surprised by the brave advance and cheered the enemy. The English then opened a devastating fire, and the first French 138 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS line broke. The allies charged, and gained the hill. This was the critical moment of the battle. The French king, Louis XV, and the Dauphin, refused to fly, and Marshal Saxe, although ill, mounted his horse and took command of the French cavalry. The English stood their ground, although the enemy now commenced attacks on three sides. Finally the Irish brigade, allies of the French, charged on the English flank, and after desperate fighting broke the solid English square. The English retreated, but pre- vented a rout by standing again and again against the terrific onslaughts of the French and Irish. The battle, which at first had appeared likely to be a victory for the allies, ended in a decisive triumph for the French. The poem is spoken by one of that Irish brigade who had joined the French King Louis and fought England because of the harsh treatment that country had shown Ireland after the battle of the Boyne in 1690. BATTLE OF FONTENOY By Bartholomew Dowling By our camp-fires rose a murmur At the dawning of the day, And the tread of many footsteps Spoke the advent of the fray ; And as we took our places, Few and stern were our words, While some were tightening horse-girths, And some were girding swords. H H 71 2 2: o •< BATTLE OF FONTENOY i39 The trumpet-blast has sounded Our footmen to array — The wiUing steed has bounded, Impatient for the fray — The green flag is unfolded, While rose the cry of joy — " Heaven speed dear Ireland's banner To-day at Fontenoy ! " We looked upon that banner, And the memory arose Of our homes and perish'd kindred Where the Lee or Shannon flows ; We look'd upon that banner, And we swore to God on high. To smite to-day the Saxon's might — To conquer or to die. Loud swells the charging trumpet — 'Tis a voice from our own land — God of battles ! God of vengeance ! Guide to-day the patriot's brand ; There are stains to wash away, There are memories to destroy, In the best blood of the Briton To-day at Fontenoy. Plunge deep the fiery rowels In a thousand reeking flanks — Down, chivalry of Ireland, Down on the British ranks ! Now shall their serried columns Beneath our sabres reel — Through the ranks, then, with the war-horse — Through their bosoms with the steel. I40 HISTORIC FOKMS AND BALLADS With one shout for good King Louis, And the fair land of the vine, Like the wrathful Alpine tempest, We swept upon their line — Then rang along the battle-field Triumphant our hurrah, And we smote them down, still cheering, " Erin^ shanthagal go braghy As prized as is the blessing From an aged father's lip — As welcome as the haven To the tempest-driven ship — As dear as to the lover The smile of gentle maid — Is this day of long-sought vengeance To the swords of the Brigade. See their shatter'd forces flying, A broken, routed line — See, England, what brave laurels For your brow to-day we twine. Oh, thrice bless'd the hour that witness'd The Briton turn to flee From the chivalry of Erin And France's "fleur de lis." As we lay beside our camp-fires. When the sun had pass'd away, And thought upon our brethren Who had perished in the fray. We prayed to God to grant us, And then we'd die with joy, One day upon our own dear land Like this of Fontenoy. XXIIl Bonnie Prince Charlie "Bonnie Prince Charlie" was the name affec- tionately given by certain Scotch and English people to Charles Edward Stuart, son of James Stuart, and grandson of James II, king of England. He was also known as " The Chevalier," or ** The Young Pre' tender," and his father as " The Old Pretender." The Scotch who were still loyal to their old royal house of Stuart claimed that Charles Edward was the rightful king of Great Britain, and wanted to see him take the throne from the House of Hanover. Prince Charlie landed in Scotland in July, 1745, with only seven friends, and appealed to the chiefs of the Highland clans to give him their aid. " The Old Pre- tender" had not been a popular leader, but Prince Charlie was young, handsome, and brave, and his love of the Highlands and his dashing manner won the people to his standard. The Highlanders followed him to Edinburgh, where he was proclaimed King James VIII of Scotland. In September, 1745, he won the battle of Preston Pans, and a little later a victory at Falkirk gave him a strong hold on Scotland. Prince Charlie then marched an army of six thou- sand men over the border into England, hoping the English would imitate the Scotch. But only a few 142 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS English recruits joined him, and the advance of a royal army from the south made him beat a retreat to Scot- land. The armies met at the battle of Culloden in Scodand, April i6, 1746, and there the Prince was de- feated and forced to fly. For five months Prince Charlie wandered through the wilds of Scodand, constandy pursued by English soldiers. There was a reward of ;^30,ooo offered for his capture, but the loyal Highlanders sheltered him again and again, and although he was often sur- rounded by his pursuers he managed to escape them every time. Finally he made his way across to France. This expedition is known as the rebellion of '45 ; and it is one of the many romances of Scottish history, due to the dashing gallantry of Prince Charlie and the de- vodon of the Highlanders. Walter Scott's novel of " Waverly " deals with this story, and many Scotch songs have been sung of " The Young Chevalier." BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE By James Hogg Cam ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg, Down by the Tummel, or banks o' the Garry ; Saw ye our lads, wi' their bonnets and white cockades, Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie ? Follow thee ! follow thee ! wha wadna follow thee? Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly : Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee. King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie ? BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE 143 I hae but ae son, my gallant young Donald ; But if I had ten, they should follow Glengary. Health to M'Donnel, and gallant Clan-Ronald, For these are the men that will die for their Charlie! Follow thee ! follow thee ! wha wadna follow thee ? Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly : Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee. King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie ? I'll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to them, Down by Lord Murray, and Roy of Kildarlie ; Brave M'Intosh he shall fly to the field with them ; These are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie ! Follow thee ! follow thee ! wha wadna follow thee? Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly : Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee, King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie ? Down through the Lowlands, down wi' the Whigamore I Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely ! Ronald and Donald, drive on wi' the broad claymore, Over the necks of the foes of Prince Charlie ! Follow thee ! follow thee ! wha wadna follow thee ? Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly : Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee, King o* the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie ? XXIV Boston Ralph Waldo Emerson had planned to write a i poem about his native city of Boston for many years, and some of the lines in the finished poem were thought out long before he composed the verses as they stand. Emerson read the poem on December i6, 1873, in Faneuil Hall, on the One Hundredth Anniversary of the destruction of the tea in Boston Harbor. The Latin words that he placed at the beginning, and which are the motto of Boston, he translated " God with the Fathers, So with Us." Boston, settled by good Puritan stock, was one of the first cities in the thirteen colonies to resist the un- fair rule of England. Patriots in most of the other cities had let it be known that they would unite in the common cause, but the men of Boston had to begin the contest. They claimed that England was taxing the colonies without allowing them any chance to be heard in parliament, and they especially complained of the tax on all tea that was brought into the port. But the more the colonists objected the more the King of England insisted on proving his rights to them. There- fore he sent several ships loaded with tea to America in the autumn of 1773. The first ship reached Boston Harbor Sunday, November 28th, and a few days later two others arrived. The citizens were furious at this at- BOSTON 145 tempt to make them pay the tax on tea, and held town- meetings, and voted to do without tea. The people became more and more indignant, and finally ordered the captains of the vessels laden with tea to leave the port. The captains agreed, but failed to sail. Finally the men of Boston planned to settle the difficulty for themselves. On the evening of De- cember 16, 1773, a band of forty or fifty men, clad in blankets like Indians, with hatchets in their hands, met at a church. From there they marched to Griffin's Wharf, recruits joining them on the way, until they numbered nearly two hundred. They posted guards on the wharf, and then boarded the three tea-ships. In three hours the band had broken open the three hundred and forty chests of tea that were on board, and emptied them into the harbor. Nothing else on the ships was touched, and as soon as the work was done the men went quietly to their homes. But that very night men of the near-by villages received word of the " Boston Tea-Party," and the next morning couriers were sent to the other colonies to give an ac- count of the stand Boston had taken. News of the Tea-Party caused great indignation in England, and the King ordered that no ships should be allowed to enter the port of Boston until that town should have paid the East India Company for the lost tea. The charter of Massachusetts was annulled, and General Gage was sent over from England with four regiments to take possession of the rebellious city and keep it in order. But the spirit of Boston was the spirit of independ- 146 HISTORIC pop:ms and ballads ence, and the men who had thrown the tea overboard were soon afterwards to withstand the British fire at Lexington and Concord. BOSTON By Ralph Waldo Emerson {Sicut Patribus, sit Deus Nobis) The rocky nook with hilltops three Looked eastward from the farms, And twice each day the flowing sea Took Boston in its arms ; The men of yore were stout and poor, And sailed for bread to every shore. And where they went on trade intent They did what freeman can, Their dauntless ways did all men praise, The merchant was a man. The world was made for honest trade,- To plant and eat be none afraid. The waves that rocked them on the deep To them their secret told ; Said the winds that sung the lads to sleep, " Like us be free and bold ! " The honest waves refuse to slaves The empire of the ocean caves. Old Europe groans with palaces, Has lords enough and more; — We plant and build by foaming seas A city of the poor ; — For day by day could Boston Bay Their honest labor overpay. BOSTON 147 We grant no dukedoms to the few, We hold Hke rights and shall ; — Equal on Sunday in the pew, On Monday in the mall. For what avail the plough or sail, Or land or hfe, if freedom fail? The noble craftsmen we promote, Disown the knave and fool ; Each honest man shall have his vote, Each child shall have his school. A union then of honest men, Or union nevermore again. The wild rose and the barberry thorn Hung out their summer pride Where now on heated pavements worn The feet of millions stride. Fair rose the planted hills behind The good town on the bay, And where the western hills declined The prairie stretched away. What care though rival cities soar Along the stormy coast : Penn's town, New York, and Baltimore, If Boston knew the most ! They laughed to know the world so wide ; The mountains said : "Good-day ! We greet you well, you Saxon men. Up with your towns and stay ! " The world was made for honest trade, — To plant and eat be none afraid. 148 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS " For you," Ihey said, " no barriers be, For you no sluggard rest ; Each street leads downward to the sea, Or landward to the West." O happy town beside the sea, Whose roads lead everywhere to all ; Than thine no deeper moat can be, No stouter fence, no steeper wall ! Bad news from George on the English throne : "You are thriving well," said he; ** Now by these presents be it known, You shall pay us a tax on tea ; 'Tis very small, — no load at all, — Honor enough that we send the call." *' Not so," said Boston, " good my lord, We pay your governors here Abundant for their bed and board, Six thousand pounds a year. (Your highness knows our homely word,) Millions for self-government. But for tribute never a cent." The cargo came ! and wlio could blame If Indians seized the tea, And, chest by chest, let clown the same Into the laughing sea ? For what avail the plough or sail Or land or life, if freedom fail ? The townsmen braved the English king, Found friendship in the French, And Honor joined the patriot ring Low on their wooden bench. BOSTON 149 O bounteous seas lliat never fail ! O day remembered yet ! O happy port that spied the sail Which wafted Lafayette ! Pole-star of light in Europe's night, That never faltered from the right. Kings shook with fear, old empires crave The secret force to find Which fired the little State to save The rights of all mankind. But right is might through all the world ; Province to province faithful clung, Through good and ill the war-bolt hurled. Till Freedom cheered and the joy-bells rung. The sea returning day by day Restores the world-wide mart ; So let each dweller on the Bay Fold Boston in his heart, Till these echoes be choked with snows, Or over the town blue ocean flows. XXV Paul Revere's Ride All during the winter of 1774-75 an armed truce had existed between the British officials and army in the colony of Massachusetts and the people. No citi- zen could be found who would serve as councillor, judge, sheriff, or juryman under the King's commis- sion, and the official business of the colony was at a standstill. Every evening the men of each village drilled on the green, and arms and ammunition were collected secretly and stored in town-halls ready for instant use in the conflict which every one expected. The colonials intended that England should be forced to fire the opening shot, so that they would be in the position of defending their homes rather than of at- tacking the King's government. Gradually a large supply of powder and ball was stored at Concord, about eighteen miles away from Boston, and word of this at length came to General Gage, who commanded the British