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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 SONGS,
 
 iondon: 
 
 Printed by Wilson and Ooiltt, 
 
 57, Skinner Street, Snowhill.
 
 SONGS 
 
 OF 
 
 FEAST, FIELD, AND FRAY. 
 
 BY 
 
 A. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS. 
 
 1853.
 
 3<?<?/ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 It seems generally expected, that, however else an author 
 may fail in his duties to the public, he should, at least, 
 apologize for the imperfections of a maiden effort. I dare 
 not violate a custom so venerable in its antiquity, though 
 what follows may scarcely be worth an exordium. For 
 " Decius" I must especially claim clemency • few could 
 hope to follow in the path already trodden by Macaulay 
 without paying the penalty of their rashness. I have 
 not attempted to imbue my production with that 
 classical unity of tone, through which his stand pre- 
 eminently alone ; the imitation if in the least successful 
 must have been unpardonably servile ; so that I must 
 bear the blame of bavins re-cast in the mould of a modern 

 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 ballad, what may have been said and done in Ancient 
 Rome. 
 
 Many will agree with me in thinking that the hunting- 
 songs hitherto published are generally deficient in that 
 elevation and energy which ought to distinguish the 
 annals of a pursuit, ever the favourite of " princes, poten- 
 tates, and peers," since " The Mighty Hunter" founded 
 his dynasty in Assyria. My endeavour has been to raise 
 some old Legends of the chase to the level of ordinary 
 lyric poetry : if I could have breathed into them some 
 of my own enthusiasm for " The Noble Science," I think 
 I should not have succeeded ill. 
 
 As it is, my readers will hardly derive half the amuse- 
 ment from these sketches that I felt in scribbling them 
 long ago. The graver avocations of practical life leave 
 one little leisure for " the labour of the file." Abstracts 
 of Title and the Laws of Real Property interfere sadly 
 with the Abstractions of Sentiment and the pursuit of 
 the Ideal. So I must meet my judges " with all my 
 imperfections on my head;" 1 cannot hope that they 
 will be so lenient as those who counselled this plunge
 
 TREFACE. Vll 
 
 into publicity. Perhaps, after all, my best chance is, 
 that the lightness of the materiel may disarm severity of 
 
 '5 
 
 criticism. 
 
 Lincoln's Inn : 
 March 1853.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 NYMPHOLEPTES * 
 
 THE REL1Q.UA1RE l' J 
 
 " IT IS NOT GOOD THAT MAN SHOUD BE ALONE" ... 15 
 
 THE- ELOPEMENT x " 
 
 CHABADE 24 
 
 THE MESS-SONG OP THE 7 TH ~7 
 
 THE EVE OF BATTLE . . . , 29 
 
 THE LOVER'S LEAP 33 
 
 A BUN WITH "THE QUORN" 43 
 
 A LEGEND OF GAUVVAY 47 
 
 THE LEGEND OF DF.CIUS 51 
 
 NOTES 91
 
 POEMS
 
 NTMPHOLEPTES. 
 
 It was currently believed by tbe ancients, that any mortal 
 encountering one of the " Nymphs," or wood-spirits, was 
 
 thenceforth stricken with insanity, and such persons were 
 called Nvfji<boAT)nTai. 
 
 I EEMEiLBEK the summer morninsr — 
 (It must have been long ago, 
 
 For locks like winter's night, since then, 
 Are blanch'd to winter's snow — ) 
 
 When I went forth on Erymanth, 
 To the hunt in» of the roe. 
 
 "^3 
 
 The chace was long, and the winding glades 
 Of those upland woods are steep, 
 
 So, just where under an elm aud a yew 
 Bright threads of water creep, 
 
 Wearied and heated, at high noontide, 
 I laid me down to sleep.
 
 NYMPHOtEPTES. 
 
 At even I woke : no sudden sound 
 Made nerve and marrow thrill ; 
 
 'Twas the dead silence of the woods, 
 The hush of the murm'ring rill ; 
 
 I felt there was something ghostly near, 
 The air was so very still. 
 
 Then I saw, thro' mists, coming, some from sleep, 
 
 Some from the rising dew, 
 Just where the lengthening shadows fell 
 
 From the trunks of elm and yew, 
 A white hand, parting the wild vines, 
 
 And a sweet face peeping through. 
 
 As the boughs gave way, a stately form, 
 
 In sylvan garb, stood there, 
 The small foot shod with a dun-deer's hide, 
 
 The lithe arms gleaming bare, 
 A girdle of gold round her slender waist, 
 
 And a heron's plume in her hair.
 
 NYMPJIOLEPTES. 
 
 She masqu'd it well ! one only sign 
 Of the present Goddess told ; 
 
 Yon could not look in her wondrous eyes, 
 Aud deem her of earthly mould, 
 
 Ev'n when they melted in love — yet less 
 When they glitter'd stern and cold. 
 
 Yet I sprang to meet her fearlessly, 
 When I saw a strange look rise, 
 
 That half allur'd, and half repell'd, 
 From the depths of the violet eyes, 
 
 Half woman-like, and half divine, 
 Half anger, and half surprise. 
 
 The glamour of that earnest look 
 Bepress'd mine impulse wild, 
 
 And held me pris'ner where I stood, 
 Meek, as a chidden child ; 
 
 'Till thro' each vein fiow'd fire again. 
 As the fatal vision smil'd.
 
 NYMPHOLEPTES. 
 
 The rest is darkness — in my breast 
 The treasur'd secret lies ; 
 
 For Eros, like bis brother-gods, 
 Hath his own mysteries ; 
 
 Th' Initiate pays a heavy price ; 
 And whoso speaks them, dies. 
 
 Away ! i must not think on them, 
 Or my brain would whirl and reel ; 
 
 The wild woods dare not whisper them, 
 The winds will not reveal ; 
 
 And on the lips that could have told, 
 She set her own sweet seal. 
 
 At dawning I woke — the wavelets spoke 
 In their old murm'ring tone ; 
 
 There was a rustle in the leaves, 
 That last night's breeze had strown ; 
 
 Or ever I rais'd my heavy eyes, 
 I knew that I was alone.
 
 NYMPnOLEPTES. 
 
 As I sought thee thro' that weary day, 
 I have sought thee since, in vain; 
 
 False love, but unforgotten ! say, 
 Will they never come again, 
 
 Those hours of brief and fiery joys, 
 Y-bought by years of pain ? 
 
 i" have kept troth — for thee I spurn'd 
 
 Mine own afhanc'd bride ; 
 'Twas an off' ring worthy of thy shrine, 
 
 And of an Oread's Q) pride, 
 When, desp'rate in her slighted love, 
 
 Arcadia's fairest died. 
 
 I have sought thee when the earth was gay 
 
 With garlands of her Prime, 
 And when my matted locks were moist 
 
 With hoar frost's clinging rime ; 
 But winter and spring come alike to me, 
 
 I hold no count of time.
 
 NYMPHOLEPTES. 
 
 The forest knows our secret — 
 
 For herds of grazing deer 
 Gaze earnestly, but never fly, 
 
 When my heedless steps draw near ; 
 And I see the grey wolf and her cubs 
 
 Crouch, as I pass, in fear : 
 
 Oft, too, at dead of night, I wake, 
 
 Rous'd by an Evian ( 2 ) cry, 
 While, with loose tresses ivy-crown'd, 
 
 And thyrsi tost on high, 
 At the mouth of my cave, like a rushing wave, 
 
 The Maenads hurry by. 
 
 Tho' fierce and fatal be their wrath, 
 To mortals who cross their way, 
 
 In ruth or dread those wild eyes melt 
 When near their haunts / stray ; 
 
 For they whisper that when the fit comes on, 
 I am madder far than they.
 