troops in the latter city. At about the same time General Gage received orders to arrest two men who had shown themselves leaders among the colonials, Samuel Adams and John Hancock. They were to be sent to England to stand trial for treason. He learned that the two men would be in Lexington at a friend's house during the middle of PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 151 April, and gave commands that a detachment of eight hundred troops should march from Boston to Lexing- ton, take Adams and Hancock prisoners, and then march on to Concord, which lay beyond Lexington, and seize the stores of powder and shot there. The British soldiers started on their march on the night of April 18, 1775, keeping their plans as secret as possible, and crossing from Boston to Cambridge, on their way to Concord. In spite of their care, how- ever, word of the plans had leaked out, and the colonial leaders in Boston selected Paul Revere and William Dawes to ride with the news. It had been arranged that Paul Revere should wait in Chadestown, opposite Boston, until he should see a lantern shining in the tower of the old North Church. When he caught the signal he mounted a swift horse and galloped out of Charlestown on the road to Lex- ington. As he rode he waked the country people, and they knew that the British troops were on the march. He reached Lexington in time to give the warning to Adams and Hancock, so that they escaped. William Dawes, who had ridden with the same news by way of Roxbury, and Dr. Samuel Prescott, rode on with Paul Revere. They met some British soldiers at Lincoln, but Prescott leaped his horse over a roadside wall and escaped, to take the alarm to Concord. Revere and Dawes were made prisoners, but were soon released. The British soldiers reached Concord and destroyed a large part of the supplies there, but by the time they began their return to Boston the minutemen were roused. The indignant farmers fired, to the amaze- 152 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS ment of the red-coated soldiers, and soon the British march became a retreat, and ahnost a rout. Reinforce- ments were sent to their aid before they reached Boston, and but for that very few would have escaped their pursuers. As it was, this first fight of the War for American Independence was a victory for the colonials. This poem is the " Landlord's Tale," the first of the " Tales of a Wayside Inn." PAUL REVERE'S RIDE By Henry Wadsworth Lo7igfellow Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five : Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, " If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light, One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm." Then he said, Good-night ! and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore. Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 153 The Somerset, British man-of-war j A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison-bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, Wanders and watches, with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. And the measured tread of the grenadiers. Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climb'd to the tower of the old North Church, By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread. To the belfry-chamber overhead. And startled the pigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade ; By the trembling ladder, steep and tall. To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town. And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead In their night-encampment on the hill, Wrapp'd in silence so deep and still. That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, " All is well ! " A moment only he feels the spell 154 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy sonielhing far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay, — A line of black, that bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurr'd, with a heavy stride, On the opposite shore vvalk'd Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side, Now gazed at the landscape far and near, Then, impetuous, stamp'd the earth. And turn'd and lighten'd his saddle-girth; But mostly he watch'd with eager search The belfry- tower of the old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill. Lonely, and spectral, and sombre and still. And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns. But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns ! A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet : That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light. The fate of a nation was riding that night ; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight. Kindled the land into flame with its heat. PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 155 He lias left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ; And under the alders that skirt its edge. Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. It was twelve by the village clock, When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock. And the barking of the farmer's dog, And felt the damp of the river fog. That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock. When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed. And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock. When he came fo the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock. And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball. 156 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS You know the rest. In the books you have read How the British regulars fired and fled ; How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farmyard-wall, Chasing the redcoats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere ; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm, — A cry of defiance, and not of fear, — A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo foreverraore ! For, borne on the night- wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last. In the hour of darkness, and peril, and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof- beat of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere. XXVI The Battle of Lexington Paul Revere had wakened the little town of Lex- ington at midnight of April i8, 1775, with word that General Gage and the British regulars were on the march to seize the stores at Concord. William Dawes had brought the same message, riding through Rox- bury. Then Dawes and Revere and Samuel Prescott rode on until they reached Lincoln, where the first two were captured by the British, but Prescott escaped to Concord. In 1775 there may have been some seven hundred people in Lexington, By two in the morning of April 19th, Lexington Common was filled with minutemen. The roll was called, and one hundred and thirty an- swered to their names. Then the captain, John Parker, ordered every man to load his musket with powder and ball, but not to be the first to fire. Messengers, who had been sent out to look for the British troops, re- ported they were not in sight, so the company was dis- missed with orders to come together instantly at the sound of a drum. Dawn was just breaking when the first British sol- diers were seen advancing along the road. The drums called the minutemen together, and the raw soldiers were drawn up in two ranks, near the north side of the meeting-house. 158 HISTORIC POKMS AND BALLADS The British, hearing the drums and signal-guns, halted and loaded their muskets. Then the advance guard, led by Major Pitcairn, and followed by the grenadiers, went forward at the double-quick. When Pitcairn was near the minutemen he cried out : " Dis- perse, ye villains ! ye rebels, disperse ! lay down your arms ! why don't you lay down your arms and dis- perse?" Although the minutemen were far fewer than the British soldiers they stood their ground. Pitcairn fired his pistol, and called to his men, " Fire ! " A few guns answered, and then followed a deadly discharge of muskets at short range. Captain Parker, seeing that his men were too few to withstand so many, ordered them to retreat. Then a few of them, of their own accord, fired at the regulars, but did them no harm. Seven men of Lexington, how- ever, were killed by the British fire, and nine wounded. Jonas Parker had sworn never to run from British troops; he stood his ground and was stabbed by a bayonet as he reloaded his gun. Robert Munroe, a veteran of earlier wars, was killed. Samuel Hadley and John Brown were followed and shot down after they had left the common, and Asahel Porter, who had been cap- tured and was trying to escape, was also shot. Caleb Harrington, who had gone to the meeting-house for powder, was killed by a bullet as he came out, and Jonathan Harrington, Jr., was struck in front of his own house on the common. His wife was at the window. He fell, then got to his knees, and crawled to his door- step. There he died as his wife reached him. > r PI o r M Ci H o 2; THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON 159 Daylight found Lexington Common stained with blood, and seven of the town's brave sons dead. Yet Samuel Adams, looking into the future, could exclaim, "Oh, what a glorious morning is this! " for he knew that the heroic stand of that little company was the first step towards the winning of their country's independ- ence. This poem by Sidney Lanier is a part of a longer poem called " Psalm of the West." THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON By Sidney Lanier (From the " Psalm of the West.") Now haste thee while the way is clear, Paul Revere ! Haste, Dawes ! but haste thou not, O Sun ! To Lexington. Then Devens looked and saw the light : He got him forth into the night, And watched alone on the river-shore, And marked the British ferrying o'er. John Parker ! rub thine eyes and yawn : But one o'clock and yet 'tis Dawn ! Quick, rub thine eyes and draw thy hose : The Morning comes ere darkness goes, Have forth and call the yeomen out, For somewhere, somewhere close about Full soon a Thing must come to be Thine honest eyes shall stare to see Full soon before thy patriot eyes Freedom from out of a Wound shall rise. i6o HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Then haste ye, Prescott and Revere ! Bring all the men of Lincohi liere; Lei Chelmsford, Littleton, Carlisle, Let Acton, Bedford, hither file — Oh hillier file, and plainly see Out of a wound leap Liberty. Say, Woodman April ! all in green, Say, Robin April ! hast thou seen In all thy travel round the earth Ever a morn of calmer birth ? But Morning's eye alone serene Can gaze across yon village-green To where the trooping British run Through Lexington. Good men in fustian, stand ye still ; The men in red come o'er the hill. Lay down your arms, damned Rebels / cry The men in red full haughtily. But never a grounding gun is heard ; The men in fustian stand unstirred ; Dead calm, save maybe a wise bluebird Puts in his little heavenly word. O men in red ! if ye but knew The half as much as bluebirds do, Now in this little tender calm Each hand would out, and every palm With patriot palm strike brotherhood's stroke Or ere these lines of battle broke. O men in red ! if ye but knew The least of the all that bluebirds do, Now in this little godly calm Yon voice might sing the Future's Psalm — THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON i6i The Psalm of Love with the brotherly eyes Who pardons and is very wise — Yon voice that shouts, high-hoarse with ire, Fire ! The redcoats fiie, the homespuns fall : The homespuns' anxious voices call, Brother, art hurt ? and Where hit, John ? And, Wipe this blood, and Men, come on, And Neighbor, do but lift 7ny head, And Who is wounded ? Who is dead ? Seven are killed. My God / my God / Seven he dead on the village sod. Two Harringtons, Parker, Hadley, Brown, Munroe and Porter, — these are down. Nay, look ! stout Harrington not yet dead ! He crooks his elbow, lifts his head. He lies at the step of his own house-door ; He crawls and makes a path of gore. The wife from the window hath seen, and rushed ; He hath reached the step, but the blood hath gushed ; He hath crawled to the step of his own house-door, But his head hath dropped : he will crawl no more. Clasp, Wife, and kiss, and lift the head : Harrington lies at his door-step dead. But, O ye Six that round him lay And bloodied up that April day ! As Harrington fell, ye likewise fell — At the door of the House wherein ye dwell ; As Harrington came, ye likewise came And died at the door of your House of Fame. XXVII Concord Hymn This poem was written to be sung as a hymn at the completion of the monument erected on the bank of the Concord River in Massachusetts April 19, 1836. It was there that the colonial minutemen withstood the British regulars on April 19, 1775, and, as Emerson says, "fired the shot heard round the world," begin- ning the War of American Independence. Emerson's grandfather, William Emerson, was a minister at Concord in 1775, and had strongly urged resistance to the British in his sermons. He himself stood with the farmers by the bridge, saying to the minutemen, " Let us stand our ground. If we die, let us die here." The battle took place near the minister's own house, which was afterwards the home of his grandson, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and of Nathaniel Hawthorne. Haw- thorne gave it fame as " The Old Manse " of his writings. CONCORD HYMN By Ralph Waldo Emerson By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. CONCORD HYMN 163 The foe long since in silence slept ; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps ; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone ; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee. XXVIII The Green Mountain Boys Soon after the first armed encounters between the British troops stationed in Boston under General Gage and the minutemen of Lexington and Concord and other villages, a large army of recruits collected outside Boston. There were nearly twenty thousand of these men who had hurriedly left homes and farms and has- tened to besiege General Gage and his regulars. The leaders, however, did not consider the time ripe to at- tack such a strong British force. The recruits were eager and warlike, and it was soon seen that their martial spirit must be given some outlet. It was then that Benedict Arnold, captain of a volunteer company from Connecticut, suggested that a march be made against the British fortresses at Ticonderoga and Crown Point, on Lake Champlain. These were of great strategic value, as they commanded the ap- proach to the Hudson River on the north. This idea met with a quick response. Arnold was made a colonel, and started to raise a regiment among the colonists in the Berkshire Hills. Meantime, how- ever, a number of other men were raising recruits in the country which was known as the New Hampshire Grants, now the state of Vermont. Ethan Allen was one of the leaders here, and while some of the captains THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS 165 were on the march from Boston, he sent an alarm from the town of Bennington through the hills and valleys of the Green Mountain country. The settlers came hurriedly at his call, and on May 7, 1775, one hundred Green Mountain Boys, as these patriots were called, and about fifty men from Massachusetts, met at Castle- ton. Benedict Arnold joined them, but, although he already had a military commission from the Massachu- setts committee of safety, the recruits disregarded his claim, and unanimously elected Ethan Allen their com- mander. The fortress of Ticonderoga was strongly guarded with cannon, and the Green Mountain Boys knew that if they were to capture it they would have to take the British garrison by surprise. As secredy as they could, therefore, they set out from Castleton, heading for Lake Champlain. On May ninth they camped at Orwell, and planned to make their attack on the next day. THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS By William Cullen Bryafit Here halt we our march, and pitch our tent On the rugged forest-ground, And light our fire with the branches rent By winds from the beeches round. Wild storms have torn this ancient wood. But a wilder is at hand, With hail of iron and rain of blood, To sweep and waste the land. i66 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS How the dark wood rings with our voices shrill, That startle the sleeping bird ! To-morrow eve must the voice be still, And the step must fall unheard. The Briton lies by the blue Champlain, In Ticonderoga's towers, And ere the sun rise twice again, Must they and the lake be ours. Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides Where the fireflies light the brake ; A ruddier juice the Briton hides In his fortress by the lake. Build high the fire, till the panther leap From his lofty perch in flight. And we'll strengthen our weary arms with sleep For the deeds of to-morrow night. XXIX Ticonderoga The Green Mountain Boys, led by Ethan Allen, and accompanied by Benedict Arnold as a volunteer, man- aged to collect a few boats at Orwell, and eighty-three of the men crossed Lake Champlain early in the morn- ing of May lo, 1775, and landed at Ticonderoga. The boats were sent back for the rest of the expedition, but the commander realized that if he was to take the enemy by surprise he could not wait until the others arrived. Dawn was just breaking over the mountains as Ethan Allen drew up his little band in ranks. Ac- cording to history he said to them, " Friends and fellow-soldiers, we must this morning quit our pre- tentions to valor, or possess ourselves of this fortress ; and, inasmuch as it is a desperate attempt, I do not urge it on, contrary to will. You that will undertake voluntarily, poise your firelock." Every man raised his firelock. " Face to the right ! " cried Allen. He took his place at the head of the centre file, and with Arnold beside him, led the march to the gate of the fortress. The gate was shut, but the wicket in it was open. A sentry fired through it, and then the Americans broke down the gate and dashed upon the few guards and captured them. The attackers raised the old Indian war-whoops of the days i68 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS of Montcalm, and quickly formed a hollow square on the parade ground, one side facing each of the bar- racks. One of the sentries showed Allen the door of the British commander's room. *' Come out instantly, or I will sacrifice the whole garrison ! " cried Ethan Allen. Delaplace, the British commander, jumped out of bed and gazed in amazement at the American. " Deliver to me the fort instantly," said the American. " By what authority ? " asked the British officer. *' In the name of the great Jehovah, and the Continental Congress ! " answered Ethan Allen. Delaplace started to speak, but Allen threatened him with his drawn sword, and called for his surrender. Then the commander capitulated, and ordered the garrison to give up their arms. By this sudden attack a few almost undisciplined volunteer soldiers won in about ten minutes a fortress that had caused the British troops many campaigns against the French and Indians. The Green Mountain Boys took a large number of prisoners at Ticonderoga, more than one hundred pieces of cannon, and stores of powder and arms. They sent a band of their men to the other fortress of Crown Point, and took that as easily as they had cap- tured the larger and more important one. Coming as it did, at the very beginning of the War of Revolution, the success of the Green Mountain Boys gave the greatest cheer to the colonists from Massa- chusetts to Georgia. n o 2 o TICONDEROGA 169 TICONDEROGA By V. B. Wilson The cold, gray light of the dawning On old Carillon falls, And dim in the mist of the morning Stand the grim old fortress walls. No somid disturbs the stillness Save the cataract's mellow roar, Silent as death is the fortress, Silent the misty shore. But up from the wakening waters Comes the cool, fresh morning breeze, Lifting the banner of Britain, And whispering to the trees Of the swift gliding boats on the waters That are nearing the fog-shrouded land, With the old Green Mountain Lion, And his daring patriot band. But the sentinel at the postern Heard not the whisper low ; He is dreaming of the banks of Shannon As he walks on his beat to and fro, Of the starry eyes in Green Erin That were dim when he marched away, And a tear down his bronzed cheek courses, 'Tis the first for many a day. A sound breaks the misty stillness, And quickly he glances around ; Through the mist, forms like towering giants Seem rising out of the ground ; I70 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS A challenge, the firelock flashes, A sword cleaves the quivering air, And the sentry lies dead by the postern, Blood staining his bright yellow hair. Then, with a shout that awakens All the echoes of hillside and glen, Through the low, frowning gate of the fortress, Sword in hand, rush the Green Mountain men. The scarce wakened troops of the garrison Yield up their trust pale with fear ; And down conies the bright British banner, And out rings a Green Mountain cheer. Flushed with pride, the whole eastern heavens With crimson and gold are ablaze ; And up springs the sun in his splendor And flings down his arrowy rays, Bathing in sunlight the fortress. Turning to gold the grim walls. While louder and clearer and higher Rings the song of the waterfalls. Since the taking of Ticonderoga A century has rolled away ; But with pride the nation remembers That glorious morning in May. And the cataract's silvery music Forever the story tells, Of the capture of old Carillon, The chime of the silver bells. XXX The Little Black-Eyed Rebel The British troops under General Howe made Phila- delphia their headquarters during the winter of 1777- 1778. They entered that city, which was the largest and most important in the thirteen states, on Septem- ber 26, 1777, having defeated Washington's army in a series of small engagements. The American com- mander-in-chief withdrew to a safe distance from the city, and prepared to rest and recruit his forces before meeting Howe again. In the meantime the British General Burgoyne had surrendered at Saratoga, and many troops that had been engaged in fighting him joined Washington's command. By November, 1777, there was a general clamor for Washington to capture Philadelphia. But that city was protected by the Schuylkill and Delaware Rivers and could only be approached from the north, and on that side the British had built a chain of four- teen redoubts. Washington realized that his army would have little chance of taking the city from the large British force there, and selected the woods of Whitemarsh for a temporary encampment. General Howe in Philadelphia heard that the Ameri- cans were ill prepared for an attack, and so, on De- cember fourth, he marched fourteen thousand men 172 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS against them. Washington, with only some seven thousand really effective soldiers, prepared to meet him, but after much manoeuvering and several slight skirmishes Howe decided that the Americans were too w^ell protected by the broken country and their en- trenchments, and retired into the city again. The rest of the winter Howe spent in Philadelphia, and Wash- ington put his army into winter quarters at Valley Forge, on the Schuylkill River, twenty-one miles out- side of Philadelphia. Thus the two armies rested, and waited for spring to renew hostilities. When spring came, to the surprise of the Tories, the British marched out of the city on June i8, 1778, and allowed the Americans to enter unmolested. The British spent the winter in Philadelphia in enter- tainments of every fashion ; the Americans at Valley Forge had difficulty in getting sufficient food and clothing. With the army so near it was natural that many of the soldiers should try to send messages to their families in the city, and receive word from them. Many plans were tried to dodge the British sentries, and letters were often hidden in the farm-wagons that drove into town with provisions for citizens and soldiers. One of those who was most active in sending mes- sages was a Philadelphia girl named Mary Redmond. She was known as " The Litde Black-eyed Rebel," and Will Carleton's poem tells the true story of one of her successful attempts to smuggle notes from the soldiers at Valley Forge to their wives and children in Phila- delphia. THE LITTLE BLACK-EYED REBEL 173 THE LITTLE BLACK-EYED REBEL By Will Carle ton [From Poems For Young Americans, by Will Carlcton"] Copyright, 1906, by Harper & Brothers A boy drove inlo the city, his wagon loaded down With food to feed the people of the British-governed town ; And the little black-eyed rebel, so innocent and sly, Was watching for his coming from the corner of her eye. His face looked broad and honest, his hands were brown and tough, The clothes he wore upon him were homespun, coarse, and rough ; But one there was who watched him, who long time lingered nigh, And cast at him sweet glances from the corner of her eye. He drove up to the market, he waited in the line ; His apples and potatoes were fresh and fair and fine ; But long and long he waited, and no one came to buy, Save the black-eyed rebel, watching from the corner of her eye. "Now who will buy my apples?" he shouted, long and loud; And " Who wants my potatoes ? " he repeated to the crowd ; But from all the people round him came no word of a reply, Save the black-eyed rebel, answering from the corner of her eye. For she knew that 'neath the lining of the coat he wore that day. Were long letters from the husbands and the fathers far away, Who were fighting for the freedom that they meant to gain or die ; And a tear like silver glistened in the corner of her eye. But the treasures — how to get them ? crept the question through her mind. Since keen enemies were watching for what prizes they might find : And she paused a while and pondered, with a pretty little sigh; Then resolve crept through her features, and a shrewdness fired her eye. 174 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS So she resolutely walked up to the wagon old and red ; " May I have a dozen apples for a kiss ? " she sweetly said : And the brown face flushed to scarlet ; for the boy was somewhat shy, And he saw her laughing at him from the corner of her eye. "You may have them all for nothing, and more, if you want," quoth he. " I will have them, my good fellow, but can pay for them," said she; And she clambered on the wagon, minding not who all were by. With a laugh of reckless romping in the corner of her eye. Clinging round his brawny neck, she clasped her fingers white and small, And then whispered, " Quick ! the letters ! thrust them under- neath my shawl ! Carry back again this package, and be sure that you are spry ! " And she sweetly smiled upon him from the corner of her eye. Loud the motley crowd were laughing at the strange, ungirlish freak, And the boy was scared and panting, and so dashed he could not speak ; And, "Miss, /have good apples," a bolder lad did cry; But she answered, "No, I thank you," from the corner of her eye. With the news of loved ones absent to the dear friends they would greet. Searching them who hungered for them, swift she glided through the street. "There is nothing worth the doing that it does not pay to try,' Thought the little black-eyed rebel, with a twinkle in her eye. it XXXI Molly Maguire at Monmouth The British army, which had wintered in Philadel- phia, evacuated that city on June i8, 1778, and started to march to New York. General Howe, who had been in command, was succeeded by Sir Henry Clinton. As soon as Washington learned of the British movement he started in pursuit, and on Sunday, June 28th, ordered General Charles Lee, who commanded the advance guard, to attack the British left wing near Monmouth Court-House in New Jersey. Lee chose to disregard Washington's orders, and instead of attacking ordered his men to withdraw. Surprised at these tactics the Americans were thrown into disorder, when Wash- ington himself, who had been hurriedly sent for by General Lafayette, dashed up to the advance guard, and, white with anger at Lee's lack of courage or judgment, ordered him to the rear. Washington then took command, re-formed the scattered troops, and, although the British had secured a much more favor- able position, succeeded in driving them back. The battle was ended by night, and Clinton managed to get his army away under cover of the darkness. Washington's rebuke to Lee was one of the incidents that made the battle memorable. But equally historic was the story of Molly Maguire or Molly Pitcher. This woman was a sturdy, red-haired, freckle-faced Irish 1/6 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS woman, who had accompanied her husband, a can- nonier, on the march. During the battle she carried water to him as he served his cannon. In the thick of the fighting he was killed at his post by a bullet, Molly seized the rammer as it fell from his hand, and sprang to his place by the gun. She stood to her post, and handled the cannon as skilfully as any of the regular cannoniers. The story of her bravery spread through the American ranks, and on the morning after the batde General Washington sent for her, and gave her a commision as sergeant in the Continental Army. She is usually known as Molly Pitcher, but William Collins chose to call her Molly Maguire. MOLLY MAGUIRE AT MONMOUTH By William Collins On the bloody field of Monmouth Flashed the guns of Greene and Wayne. Fiercely roared the tide of battle. Thick the sward was heaped with slain. Foremost, facing death and danger, Hessian, horse, and grenadier. In the vanguard, fiercely fighting, Stood an Irish Cannonier. Loudly roared his iron cannon, Mingling ever in the strife, And beside him, firm and daring, Stood his faithful Irish wife. Of her bold contempt of danger Greene and Lee's Brigades could tell, Every one knew " Captain Molly," And the army loved her well. 33 n > -J O G H ^^/^ MOLLY MAGUIRE AT MONMOUTH 177 Surged the roar of battle round them, Swifdy flew the iron hail, Forward dashed a thousand bayonets, That lone battery to assail. From the foeman's foremost columns Swept a furious fusillade, Mowing down the massed battalions In the ranks of Greene's Brigade. Fast and faster worked the gunner, Soiled with powder, blood, and dust, English bayonets shone before him, Shot and shell around him burst ; Still he fought with reckless daring, Stood and manned her long and well, Till at last the gallant fellow Dead — beside his cannon fell. With a bitter cry of sorrow. And a dark and angry frown, Looked that band of gallant patriots At their gunner stricken down. *' Fall back, comrades, it is folly Thus to strive against the foe." "No ! not so," cried Irish Molly; '* We can strike another blow." ***** Quickly leaped she to the cannon, In her fallen husband's place, Sponged and rammed it fast and steady, Fired it in the foeman's face. Flashed another ringing volley, Roared another from the gun ; " Boys, hurrah ! " cried gallant Molly, " For the flag of Washington." 