 NYMPIIOLEPTES. 
 
 It may well be so — for when winds are low, 
 And moon and stars ride high, 
 
 I think — " so it was on our bridal night ;" 
 And at that weird memory, 
 
 The farthest glades of Erymauth 
 Echo my desperate cry. 
 
 But I wis these wanderings soon must end, 
 
 I am growing feebler now ; 
 Save when I think on Her, my pulse 
 
 Beats languidly and slow : 
 If I could but worship at Her feet 
 
 Once more, before I go ! 
 
 She would hardly trace the form and face 
 
 She once call'd very fair ; 
 But there is not a furrow on Her cheek, 
 
 Nor a silver line in Her hair ; 
 The cycles of Eternity 
 
 "Will leave no shadow there.
 
 NYMPHOLEl'TES. 
 
 To the woods once more ! tho' the leaves he sere, 
 And the North-wind hreatheth rain — 
 
 Perchance compassion at the last 
 Shall vanquish long disdain, 
 
 And Love twine myrtle-wreaths for Death, 
 That Life but once could gain. 
 
 It is the wildest of my dreams — 
 And yet — such things might be — 
 
 Thro' mists that girdle Hades' verge, 
 What if mine eyes should see 
 
 Th' immortal light in Hers grow dim 
 With tear-drops shed for me ! 
 
 Then ten-fold were I overpaid, 
 If She hath done me wrong — 
 
 No word of murmur or reproach 
 Should linger on my tongue — 
 
 Not ev'n my heart should whisper, 
 "Love, thou hast tarried long !"
 
 NY3IPH0LEPTES. i) 
 
 Now, listen all ! to whom these words 
 
 Distemper'd ravings seem : 
 My days have troubled been, and dark, 
 
 Save for one dazzling gleam ; 
 Yet, I would not have chang'd for the Real of life, 
 
 Th' Idea of my golden dream !
 
 THE RELIQUAIRE. 
 
 Seest thou yon casket wrought iu gold 
 
 And imagery fair ? 
 Mine ancestor brought, from an altar he spoil'd, 
 
 That costly reliquaire. 
 
 The riches were reft from the charnel-house 
 
 That it boasted in days of eld, 
 And princes before it have bent the knee, 
 
 As they worshipp'd the bones it held. 
 
 But / have found a lighter use 
 For the locks of my fairy shrine ; 
 
 They guard the rcliques of buried loves, 
 Of hearts that I dreamt were mine ;
 
 THE RELIQL'AIRE. 11 
 
 And I would not change those treasures 
 
 For every canoniz'd bone 
 Of the maiden myriad, ( 3 ) who died 
 
 In the city of grey Cologne. 
 
 For when that casket I unclose, 
 Old thoughts will sometimes rise, 
 
 A strange glow rises in my breast, 
 Strange moisture dims mine eyes. 
 
 A life-like softness melts my heart, 
 Long dead to hopes and fears ; 
 
 Is it because they once were wet 
 With streams of pleasant tears, — 
 
 That still some fairy-rings ( 4 ) are green 
 In the waste of bygone years ? 
 
 That white glove held a whiter hand, 
 When hand and heart were free ; 
 
 There's a ring on the slender finger now 
 That was never put on by me.
 
 12 THE RELIQUAIRE. 
 
 I remember who gather' d and gave that rose, 
 
 At the break of a summer mom ; 
 From her life and her flower the blossom hath dropt, 
 
 There is nothing left but the thorn. 
 
 When I won that turquoise clasp, for me 
 
 Earth held no richer prize, 
 And it's now ten years since I forgot 
 
 The colour of her eyes. 
 
 Yes ! all these tokens emblem well 
 The vows, soon made and broken, 
 
 When the morrow brought forget fidness 
 Of all last night had spoken. 
 
 I have a relique far more dear, 
 
 A treasure far more rare, 
 Nay — you must not seek it in the heap 
 
 Of trifles mingling there ; — 
 It could tell the story of my life, 
 
 This tress of long fair hair :
 
 THE RELIQUAIKE. 
 