178 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Greene's Brigade, though shorn and shattered, Slain and bleeding half their men, When they heard that Irish slogan, Turned and charged the foe again. Knox and Wayne and Morgan rally, To the front they forward wheel, And before their rushing onset Clinton's English columns reel. Still the cannon's voice in anger Rolled and rattled o'er the plain. Till there lay in swarms around it Mangled heaps of Hessian slain. «< Forward ! charge them with the bayonet ! " 'Twas the voice of Washington, And there burst a fiery greeting From the Irish woman's gun. Monckton falls ; against his columns Leap the troops of Wayne and Lee, And before their reeking bayonets Clinton's red battalions flee. Morgan's rifles, fiercely flashing, Thin the foe's retreating ranks, And behind them onward dashing Ogden hovers on their flanks. Fast they fly, these boasting Britons, Who in all their glory came, With their brutal Hessian hirelings To wipe out our country's name. Proudly floats the starry banner, Monmouth's glorious field is won. And in triumph Irish Molly Stands beside her smoking gun. XXXII Song of Marion's Men The British had succeeded in defeating most of the American troops in South Carolina by 1780, and had laid waste much of that state, confiscating plantations, burning houses, and hanging such as they termed traitors without giving them any form of trial. The city of Charleston surrendered to Sir Henry Clinton, the American General Gates was defeated at the battle of Camden, August 16, 1780, and General Sumter at Fishing Creek August 18, 1780. After that there was only one organized American force in South Carolina, *• Marion's Brigade," as it was called. This was a band of troopers led by General Francis Marion, a native of South Carolina, whose ancestors were Huguenot ref- ugees. At first his troop contained only twenty men, but more joined his band, and for three years they carried on irregular w^arfare, harassing the British forces more than regular soldiers could have done. Marion's men defeated a large body of Tories at Briton's Neck without losing a single man, and soon after beat the enemy twice by sudden attacks when the Tories were unaware of armed men being near. Marion managed to escape General Tarleton by dis- appearing into a swamp after a chase of twenty-five miles. This won the daring leader the name of i8o HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS " Swamp Fox," by which he was known all through the countryside. After the battle of King's Mountain more recruits joined the band. In December, 1780, Marion tried to capture Georgetown, but failed. His nephew, Gabriel Marion, was taken prisoner, and as soon as his name was learned he was executed. The " Swamp Fox " led his band back to a well-hidden island known as Swan Island, and made many sorties through the everglades and forests. Again and again he attacked the British along the Santee and Pedee Rivers. He was never cruel to prisoners, and won a high name for his leader- ship as well as for his own bravery. Marion's men succeeded in capturing Georgetown on their third attempt, and fought in the battle of Eutaw Springs, September 8, 1781, which practically ended the British occupation of that part of the new United States of America. Marion has always been one of the most popular heroes of the Revolution, and the " Swamp Fox " well deserved his fame. He was a gallant leader, and the British and Tories admitted that, although he fought them by stealth, he was never a treacherous foe. SONG OF MARION'S MEN By William Ctillen Bryant Our band is few, but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold ; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is tola. Marion and His Men SONG OF MARION'S MEN i8i Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress-tree ; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea ; We know its walks of thorny vines, Its glades of reedy grass. Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery That little dread us near ! On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear ; When, waking to their tents on fire, They grasp their arras in vain, And they who stand to face us Are beat to earth again ; And they who fly in terror deem A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind. Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil ; We talk the battle over. And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind That in the pine-top grieves. And slumber long and sweetly On beds of oaken leaves. i82 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Well knows the fair and friendly moon The band that Marion leads — The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain ; 'Tis life to feel the night-wind That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp — A moment — and away, Back to the pathless forest, Before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with hoary hairs ; Their hearts are all with Marion, For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band, With kindest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton, Forever, from our shore. XXXIII Hail Columbia In 1798 the United States Congress authorized the enrollment of an army of ten thousand men, and in- structed the President to order the captains of all American war-ships to seize any armed French vessels that were found hovering near the coast and attacking American merchantmen. Patriotic feeling ran high, and Joseph Hopkinson of Philadelphia wrote this poem to express the feelings of the times. This letter from Joseph Hopkinson is given in " Poets and Poetry of America," edited by Rev. R. W. Gris- wold. *' It [Hail Columbia] was written in the summer of 1798, when war with France was thought to be in- evitable. Congress was then in session in Philadelphia, deliberating upon that important subject, and acts of hostility had actually taken place. The contest between England and France was raging, and the people of the United States were divided into parties for the one side or the other, some thinking that policy and duty re- quired us to espouse the cause of republican France, as she was called ; while others were for connecting our- selves with England, under the belief that she was the great conservative power of good principles and safe government. The violation of our rights by both bel- ligerents was forcing us from the just and wise policy of President Washington, which was to do equal justice 1 84 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS to both, to take part with neither, but to preserve a strict and honest neutrality between them. The pros- pect of a rupture with France was exceedingly offensive to that portion of the people who espoused her cause, and the violence of the spirit of party has never risen higher, 1 think not so high, in our country, as it did at that time, upon that question. The theatre was then open in our city. A young man belonging to it, whose talent was as a singer, was about to take his benefit. I had known him when he was at school. On this ac- quaintance, he called on me one Saturday afternoon, his benefit being announced for the following Monday. His prospects were very disheartening ; but he said that if he could get a patriotic song adapted to the tune of the ' President's March,' he did not doubt of a full house ; that the poets of the theatrical corps had been trying to accomplish it, but had not succeeded. I told him I would try what I could do for him. The object of the author was to get up an American spirit, which should be independent of and above the interests, pas- sions, and policy of both belligerents : and look and feel exclusively for our own honor and rights. No al- lusion is made to France or England, or the quarrel between them : or to the question, which was the most at fault in their treatment of us : of course the song found favor with both parties, for both were Americans ; at least neither could disavow the sentiments and feel- ings it inculcated." The song was first sung at the Chestnut Street The- atre in Philadelphia, in May, 1798 ; and became tremen- dously popular. HAIL COLUMBIA 185 The air co which it was sung was one written by Phyla, a naturalized German, living in Philadelphia, an air which had been used at the inauguration of Washington, and was known as "The President's March." HAIL COLUMBIA By Joseph Hopkinso7i Hail ! Columbia, happy land ! Hail ! ye heroes, heav'n-born band, Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, And when the storm of war was gone, Enjoyed the peace your valor won ; Let independence be your boast. Ever mindful what it cost, Ever grateful for the prize. Let its altar reach the skies ; Firm, united let us be, Rallying round our liberty, As a band of brothers joined. Peace and safety we shall find. Immortal patriots, rise once more ! Defend your rights, defend your shore ; Let no rude foe with impious hand, Let no rude foe with impious hand, Invade the shrine where sacred lies Of toil and blood the well-earned prize; While offering peace, sincere and just. In Heav'n we place a manly trust. That truth and justice may prevail. And every scheme of bondage fail. i86 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Sound, sound the trump of fame ! Let Washington's great name Ring through the world with loud applause ! Ring through the world with loud applause 1 Let every clime to freedom dear Listen with a joyful ear ; With equal skill, with steady pow'r, , He governs in the fearful hour Of horrid war, or guides with ease The happier time of honest peace. Behold the chief, who now commands, Once more to serve his country stands, The rock on which the storm will beat ! The rock on which the storm will beat ! But armed in virtue, firm and true, His hopes are fixed on Heav'n and you. When hope was sinking in dismay, When gloom obscured Columbia's day, His steady mind, from changes free, Resolved on death or liberty. Firm, united let us be. Rallying round our liberty, As a band of brothers joined. Peace and safety we shall find. XXXIV Casabianca The story of this brave boy has become famous through Mrs. Hemans' poem, but, although the inci- dents related in it have been ascribed to a number of battles at sea, there is no historical proof that such a boy took part in any of them. Usually, however, he is spoken of as the ten-year-old son of Admiral Brueys, commander of the French man-of-war Z' Orient. This ship was engaged in the battle of the Nile fought between Napoleon and the English on August I, 1798. Nelson was in command of the English fleet, and won one of his greatest victories. During the battle the French Admiral Brueys was mortally wounded, and was left on the deck of his ship. As night came on the ship was seen to be on fire, and Nelson ordered his men to board her and rescue the officers and crew. All the Frenchmen left except the boy Casabianca, who refused to go, saying that his father had told him not to leave the ship, and that he could not disobey that order. The man-of-war was in danger of blowing up at any minute, and the English sailors had to put off in their boats. They had barely time to pull away before the flames reached the powder and the ship exploded. Although it cannot be said positively that Casabianca iS8 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS was the boy of the battle of the Nile facts seem to prove that a boy did such an act at that battle. CASABIANCA By Felicia Dorothea Hemans The boy stood on the burning deck Whence all but him had fled ; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm ; A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though childlike form. The flames rolled on — he would not go Without his father's word ; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. He called aloud—" Say, father, say, If yet my task is done ? " He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. " Speak, father ! " once again he cried, " If I may yet be gone ! " And but the booming shots replied. And fast the flames rolled on. Upon his brow he felt their breath. And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death In still, yet brave despair. CASABIANCA 189 And sliouted but once more aloud, " My father ! must I stay ? " While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the shij) in splendor wild, They cauglit the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child. Like banners in the sky. There came a burst of thunder sound The boy — oh ! where was he ? Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea ! — With mast, and helm, and pennon fair That well had borne their part But the noblest thing that perished there Was that young, faithful heart. XXXV Hohenlinden The little village of Hohenlinden, or Linden, as it was often called, stands in a pine forest of Upper Bavaria, on the banks of the swift-flowing river Iser, about twenty miles distant from Munich. In Decem- ber, 1800, two great armies, the one Austrian, the other French and Bavarian, commanded by Napoleon's Gen- eral Moreau, drew close to each other along the river. Snow had been falling for several days. The weather was bitterly cold. The armies opened fire, however, and a great battle was fought in the forest, although the snow-storm was so blinding that the soldiers could only distinguish their enemies by the fiash of their guns. The battle raged through the woods, across the hills, and along the river. The French and Bavarians finally won, and the Emperor of Austria had to accept Napoleon's terms of peace in order to save his capital of Vienna from capture. In the poem " Frank " means the French, " Hun " stands for the Austrians, and " Munich " refers to the Bavarians and their capital. During his travels in Germany the English poet Campbell saw a battle from a convent near Ratisbon, and he also visited the field of Ingolstadt after a battle. From these experiences he wrote his poem on Hohen- linden. HOHENLINDEN 191 HOHENLINDEN By Thomas Cavipbell On Linden when tlie sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed Each horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neighed. To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of heaven Far flashed the red artillery. And redder yet those fires shall glow On Linden's hills of blood-stained snow, And darker yet shall be the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 192 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave ! And charge with all thy chivalry I Ah ! few shall jiart where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. XXXVI Battle of the Baltic At the time when Napoleon I was Emperor of the French England was practically the only country that could hold its own against him, and this was chiefly due to the victories won by the British navy under Lord Nelson. During the long contest with France the government of England claimed the right to search all neutral ships, for the purpose of preventing secret trade with France. This claim was resisted by several other nations, and in 1800 Russia, Sweden, Prussia, and Denmark formed an alliance known as the " Second Armed Neutrality," for the purpose of op- posing the claim. The English sent a fleet of fifty-two ships to the Baltic to break up the alliance. Horatio Nelson was second in command. He was assigned the attack when, on March 30, 1801, his advance squadron of thirty-six vessels entered the Danish harbor of Copen- hagen. The British commander. Sir Hyde Parker, gave the signal to cease firing after the battle had raged for three hours. Nelson saw the signal, but placing his spy-glass to his blind eye, said to his lieutenants, " I really don't see the signal. Keep mine for closer battle still flying. That's the way I answer such signals. Nail mine to the mast." The battle 194 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS lasted for five hours, and ended in complete victory for the English fleet. As a reward for his skill in this battle, which Nelson declared was the most terrible in which he had ever taken part, he was made a viscount and given the thanks of the English Parliament. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC By Thomas Campbell Of Nelson and the north Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; By each gun the lighted brand In a bold, determined hand, And the prince of all the land Led them on. Like leviathans afloat Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line — It was ten of April morn by the chime. As they drifted on their path There was silence deep as death ; And the boldest held his breath For a time. But the might of England flushed To anticipate the scene ; And her van the fleeter rushed O'er the deadly space between. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 195 " Hearts of oak ! " our captain cried ; when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships. Like the hurricane ecHpse Of the sun. Again ! again ! again ! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back ; Their shots along the deep slowly boom — Then ceased — and all is wail, As they strike the shattered sail. Or in conflagration pale. Light the gloom. Out spoke the victor then, As he hailed them o'er the wave: " Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! And we conquer but to save ; So peace instead of death let us bring; But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, With the crews, at England's feet, And make submission meet To our king." Then Denmark blessed our chief, That he gave her wounds repose; And the sounds of joy and grief From her people wildly rose, As death withdrew his shades from the day. While the sun looked smiling bright O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away. iy6 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Now joy, old England, raise ! For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ; And yet, amidst that joy and uproar, Let us think of them that sleep Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore ! Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true, On the deck of fame that died, With the gallant, good Riou — Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave t While the billow mournful rolls, And the mermaid's song condoles, Singing glory to the souls Of the brave 1 XXXVII An Incident of the French Camp The old city of Ratisbon, which is called Regens- burg in German, is situated on the river Danube, in Bavaria. It had been besieged no less than sixteen times since the tenth century when Napoleon, Emperor of the French, attacked it in 1809. Napoleon was at that time waging a victorious campaign against Austria, and had stopped at Ratisbon on his march to Vienna, the Austrian capital. The Austrians defended the city, and Napoleon ordered a bombardment, which destroyed some two hundred houses and a large part of the suburbs. The poem tells how as Napoleon stood in his favorite attitude, head thrust forward, legs wide apart, arms locked behind his back, watching the attack, and pos- sibly wondering what would happen if his general, Marshal Lannes, should waver, a rider dashed up to him. The rider, a boy, flung himself from his horse, and reported that the French had taken the city, that he had planted the Emperor's eagle fiag on the walls, and had ridden back a mile or more to tell him. Napoleon's eye flashed, then softened as he looked at the brave boy. " You're wounded !" he said. "Nay, I'm killed, sire," the boy answered, and fell dead beside him. 198 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS The incident is generally regarded as true, but the hero is said to have been a man, instead of a boy, as in Browning's version of it. AN INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP By Robei't Browning You know we French stormed Ratisbon : A mile or so away, On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day ; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how. Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the prone brow, Oppressive with its mind. Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army-leader Lannes Waver at yonder wall," — Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew A rider, bound on bound Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound. Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy : You hardly could suspect — (So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through) You looked twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two. AN INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 199 " Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon ! The marshal's in the market-place, And you'll be there anon To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him ! " The chief s eye flashed; hisplans Soared up again like fire. The chief's eye flashed ; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes ; <* You're wounded ! " " Nay," his soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said : *' I'm killed, sire ! " And, his chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead. XXXVIII The Star-Spangled Banner During the War of 1812 between the United States and England the British fleet, under Admiral Sir George Cockborn, on September 13, 1814, began the bombard- ment of Fort McHenry, which was situated two miles above Baltimore. The English forces had captured several Americans at a place called Marlborough and were detaining them, although some were civilians. A gentleman of Baltimore, Francis Scott Key by name, set out with a flag of truce to try to secure the release of one of these civilians, who was a friend of his. He reached the mouth of the Patuxent when he was cap- tured. The British feared to let him return to Balti- more lest he should disclose their plans for taking the city, and so Key was brought up Chesapeake Bay and put on board the admiral's flag-ship. The English officers on the ship were confident that Fort McHenry would surrender and Baltimore be easily captured, and Key had to listen to their predictions and watch the bombardment all day. The American flag was still flying from the fort when night prevented his watching it longer. The bombardment continued all night, but at dawn on September 14th Key saw that the flag still bade defiance to the fleet. At a white-heat of emotion Key then and there wrote the lines of •' The THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER 20l Star-Spangled Banner," one of the most stirring of all American songs. The first copy of the song was written on the British flag-ship while the guns were thundering. As soon as he was released Key hurried back to Baltimore and there corrected what he had written. He then took it to a printer, who struck it off as a broadside, or poem printed on a large sheet of paper. As soon as it appeared it created enthusiasm and sprang into quick fame. The air to which it was sung was selected from a volume of music for the flute, and was called " Anacreon in Heaven," an English glee composed by Samuel Arnold. This air had already been used for the American pa- triotic song called " Adams and Liberty." It suited the words of Key's poem well, and soon became insepa- rably connected with the " Star-Spangled Banner." THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER By Francis Scott Key O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming ! And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there ; Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes. What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep. As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? 202 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream ; 'Tis the star-spangled banner ! O long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave. From terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave : And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! Oh ! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desolation ! Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that made and preserved us a nation ! Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just. And this be our motto : — " In God is our trust ! " And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. XXXIX The Battle of New Orleans At the same time that British armies were attacking Washington and Baltimore and a British squadron fighting that of Commodore Perry on Lake Erie in the War of 1812, England was fitting out a secret ex- pedition to sail from Jamaica and land in Louisiana. Fifty British ships carried 7,000 British soldiers across the Gulf of Mexico to the channel near the entrance of Lake Borgne, approaching the small city of New Orleans midway between the Mississippi River and Mobile Bay. The fleet anchored here, and easily de- feating a few American gunboats, landed their army on an island at the mouth of the Pearl River. They intended to march on New Orleans and capture it by surprise. Andrew Jackson, a major-general in the American army, had been sent to defend the South from inva- sion. He reached New Orleans early in December, 1814, and at once began to recruit volunteers. All who would fight the enemy were welcomed to his camp, free negroes were enrolled, convicts were released to become soldiers, the lieutenants of a freebooter named Jean Lafitte, who had made his headquarters at Bara- taria, and many of his men who had been captured, were freed to join the army. Jackson strengthened 204 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS the forts of the city and made every preparation to receive the enemy. Five thousand effective fighting men were soon under his command, less than one thousand of whom were soldiers in the regular army. When the British finally appeared, it was they, and not the Americans, who were surprised. Jackson at- tacked them as soon as they were in sight, Decem- ber 23, 1814, and checked their advance. He then entrenched his little force opposite the British, and had them well sheltered by the time the enemy had pre- pared to give battle. Meantime the British general, Pakenham, had been waiting for larger cannon and reinforcements. On January 8, 1815, the British advanced, planning to carry the American lines by storm. The British had 10,000 veteran troops, the Americans less than half that number, and most of these raw backwoods- men. But Jackson's men were born to the use of the rifle, and their firing was wonderfully steady and accu- rate. The British had to advance over a wide, bare plain, and the American batteries ploughed through their ranks, while the riflemen met them with a raking fire. The veteran English fought with the utmost bravery, the Highlanders flung themselves again and again at the entrenchments, and soldiers who had fought under Wellington in Spain and with Pakenham at Salamanca charged at the blazing line. Pakenham and many of his highest officers were killed, and the British army was finally forced into retreat. They had lost over two thousand men, while the Americans were reported to have lost eight killed and thirteen wounded. H > H O o S3 r > c/i THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS 205 It was an overwhelming victory for Andrew Jackson and his volunteers. The British returned to their ships and sailed away. Neither side knew that a treaty of peace had been signed at Ghent in Brussels two weeks earlier, and that the battle of New Orleans had been fought after the war had ended. The story of the battle is supposed to be told in this poem by one of the settlers who marched to New Orleans with William Carroll, major-general of the Tennessee militia. THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS By Thomas Dunn English, (From " The Boys' Book of Battle Lyrics.") Here, in my rude log cabin, Few poorer men there be Among the mountain ranges Of Eastern Tennessee. My limbs are weak and shrunken, White hairs upon my brow. My dog— lie still, old fellow !