 For many years it hath not left 
 
 The shelter of my breast, 
 And it will share my grave with me, 
 
 "When mine hour shall come for rest : 
 
 13 
 
 It was not begg'd with flat t' ring words, 
 Nor, with feign'd coyness, given ; 
 
 But shorn from the coffin' d head of One 
 Long-time a saint in Heaven : 
 
 It was in the spring-tide of our bliss, 
 (For she had scarcely known 
 
 One-half how fondly she was lov'd), 
 When God took back His own. 
 
 My lips to plead my Fancy's cause 
 
 Were all too apt before, 
 But, since my morning-star was quench'd, 
 
 I have never trilled more.
 
 14 THE RELIQUAIKE. 
 
 For ev'n if I could woo again, 
 Think'st thou that I could dare, 
 
 While at matins and at even-song 
 I turn towards Heaven in prayer, 
 
 To bring a cloud on the radiant brow 
 Of the brightest angel there ? 
 
 No ! all unscath'd, I wander on 
 By sweet smiles and soft eyes ; 
 
 The Talisman upon my heart 
 Mocks all their witcheries ; 
 
 Each glance of fire is glinted back 
 Like the moon from a frozen sea ; 
 
 Fairer than all earth's loveliest, 
 Is my buried love to me !
 
 "IT IS NOT GOOD THAT MAN SHOULD BE 
 ALONE" 
 
 Thou'rt happy now, my first, last love ! 
 
 For thy pure soul hath goue 
 Where saint and seraph vigil keep, 
 
 Before the Sapphire throne. 
 
 vVe felt how lovely Death may be, 
 As we saw thee pass away : 
 
 So calmly broke the dawning 
 Of thine eternal day, 
 
 That the Sea of Light, beyond the stars, 
 On thy path its radiance shed, 
 
 And wings of angels pillowed thee 
 Long ere wc thought thee dead.
 
 16 " IT IS NOT GOOD THAT MAN SHOULD BE ALONE." 
 
 Tongue may not tell, nor heart conceive, 
 What joys surround thee there, 
 
 But, between me and thy glories, falls 
 The veil of my despair. 
 
 Earth holds no fair or graceful thing, 
 
 For man to hear or see, 
 But its presence brings a sharper pang, 
 
 With a memory of thee : 
 
 Softly and sadly glance the stars, 
 Like thy deep earnest eyes, 
 
 Each strain of melody brings back 
 The tones of thy replies ; 
 
 The sweetest flowers that summer weaves 
 
 Into her crown of pride 
 Recall the bria-htness of thv cheek 
 
 Before its blossom died
 
 IT IS NOT GOOD THAT MAX SHOULD BE ALONE." 17 
 
 And I shrink away from friends, like foes, 
 
 To nurse my grief apart, 
 While the sense of loneliness still lies 
 
 Like a dead hand on my heart. 
 
 I remember thou didst whisper 
 Of light beyond the gloom : 
 
 Alas ! the night is very dark, 
 And the dawn hath never come ; 
 
 For when we talk'd of meeting, 
 Mine own ! we did not know, 
 
 These weary hours of widowhood 
 How heavily they go ! 
 
 Thy latest vow went up to God, 
 
 For lightening of my pain ; 
 
 1 thought not prayer of thine could be 
 
 So wholly breath' d in vain, 
 c
 
 18 " IT IS NOT GOOD THAT MAN SHOULD BE ALONE." 
 
 Yet I would not that one thought of me, 
 
 To sadden thee, should rise ; 
 For it fitteth not that mortal woes 
 
 Should dim immortal eyes. 
 
 Murmur is sin, whatever be 
 
 The utter'd will of Heaven ; 
 But, if pain as penance may suffice, 
 
 Mine error is forgiven !
 
 THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 We were not wedded at high noontide, 
 By kith and kin surrounded ; 
 
 The chime of the Cathedral bells 
 For our bridal never sounded. 
 
 But at midnight, by one cresset's light. 
 The rites were mutter' d o'er ; 
 
 Their witness was the burly squire, 
 Whose broad-sword kept the door. 
 
 We did not tarry for marriage-feast, 
 Nor even, " Adieu !" to say; 
 
 And scarce the benison was done, 
 Ere we sped ou our way.
 
 20 THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 Hast thou forgot, sweet wife of mine ! 
 
 (Tho' 'tis twice ten years agone), 
 How lightly pass'd those hours of flight 
 
 While my good steed bore us on, 
 
 Thy slight form nestling in my cloak, 
 Thine arm around me twin'd, 
 
 The black night with its stars before, 
 And thy father's spears behind ? 
 
 Hast thou forgot the rugged pass, 
 Where, when true Roland fell, 
 
 The hunters found the hart at bay, 
 At the narrowing of the dell ? 
 
 Scarce had I time, with a long kiss, 
 To hush thy whisper' d fears, — 
 
 Scarce time to wind my bugle thrice, 
 When the glen grew bright with spears.
 
 THE ELOPEMENT. 21 
 
 " Crouch down beneath yon crag," I said, 
 " And give me space to wield my blade, — 
 '• We'll win it yet, be not afraid, 
 
 " If so the saints should please : 
 " They can but reach me one by one, 
 " And we kept the breach at Ascalon 
 
 " Against heavier odds than these." 
 
 Thro' mailed glove, I felt thy hand 
 
 Give eloquent reply : 
 And calm as death, with up-tum'd brow, 
 
 Set lips, and stedfast eye, 
 Didst thou wait the strife, like a soldier's wife, 
 
 Shudd'ring, but silently. 
 
 There was one, six lances-length in front, 
 
 Who led the foemen on: 
 I knew my rival's form right well, 
 
 Tho' his vizor-clasp was down.
 
 ii THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 When thy stern father spurn'd my suit, 
 
 Hp stood and laugh'd the while ; 
 But Fortune made us even now, 
 For to my knee he bent him low, 
 And 'twas my turn to smile. 
 
 He had vow'd, they say, to win thee hack, 
 
 Or die, ere the morrow morn ; 
 And the notch that my sword must still retain, 
 Since its edge clove sheer thro' helm and brain, 
 
 Youcheth him not forsworn. 
 
 But they press'd me hard — I scarce bore up, 
 Tho' I knew that help was near ; 
 
 And when my troopers clear'd the glen, 
 T never heard their cheer; 
 
 For from side, and arm, and brow, the blood 
 
 Pour'd fast as winter's rain : 
 Bv Mary ! three short minutes more, 
 
 And they had charg ! d in vain !
 
 THE ELOPEMENT. 23 
 
 Nay, never tremble ! thrice such wounds 
 
 Would I blithely bear again, 
 From the languor of a death-like trance 
 
 To wake, as I did then ; 
 
 My head upon thy breast, my cheek 
 Wet with thy tender tears, 
 
 And the plaintive music of thy voice 
 The first sound in mine ears ! 
 
 Oh ! hardly won, and dearly lov'd ! 
 
 Tho' dark our marriage morning, 
 Hath not the day been calm and bright 
 
 That sprung from such wild dawning ?
 
 CHARADE. 
 
 Where words are spoken that friendship chill, 
 
 Like drops of freezing rain, 
 When hearts, long one, are rent apart, 
 
 Never to knit again, 
 In an hour remember'd, all too well, 
 
 Thro' after-years of pain ; 
 
 Where men fall fast as wither'd leaves, 
 Where hurtling deathbolts fly, 
 
 And iron hoof, with shivering spear, 
 Makes fearful symphony, 
 
 While over the din of shot and steel 
 Rings out the " Gathering cry ;"
 
 CHARADE. 
 