— My sole companion now. Yet I, when young and lusty, Have gone through stirring scenes, For I went down with Carroll To fight at New Orleans. You say you'd like to hear me The stirring story tell Of those wlio stood the battle And those who fighting fell. 2o6 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Short work to count our losses — We stood and dropp'd the foe As easily as by firelight Men shoot the buck or doe. And while they fell by hundreds Upon the bloody plain, Of us, fourteen were wounded, And only eight were slain. The eighth of January, Before the break of day, Our raw and hasty levies Were brought into array. No cotton-bales before us — Some fool that falsehood told ; Before us was an earthwork, Built from the swampy mold. And there we stood in silence, And waited with a frown, To greet with bloody welcome The bulldogs of the Crown. The heavy fog of morning Still hid the plain from sight, When came a thread of scarlet Marked faintly in the white. We fired a single cannon, And as its thunders roU'd The mist before us lifted In many a heavy fold. The mist before us lifted, And in their bravery fine Came rushing to their ruin The fearless British line. THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS 207 Then from our waiting cannons Leap'd forth the deadly flame. To meet the advancing columns That swift and steady came. The thirty-twos of Crowley And Bluchi's twenty-four, To Spotts's eighteen-pounders Responded with their roar, Sending the grape-sliot deadly That marked its pathway plain, And paved the road it travel' d With corpses of the slain. Our rifles firmly grasping, And heedless of the din, We stood in silence waiting For orders to begin. Our fingers on the triggers, Our hearts, with anger stirr'd. Grew still more fierce and eager As Jackson's voice was heard : *' Stand steady ! Waste no powder ; Wait till your shots will tell ! To-day the work you finish — See that you do it well ! " Their columns drawing nearer, We felt our patience tire, When came the voice of Carroll, Distinct and measured, " Fire ! " Oh ! then you should have mark'd us Our volleys on them pour — Have heard our joyous rifles Ring sharply through the roar. 2o8 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS And seen tlieir foremost columns Melt hastily away As snow in mountain gorges Before the floods of May. They soon reform'd their columns, And 'mid the fatal rain We never ceased to hurtle Came to their work again. The P'orty-fourth is with them, That first its laurels won With stout old Abercrombie Beneath an eastern sun. It rushes to the battle, And, though within the rear Its leader is a laggard, It shows no signs of fear. It did not need its colonel, For soon there came instead. An eagle-eyed commander, And on its march he led. 'Twas Pakenham, in person, The leader of the field ; I knew it by the cheering That loudly round him peal'd ; And by his quick, sharp movement, We felt his heart was stirr'd, As when at Salamanca, He led the fighting Third. I raised my rifle quickly, I sighted at his breast, God save the gallant leader And take him to his rest ! THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS 209 I did not draw the trigger, I could not for my life. So calm he sat his charger Amid the deadly strife, That in my fiercest moment A prayer arose from me, — God save that gallant leader, Our foeman though he be. Sir Edward's charger staggers : He leaps at once to ground. And ere the beast falls bleeding Another horse is found. His right arm falls — 'tis wounded ; He waves on high his left ; In vain he leads the movement, The ranks in twain are cleft. The men in scarlet waver Before the men in brown. And fly in utter panic — The soldiers of the Crown I I thought the work was over, But nearer shouts were heard, And came, with Gibbs to head it, The gallant Ninety-third. Then Pakenham, exulting, With proud and joyous glance. Cried, " Children of the tartan — Bold Highlanders — advance. Advance to scale the breastworks And drive them from their hold. And show the stanchless courage That niark'd your sires of old 1 " 210 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS His voice as yet was ringing, When, quick as light, tliere came The roaring of a cannon, And earth seemed all aflame. Who causes thus the thunder The doom of men to speak ? It is the Baritarian, The fearless Dominique. Down through the marshall'd Scotsmen The step of death is heard, And by the fierce tornado Falls half the Ninety-third. The smoke passed slowly upward, And, as it soared on high, I saw the brave commander In dying anguish lie. They bear him from the battle Who never fled the foe ; Unmoved by death around them His bearers softly go. In vain their care, so gentle, Fades earth and all its scenes ; The man of Salamanca Lies dead at New Orleans. But where were his lieutenants ? Had they in terror fled ? No ! Keane was sorely wounded And Gibbs as good as dead. Brave Wilkinson commanding, A major of brigade. The shatter' d force to rally, A final effort made. THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS 211 He led it up our ramparts. Small glory did he gain — Our captives some, while others fled. And he himself was slain. The stormers had retreated, The bloody work was o'er ; The feet of the invaders Were seen to leave our shore. We rested on our rifles And talk'd about the fight, When came a sudden murmur Like fire from left to right ; We turned and saw our chieftain, And then, good friend of mine, You should have heard the cheering That ran along the line. For well our men remembered How little, when they came. Had they but native courage, And trust in Jackson's name ; How through the day he labored, How kept the vigils still. Till discipline controlled us, A stronger power than will ; And how he hurled us at them Within the evening hour. That red night in December, And made us feci our power. In answer to our shouting Fire lit his eye of gray ; Erect, but thin and pallid, He passed upon his bay. 212 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Weak from the baffled fever, And shrunken in each limb, The swamps of Alabama Had done their work on him. But spite of that and fasting, And hours of sleepless care, The soul of Andrew Jackson Shone forth in glory there. XL The Eve of Waterloo This is a part of one of Byron's finest poems, " Childe Harold." It relates the events of the night before the battle of Quatre Bras, which was fought near Brussels, the capital of Belgium, on June i6, 1815, and was the preliminary of the great battle of Waterloo, iought two days later. Three nights before the battle of Waterloo the English Duchess of Richmond gave a ball in Brussels, and invited many of the officers of the allied English and Prussian armies, which were at war with the French. The Duke of Wellington, commander-in- chief of the English army, was said to have been one of the guests. While the ball was at its height a messenger brought word to Wellington that the French under Napoleon were advancing towards the city. He did not wish to alarm the people, and so kept the information secret, but he sent the officers one by one to their regiments, and finally left for the field himself. In the poem, however, the dancers at the ball heard a distant booming. At first they paid little heed to it, and went on with the dancing ; but presently the sound grew louder and clearer, and they recognized it as the roar of cannon. The first to hear it was Frederick 214 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS William, Duke of Brunswick, whose father had been killed in battle. He left for the front at once, and was killed the next day, June i6th, in the battle of Quatre Bras. The officers said farewell to the ladies, and hurried from the ball to mount and ride against the French ; while the frightened citizens crowded the streets, fear- ing that Napoleon was about to enter Brussels. Waterloo was a great victory for the English and Prussian armies. It was the real end of Napoleon's all-conquering career, and led to his capture and ban- ishment to the island of St. Helena. THE EVE OF WATERLOO By George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men. A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell ; * But hush I hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! Did ye not hear it ? — No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. THE EVE OF WATERLOO 215 But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat j And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ; Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear ; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell ; He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago, Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness. And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated ; who would guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ! And there was mounting in hot haste ; the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb. Or whispering, with white lips — " The foe ! they come ! they come ! " XLI Marco Bozzaris At the beginning of the nineteenth century Greece, which had once been one of the greatest countries in the world, was subject to the rule of her powerful neighbor, Turkey. But in 182 1 the fire of patriotism was rekindled, and the Greeks began a war of inde- pendence. One of the most heroic of the Greek leaders was Marco Bozzaris. He was in command of a small band of his countrymen, and planned to surprise a much larger Turkish force after nightfall. In this poem, written by Fitz-Greene Halleck, an American author, the story of the attack is told. The Turkish commander and his men were sleeping in their camps, dreaming of victory over the Greeks, while at the same hour of midnight Marco Bozzaris was making ready his band of Suliotes, or men whose homes were near the Suli mountains and river in the northwestern part of Greece. The Turkish camp was not far distant from Missilonghi, which is near the en- trance to the Gulf of Corinth, near the head of which gulf the earlier Greeks, in 479 B. C, had defeated a great invading army of Persians at the battle of Plataea. Bozzaris attacked the Turks, and small though his band was, they took the enemy so completely by sur- MARCO BOZZARIS 217 prise that they won a very decisive victory. But the gallant leader himself was killed. The poem tells how he won glory, and how death is welcomed by the vic- torious warrior, as was the cry of land to Columbus of Genoa when his lookout caught the fragrance of the palms and groves of Hayti, mistaking them for India. Pilgrims from foreign lands shall seek the home of Bozzaris to hear again the story of his victory and of his country's independence. His cause was successful, and six years after this battle near Missilonghi Turkey was forced to grant Greece her freedom, and that country, which had been in subjection for almost four centuries, became an in- dependent nation. It was in this war that the poet Byron and other Englishmen who loved the history of ancient Greece and the cause of liberty fought by the side of Marco Bozzaris. MARCO BOZZARIS By Fitz-Gree7ie Halleck At midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power ; In dreams, through camp and court he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams, his song of triumph heard ; Then wore his monarch's signet-ring ; Then press'd that monarch's throne — a king : As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing. As Eden's garden bird. 2iS HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS At midnight, in tlie forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian's thousands stood, There had the glad earth drunk their blood, On old Platgea's day ; And now there breathed that haunted air, The sons of sires who conquer'd there, With arm to strike, and soul to dare, As quick, as far, as they. An hour pass'd on : the Turk awoke : That bright dream was his last. He woke to hear his sentries shriek, " To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ! " He woke, to die 'midst flame and smoke, And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke. And death-shots falling thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain cloud. And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band : " Strike ! — till the last arm'd foe expires; Strike ! — for your altars and your fires ; Strike ! — for the green graves of your sires ; God, and your native land ! " They fought like brave men, long and well ; They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; They conquer'd ; — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their loud hurrah, MARCO BOZZARIS 219 And the red field was won ; Then saw in death his eyelids close, Calmly as to a night's repose, — Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal chamber, Death, Come to the mother's, when she feels. For the first time, her first-born's breath ; Come, when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke : Come in consumption's ghastly form. The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; Come when the heart beats high and warm With banquet song and dance and wine ; And thou art terrible : — the tear. The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier. And all we know, or dream, or fear, Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be. Come when his task of fame is wrought ; Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought; Come in her crowning hour, — and then Thy sunken eye's unearthly light To him is welcome as the sight Of sky and stars to prison'd men ; Thy grasp is welcome as the hand Of brother in a foreign land ; 220 HISTORIC FOEMS AND BALLADS Thy summons welcome as the cry That told the Indian isles were nigh To the world-seeking Genoese, When the land-wind, from woods of palm, And orange groves, and fields of balm, Blew o'er the Haytien seas. Bozzaris ! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee : there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. She wore no funeral weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, The heartless luxury of the tomb ; But she remembers thee as one Long loved, and for a season gone; For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed. Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; For thee she rings the birthday bells ; Of thee her babes' first lisping tells ; For thine her evening prayer is said, At palace couch and cottage bed : Her soldier, closing with the foe, Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; His plighted maiden, when she fears For him, the joy of her young years, Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears ; And she, the mother of thy boys, Though in her eye and faded cheek Is read the grief she will not speak, The memory of her buried joys, — And even she who gave thee birth Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, MARCO BOZZARIS Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's, One of the few, th' immortal names That were not born to die. 221 XLII Ye Mariners of England England has always been called " Mistress of the Seas," a title well deserved because of her great sailors. In times of war her safety is usually entrusted to the fleets that guard the North Sea, the Channel, and the Irish coasts. The great strength of the English navy has always served to prevent enemies from landing on her shores, and it was this strength that prevented Na- poleon from invading the British Isles at the time when he had overcome every other nation in Europe. This poem of Thomas Campbell is a call to the English sailors to prove themselves worthy of their great sea-fighters of the past. He names Admiral Blake, who fought and defeated the Dutch and the Spanish navies in the seventeenth century, and Lord Nelson, the great admiral of Napoleon's time. Nelson defeated Napoleon's navy at the battle of the Nile and the battle of Trafalgar. The latter battle was fought in 1805 against the French and Spanish fleets combined, and made England supreme on the sea. At the be- ginning of the engagement Nelson flew the signal " England expects every man to do his duty." He himself was mortally wounded. In the last stanza Campbell speaks of " the meteor flag of England," using that simile because of the ex- ceedingly brilliant red of the English ensign. YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND 223 YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND By Thomas Campbell Ye mariners of England, That guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze. Your glorious standard launch again, To match another foe ! And sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow — While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave ! For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave. Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow — While the battle rages loud and long. And the stormy winds do blow, Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep ; Her march is o'er the mountain-wave, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below. As they roar on the shore When the stormy winds do blow When the battle rages loud and long. And the stormy winds do blow. 224 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow — When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow. XLIII Old Ironsides The frigate Constihition, which had figured val- iantly in the history of the United States navy, and had won the famous sea-fight with the English ship Gnerriere in the War of 1812, was popularly called Old Ironsides, and had won a warm place in the hearts of the American people. On September 14, 1830, the Boston Daily Advertiser announced that the Secretary of the Navy had recommended that the Constitution be broken up, as no longer fit for service. As soon as he heard this Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote his poem Old Ironsides, which appeared two days later. It immedi- ately became a battle-cry ; was repeated all through the country ; and caused such a wave of feeling for the time-scarred frigate that the plan of dismantling her was given up, and instead she was rebuilt, and given an honored place among the veterans of the country's navy. OLD IRONSIDES By Oliver Wendell Holmes Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky j 226 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar ; — The meteor of the ocean air Sliall sweep the clouds no more ! Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe. When winds were hurrying o'er the flood And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee ; — The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea ! Oh, better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave ; Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave ; Nail to the mast her holy flag. Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the God of storms, — The lightning and the gale f ^H| » 1 1 ■1 } The Constitution and the Guerriere XLIV America Samuel Francis Smith, a clergyman of Boston, was the author of "America," the song which is usually regarded as the national anthem of the United States. He himself said of it, " The song was written at Andover during my student life there, I think in the winter of 1831-32. It was first used publicly at a Sun- day-school celebration on July 4th, in the Park Street Church, Boston, I had in my possession a quantity of German song-books, from which I was selecting such music as pleased me, and finding 'God Save the King,' I proceeded to give it the ring of American patriotism." Both the English anthem "God Save the King," and the American " My Country, 'tis of Thee," owe the air to which they are sung to Germany. Oliver Wendell Holmes, who was a classmate at Harvard of the author of " America," referred to him aptly in one of the poems he wrote for a class reunion. Said Holmes : " And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith ; Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith ! But he chanted a song for the brave and the free Just read on his medal, ' My Country, of thee.' " 228 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS AMERICA By Samuel Francis Smith My country, 'tis of thee. Sweet land of Liberty, Of thee I sing ; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrim's pride, From every mountain side Let Freedom ring. My native country, thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills, My heart with rapture thrills Like that above. Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet Freedom's song ; Let mortal tongues awake ; Let all that breathe partake ; Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong. Our fathers' God, to Thee, Author of Liberty, To Thee we sing ; Long may our land be bright With Freedom's holy light ; Protect us by Thy might, Great God, our King. AMERICA 229 Beneath Heaven's gracious will The star of progress still Our course doth sway ; In unity sublime To broader heights we climb, Triumphant over Time, God speeds our way ! Grand birthright of our sires, Our altars and our fires Keep we still pure ! Our starry flag unfurled, The hope of all the world. In Peace and Light impearled, God hold secure I XLV Monterey The annexation of Texas by the United States in 1845 was regarded by Mexico as an act of war. That country immediately collected an army along the Rio Grande River, and General Zachary Taylor was sent into Texas with an army of occupation. Taylor found the Mexicans stationed at Matamoras. He threw up a line of entrenchments and built a fort opposite the Mexican batteries. While he was engaged elsewhere the Mexicans attacked this fort, and as soon as the news reached the American general he started back to relieve the small force at the fort. On his march he came upon the Mexican army, with six thousand men, drawn up before his army of twenty-one hundred sol- diers, at Palo Alto. In spite of the difference in num- bers Taylor attacked the enemy on May 8, 1846, and drove them back by the skilful firing of his artillery, and the repeated charges of his infantry. The Mexican troops retreated to Resaca de la Palma. Taylor followed, attacked them again on the next day, routed them, and marched to the relief of the men in the fort. The United States government now sent large rein- forcements into Texas, and by the end of the summer General Taylor had a well-equipped army in the field. MONTEREY 231 The Mexican General Arista had brought ten thousand troops into the city of Monterey, which was supposed to be impregnable. Zachary Taylor marched on the city, and reached it September 19th. He found Mon- terey situated in a valley of the Sierra Madre Moun- tains, protected by the San Juan River and by a citadel whose guns commanded all the roads leading to the city. The American army was deployed on all sides of the city, and began its attack on September 21st. For three days desperate fighting followed. The troops were cut to pieces by the cannon on the citadel, out- lying heights were captured, only to be lost again when the Americans found they had no shelter from the Mexicans in the city. But finally the Americans gained a footing within the walls of Monterey. They had to fight across the barricades in the streets and through the houses and gardens. Gradually the Mexicans were dislodged and driven back and back, until on the evening of September 23d, Taylor's army succeeded in planting mortars in such a position that they could drop shells into any part of the city, and no shelter was left the defenders. Early in the morping of the 24th the Mexican general surrendered Monterey, having made terms of peace by which his army was allowed to evacuate the city with all the honors of war. The capture of Monterey cost the Americans five hundred men in killed and wounded, and the Mexicans fully twice as many. The Mexican war finally ended in victory for the United States in February, 1848, after General Taylor 232 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS had won the great victory of Buena Vista, and General Winfield Scott had carried the formidable fortress of Chapultepec and entered the City of Mexico, the capital of that country. MONTEREY By Charles Fenno Hoffman We were not many — we who stood Before the iron sleet that day ; Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years if but he could Have with us been at Monterey. Now here, now there, the shot it hailed In deadly drifts of fiery spray, Yet not a single soldier quailed When wounded comrades round them wailed Their dying shout at Monterey. And on — still on our column kept, Through walls of flame, its withering way ; Where fell the dead, the living stept, Still charging on the guns which swept The slippery streets of Monterey. The foe himself recoiled aghast. When, striking where he strongest lay. We swooped his flanking batteries past. And, braving full their murderous blast, Stormed home the towers of Monterey. MONTEREY 2^,^ Our banners on those turrets wave, And there our evening bugles play ; AVhere orange-boughs above their grave Keep green the memory of the brave Who fought and fell at Monterey, We are not many — we who pressed Beside the brave who fell that day; But who of us has not confessed He'd rather share their warrior rest Than not have been at Monterey ? XLVI The Charge of the Light Brigade This famous charge occurred during the Crimean War, which was fought between the allied armies of England, France, Sardinia, and Turkey on the one side, and Russia on the other. The allied armies had invaded that part of southern Russia called the Crimea during the autumn of 1854, and were attempting to capture the very strongly fortified town and arsenal of Sevastopol. By the end of October, however, a very large Russian army was in the field, and the Russian general. Prince Menshikoff, determined to attack the allied forces. On October 25th, he opened fire on the rear of the British lines at Balaklava. This began a series of engagements, in which Sir Colin Campbell, with the 93d foot regiment, received and drove back a tremendous onslaught of Russian cavalry. At the same time General Scarlett, with the English Heavy Cavalry Brigade, completed Sir Colin's advantage by routing another part of the Russian army. While this fighting was in progress a message was sent to Lord Cardigan, who commanded the English Light Brigade of Cavalry, to attack. Either through a misunderstanding of the message, or a blunder, he gave the word to try to take a Russian battery that was H n > O r THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 235 stationed at the far end of a long, narrow valley. This meant that the Light Brigade would have to run the gauntlet of two lines of infantry and artillery, as well as meet the full fire of the battery in their face. The Light Brigade charged, although it was seen that the order was foolhardy in the extreme. Six hundred and seventy-three men went into action, but only one hundred and ninety-five returned unhurt. The charge, although it made the batUe of Balaklava famous, had little to do with the victory won by the English army. As the French said of it, " It was mag- nificent, but it was not warfare." The report of the charge made a great sensation in England, and Tennyson, the Poet Laureate, wrote this poem of it. It is a fine war-chant, and the thunderous echo of the rhymes give it a charging effect like the actual galloping beats of the Light Brigade. THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE By Alfred^ Lord Tennyson Half a league, half a league, Haifa league onward, All in the valley of death Rode the six hundred. Forward, the Li^ht Brigade / Charge for the guns, he said. Into the valley of death Rode the six hundred. 236 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Forward, the Light Brigade f Was there a man dismay'd ? Not though the soldiers knew Some one had blundered. Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. Into the valley of death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd ; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well. Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air. Sabering the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd : Plunged in the battery-smoke. Right through the line they broke ; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre-stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not. Not the six hundred. THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 237 Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd ; Storm'd at with shot and shell. While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came through the jaws of Death Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them. Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade ? O, the wild charge they made • All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made ! Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred ! XLVII The Relief of Lucknow A GREAT revolt of the native soldiers in India against their English rulers occurred in 1857, and resulted in a wide-spread mutiny. The British East India Company, which then owned the greater part of India, had trained the Bengal natives to be soldiers, giving them English- men as officers. These native, or sepoy troops, as they were called, proved able fighting men, but in time the sepoys so largely outnumbered the English soldiers that they began to resist the orders of their officers. As soon as they found how powerful they were in num- bers, they planned to overthrow the foreign rule. The English had ordered the sepoys to use greased cartridges in their rifles, in spite of the fact that a na- tive of Bengal would lose caste if he were to touch the fat of cows or pigs, and he would have to bite the greased cartridge to use it. Many of the soldiers in the barracks at Meerut, a military station near Delhi, refused to use these cartridges, and as a result were marched to prison. The next day, May 10, 1857, the native cavalry in Meerut armed, galloped to the prison, and released their comrades. Other regiments muti- nied against their officers, and soon a large force of sepoys advanced to capture the important city of Delhi. The native soldiers there likewise turned on THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW 239 their English commanders, and Delhi became the centre of a great revolt. In the meantime a mutiny had also broken out at Lucknovv, in northern India, the capital of the province of Oudh. The sepoys deserted the English, and the British officers, together with all the English men, women, and children there, were forced to take refuge in the residency, or fort of Lucknow. Here a small number of fighting men held at bay a very large num- ber of sepoy troops and a great rabble of natives. Food grew scarce, and fever, smallpox, and cholera spread among the little garrison. Week after week went by without succor, and the sepoys had almost undermined the fort, when, on September 25th, nearly three months after the siege had begun, a rescue party headed by General Havelock arrived and fought its way to the stockade. These reinforcements enabled the English to hold out until a much larger army un- der Sir Colin Campbell defeated the sepoys a month later and raised the siege. For the period of almost three months before the ar- rival of Havelock the people in the fort at Lucknow had been the targets of a practically unceasing fire from heavy guns and muskets only fifty yards distant. The siege was one of the bravest and most remarkable in history. The poem of its relief tells how a woman in the fort caught the first notes of the Scotch bagpipes playing " The Campbells are comin'," that told of Havelock's approach. As a result of the Mutiny of 1857 the government of 240 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS India was transferred from the East India Company to the English crown. THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW By Robert Trail Spence Lowell Oh, that last day in Lucknow fort ! We knew that it was the last ; That the enemy's mines crept surely in. And the end was coming fast. To yield to that foe meant worse than death ; And the men and we all worked on ; It was one day more of smoke and roar, And then it would all be done. There was one of us, a corporal's wife, A fair, young, gentle thing, Wasted with fever in the siege, And her mind was wandering. She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid. And I took her head on my knee ; " When my father comes hame frae the pleugh,' she said, " Oh ! then please wauken me." She slept like a child on her father's floor, In the flecking of woodbine shade, When the house-dog sprawls by the open door. And the mother's wheel is stayed. THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW 24) It was smoke and roar and powder-stench, And hopeless waiting for death ; And the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child, Seemed scarce to draw her breath. I sank to sleep ; and I had my dream Of an English village-lane, And wall and garden ; but one wild scream Brought me back to the roar again. There Jessie Brown stood listening Till a sudden gladness broke All over her face ; and she caught my hand And drew me near and spoke : " The Hielanders ! Oh ! dinna ye hear The slogan far awa ? The McGregor's ? Oh ! I ken it weel ; It's the grandest o' them a' ! " God bless thae 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. 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 tlicir guns once more. 242 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Then Jessie said, ** That slogan's done ; But can ye hear them 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. 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 Synt." 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 day, 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. 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.** XLVIII Battle-Hymn of the Republic Julia Ward Howe was in Washington during the winter of i86i, when the question of the abolition of slavery was at fever-heat, and the outbreak of the Civil War at hand. She visited the soldiers encamped out- side the city, and heard them singing *' John Brown's Body." The majesty of the music to which those words were set struck her at once, and she determined to write new words that should be a hymn of patriotism. The opening line came to her easily, almost as if by inspiration, and she had completed the poem in a very short time. She took it back to Boston with her, and gave it to James T. Fields, editor of the Atlantic Mojithly. He printed it on the first page of that magazine for February, 1862, giving it its present tide. The poem attracted very little attention at first, al- though it was copied into several newspapers. Then one of these newspapers was smuggled into Libby Prison in Richmond, Virginia ; Chaplain Charles C. McCabe read the poem aloud to a few of the prisoners, and soon all the Union soldiers there were singing it. As the Union prisoners were released they brought the hymn back to the North with them, and it spread in this fashion until it had become the most popular anthem on the Northern side. 244 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS For majesty of thought and beauty of word " The Battle-Hymn of the RepubHc " stands first among all the poems called forth by the Civil War, and among the first of all poems inspired by patriotism. BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC By Julia Ward Hoive 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's 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. XLIX-L Dixie's Land and Dixie The original song of "Dixie's Land" was written as a comic melody by Dan Emmett, a celebrated negro minstrel, in 1859. He is said to have taken the tune from an old plantation melody, and to have written verses to suit his audiences. When the Civil War be- gan General Albert Pike wrote new words, calling on the South to arm and defend herself, and set these to the old air. The South at once claimed the song for her own, and it became the best loved of all the Southern ballads. Armies marched to it, and men went into battle singing it. Many new verses have been written to the old melody, and the air is now as popular in the North as in the South. The words most generally associated with it now are those of the song by Dan Emmett, or variations on them, rather than the martial words of General Pike. DIXIE'S LAND I wish I was in de land ob cotton, Cimmon seed an' sandy bottom — In Dixie's Land whar I was born in, Early on one frosty niornin'. 246 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Look away — look away — Dixie Land. Den I wish I was in Dixie, Hooray — Hooray I In Dixie's Land we'll take our stand To lib and die in Dixie. Old Missus marry Will de weaber, William was a gay deceaber. When he put his arms around 'er, He look as fierce as a forty pounder. His face was sharp like butcher's cleaber, But dat didn't seem to grieb her; Will run away — Missus took a decline, oh, Her face was de color ob bacon rine — oh. How could she act such a foolish part As marry a man dat break her heart ? Here's a health to de next old Missus, And all de gals dat wants to kiss us. Now if you want to dribe away sorrow. Come and hear dis song to-morrow ! Sugar in de gourd and stonny batter, De whites grow fat an' de niggers fatter ! Den hoe it down and scratch your grabble, To Dixie's Land I am bound to trabble. Look away — look away — Dixie Land. Den I wish I was in Dixie. Hooray ! Hooray ! DIXIE 247 DIXIE By Albert Pike Southrons, hear your country call you ! Up, lest worse than death befall you ! To arms ! To arms ! To arms, in Dixie ! Lo ! all the beacon-fires are lighted, — Let all hearts be now united ! To arms ! To arms ! To arms, in Dixie ! Advance the flag of Dixie ! Hurrah ! hurrah ! For Dixie's land we take our stand. And live and die for Dixie 1 To arms ! To arms ! And conquer peace for Dixie ! To arms ! To arms ! And conquer peace for Dixie ! Hear the Northern thunders mutter ! Northern flags in South winds flutter ! Send them back your fierce defiance ! Stamp upon the accursed alliance ! Fear no danger ! Shun no labor ! Lift up rifle, pike, and sabre ! Shoulder pressing close to slioulder, Let the odds make each heart bolder ! How the South's great heart rejoices At your cannon's ringing voices ! For faith betrayed, and pledges broken, Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken. 248 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS Strong as lions, swift as eagles, Back to their kennels hunt these beagles ! Cut the unequal bonds asunder ! Let them hence each other plunder ! Swear upon your country's altar Never to submit or falter, Till the spoilers are defeated, Till the Lord's work is completed I Halt not till our Federation Secures among earth's powers its station ! Then at peace, and crowned with glory, Hear your children tell the story ! If the loved ones weep in sadness. Victory soon shall bring them gladness, — To arms ! Exultant pride soon vanish sorrow; Smiles chase tears away to-morrow. To arms ! To arms ! To arms, in Dixie 1 Advance the flag of Dixie ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! For Dixie's land we take our stand, And live or die for Dixie ! To arms ! To arms ! And conquer peace for Dixie ! To arms ! To arms ! And conquer peace for Dixie ! LI My Maryland This song shared popularity with " Dixie " among the Southern soldiers during the Civil War. At the outbreak of the war it was not certain whether the state of Maryland would remain in the Union or would secede. Feeling ran high in Baltimore, and when the Sixth Massachusetts regiment arrived in that city on April 19, 1 86 1, on its way to Washington, crowds of Confederate sympathizers filled the streets and at- tacked the troops. The soldiers finally had to fire to secure their safety, and a number of citizens were killed and more wounded. This roused even greater resentment among those who wanted Maryland to secede. The Federal govern- ment at once sent troops under General Butler to Baltimore and Annapolis, and the Union party, which was actually much stronger than the Confederate party in the state, held Maryland to the Union. The author of " My Maryland " wrote the poem im- mediately on hearing of the attack at Baltimore, and when it was thought that Maryland might secede. He was of course an ardent Confederate sympathizer. Miss Hattie Cary of Baltimore set the words to the old college air of " Lauriger Horatius," and it soon 250 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS became almost as popular around Southern camp-fires as •' Dixie." MY MARYLAND By James Ryder Randall The despot's heel is on thy shore, Maryland ! His torch is at thy temple door, Maryland ! Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore And be the battle queen of yore, Maryland, my Maryland ! Hark to an exiled son's appeal, Maryland ! My mother State, to thee I kneel, Maryland ! For life or death, for woe or weal, Thy peerless chivalry reveal, And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland, my Maryland ! Thou wilt not cower in the dust, Maryland ! Thy beaming sword shall never rust, Maryland ! Remember Carroll's sacred trust, Remember Howard's warlike thrust, And all thy slumberers with the just, Maryland, my Maryland ! MY MARYLAND 251 Come ! 'tis the red dawn of the day, Maryland ! Come with thy panoplied array, Maryland ! With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, With Watson's blood at Monterey, With fearless Lowe and dashing May, Maryland, my Maryland ! Dear Mother, burst the tyrant's chain, Maryland ! Virginia shall not call in vain, Maryland ! She meets her sisters on the plain, "5;V semper ! " 'tis the proud refrain That baffles minions back amain, Maryland ! Arise in majesty again, Maryland, my Maryland ! Come ! for thy shield is bright and strong, Maryland ! Come ! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, Maryland ! Come to thy own heroic throng Stalking with Liberty along, And chant thy dauntless slogan-song, Maryland, my Maryland ! I see the blush upon thy cheek, Maryland ! But thou wast ever bravely meek, Maiyland ! 252 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS But lo ! there surges forth a shriek, From liill to liill, from creek to creek, Potomac calls to Chesapeake, Maryland, my Maryland ! Thou wilt not yield to Vandal toll, Maryland ! Thou wilt not crook to his control, Maryland ! Better the fire upon thee roll, Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, Than crucifixion of the soul, Maryland, my Maryland ! I hear the distant thunder-hum, Maryland ! The " Old Line's " bugle, fife, and drum ; Maryland ! She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb ; Huzza ! she spurns the Northern scum — She breathes ! She burns ! She'll come ! She'll come ! Maryland, my Maryland ! LII The Cumberland Early in 1862 a war-ship made her appearance at Hampton Roads, off Fortress Monroe, in Virginia, which was destined to change the naval battles of the future. The vessel was a Confederate ironclad called the Merriniac. An old ship had been altered by hav- ing a wedge-shaped prow of cast-iron project about two feet in front of the bow, and covering a wooden roof which sloped to the water-line with two iron plates of armor. A battery of ten guns v/as placed inside the ironclad. So constructed, it was thought that the new type of war-ship could readily destroy the old-fash- ioned Union frigates, and herself escape without injury. Five Union ships, the fifty gun frigate Congress, the twenty-four gun sloop Oimberland, and the frigates Si. Lawrence, Roanoke, and Minnesota, lay near New- port News on March 8, 1862, when about noon the new ship Merriniac suddenly appeared from the James River. The three nearest frigates, believing they could easily defeat the stranger, immediately slipped their cables, but, as all were of deep draft, shortly grounded in shallow water. The two other Union ships, together with the shore batteries, opened fire upon the strange black vessel that looked like a crocodile or some un- known sea-monster. To their surprise the shot bounced 254 HISTORIC POEMS AND BALLADS off the sloping back of the ironclad like rubber balls, and seemed to do no damage. Lieutenant George Upham Morris was in command of the Cumberland, and as he saw the strange ship ad- vancing to attack him he ordered broadsides of shot and shell poured at her. The heavy fire had no effect. The monster steamed on, and rammed her iron prow into the wooden side of the Cumberland. The frigate sank in fifty-five minutes, carrying down officers and crew, one hundred and twenty-five in all. Her flag was still flying as she sank, and her guns fired even when the water had reached the gunwales. The Merrimac then turned to the Congress, which had made for the shore, and riddled her with shot until she caught on fire, and an exploding powder-magazine destroyed her. The Merrimac finally retired at night- fall to the shelter of the Confederate batteries, having spread consternation through the Union fleet. Next morning, however, when the victorious Merri- mac steamed out to destroy the three remaining frigates, she found that a tiny vessel named the Monitor had ar- rived at Hampton Roads over night, and was ready to meet her. This Monitor showed only a thin edge of surface above the water-line, and an iron turret re- volved in sight, from which two guns could be fired in any direction. As the Northern papers said, this ship looked like a " cheese-box on a raft." The Goliath of a Merrimac advanced to meet the David of a Monitor, and a three hours' battle followed. Neither could force the other to surrender, but finally the larger ironclad began to leak and had to with- - .\