 25 
 
 Wherever wrath, or pain, or hate, 
 Mar God's creation fair, 
 
 In senate, mart, or battle-field, 
 Be sure, my First is there ! 
 
 A mariner paced the storm-toss'd deck, 
 
 With a dark and anxious brow ; 
 There was not a saint in Heaven to whom 
 
 He did not make his vow, 
 And pray them, if erst he had deck'd their shrines, 
 
 At his need, to aid him now : 
 
 The night winds bore his prayer aloft, 
 And, as the dawn broke clear, 
 
 Forgot were all the tedious hours 
 Of danger, toil, and fear, 
 
 As, from twenty throats, the joyous shout 
 Of my Second met his ear.
 
 26 THE CHARADE. 
 
 They say that a thousand islands crown 
 
 The Sea-Queen's forehead fair, 
 That she wreaths the night of her flowing locks 
 
 With those jewels rich and rare ; 
 Yet, bright as her sister-gems may be, 
 
 My Third is the brightest there. 
 
 Yes, all the riches my Second can boast, 
 My Third for her dower may claim ; 
 
 Alas ! that one failing still should blot 
 The glories of such a name ; 
 
 Alas ! that the hearts so warm in Love 
 My First should, so soon, inflame
 
 THE MESS-SONG OF "THE 7 th ." 
 
 I pass'd my prime in the old war-time, 
 
 Some two-score years ago, 
 Then eyes were bright, and limbs were light, 
 
 That are dim and palsied now : 
 And the brightest space that thought can trace, 
 
 Thro' the vista of past years, 
 Is that reckless life of revel and strife 
 
 I led with the Eusileers. 
 
 Not a battle-plain in France or Spain 
 
 But saw our standards fly, 
 And not a name those ensigns claim 
 
 But speaks of a victory : 
 "Whoever they were, that the charge would dare, 
 
 Lancers or Cuirassiers, 
 Their dead could tell if levell'd well 
 
 Was the lire of the Eusileers.
 
 2S THE MESS-SOXG OF "THE 7 th ." 
 
 But we tam'd our pride, by beauty's side, 
 
 When our weary wars were doue ; 
 The wily moves of whisper'd loves, 
 
 We knew them every one : 
 Oh ! it pass'd too soon, that April noon 
 
 Of smiles, aud storms, and tears, 
 When "All is fair, in love or war," 
 
 Was the word of the Fusileers. 
 
 Remember now, in that gay time, how 
 
 The midnights used to pass, 
 When the claret ran, and never a man 
 
 Had dar'd to flinch his glass : 
 And fill it up, this parting cup, 
 
 With one of our ancient cheers, 
 While we drink, the boast of England's host, 
 
 " The fighting Fusileers !"
 
 THE EYE OF BATTLE. 
 
 THE PRESIDENT S TOAST. 
 
 Still rally round me, comrades mine, 
 
 We will not part so soon, 
 Tho' the dawning brings us work to do, 
 
 And the night has pass'd its noon. 
 
 We've revels that last from the sunset gun 
 
 To the first reveille call ; 
 But the feast that comes before the fight 
 
 Is fairly worth them all. 
 
 Not thro' the brain, but in the heart, 
 These brimming beakers glow, 
 
 Till each warms kindly to its friend, 
 And hardens to its foe.
 
 30 THE EVE OF BATTLE. 
 
 So for this toast a minute's " law" 
 From the waning mooii well borrow : 
 
 Here's " A clear course, a willing horse, 
 " x\nd a heavy hand to-morrow !" 
 
 For some, too, gentler thoughts may rise 
 That I may not dare to blame ; 
 
 Thro' all the morning of my life, 
 Were not my dreams the same ? 
 
 They breathe a fragrance soft, tho' faint, 
 
 As that of wither' d flowers, 
 Dim memories of earnest eyes 
 
 That have met the stars with ours ! 
 
 Bent brow — moist cheek — I like them well, 
 For I know, by that same sign, 
 
 Whose lip the blithest smile will wear 
 "When we form to charge in line.
 
 THE EVE OF BATTLE. 31 
 
 Yet fill again ! regret is vain, 
 
 The time's too short for sorrow : 
 Here's " A clear course, a willing horse, 
 
 " And a heavy hand to-morrow !" 
 
 My voice has grown too harsh and loud 
 
 Tor the ear of lady fail' ; 
 They suit not well with ball and bower, 
 
 Deep scars and grizzled hair ; 
 
 Life's path grows lonelier ev'ry day, 
 For my kindred now are few ; 
 
 Old friends drop off, like autumn leaves, 
 And I care not to make new ; 
 
 But, thro' the sunshine and the storm, 
 
 Still faithful, to my side 
 She cleaveth, whom the German sung, 
 
 The soldier's " Iron Bride." ( s )
 
 32 THE EVE OF BATTLE. 
 
 I have toasted all your ladye-loves, 
 Whether widow, wife, or maid ; 
 
 Now, do me right, and drink to mine, 
 The blue Damascene blade ! 
 
 This once fill high, and drain it dry, 
 And now, come joy or sorrow, 
 
 Here's " A clear course, a willing horse, 
 And a heavy hand to-morrow !"
 
 THE LOVER'S LEAP. 
 
 QUID PffiMIXA P S !> I T . 
 
 A Legend of " The Alkerstone." 
 
 Well ! tho' I love not boasting, 
 
 Sith all will have it so, 
 You shall hear how to left the field behind, 
 
 A score of years ago. 
 
 Time will unclasp his fetters, 
 
 And age grow young once more, 
 AY hen we think of all that was dared and done, 
 
 In the mad days of yore.
 
 3i THE LOVER'S LEAF. 
 
 Close to my side ! sweet wife of mine !- 
 I will not have you frown ; 
 
 To the eloquence of those dark eyes 
 I owe that high renown. 
 
 But, first, fill up another cup, 
 Till o'er the mantled brim, 
 
 Sweet as the dew of a red ripe lip, 
 The glitt'ring bubbles swim ; 
 
 " To the loving and the lov'd," we'll drink, 
 " The frank, the kind, the bold; 
 
 " To all warm living hearts, and those 
 " That never till death were cold." 
 
 'Twas a dull November morning, 
 South wind, and cloudy sky, 
 
 When, if ever scent could aid us, 
 A fox was doom'd to die ;
 
 the lovek's leap. 35 
 
 We met at Bolton Thicket, 
 That seldom blank was drawn ; — 
 
 Fresh lies the scene before me now, 
 As it were but yester-morn ; 
 
 Ten acres of copse, on a gentle slope, 
 By a belt of gorse surrounded; 
 
 All grass, as far as the eye could reach, 
 By the line of blue hills bounded. 
 
 That day I mounted Thunderbolt, 
 
 Of black Prunella's breed, 
 Who, thro' toil and peril, never yet 
 
 Had fail'd me at my need ; — 
 With strength for the deep, and wind for the 
 down, 
 
 And a racing " turn of speed."
 
 3f> THE LOVER'S LEAP. 
 
 Ere long a challenge and a cheer 
 
 Came floating down the wind, 
 'Twas Mermaid's note, and the huntsman's voice, 
 TVe knew it was a find. 
 
 Together swept the scatter' d pack, 
 
 Like falcons to their prey, 
 Scarce had we gather'd up our reins, 
 
 When we heard the " Gone away !" 
 
 The dull air woke, as from a trance, 
 As sixty hounds gave chorus ; 
 
 And away we went, with a stout dog-fo\ 
 Kot a furlong's length before us.
 
 the lover's leap. 37 
 
 Quivering in every limb, my steed 
 
 Toss'd high his raven crest; 
 The crowd gave way, on either side, 
 
 As thro' their ranks we press'd, 
 'Till we took the place that was ours by right, 
 And led the van of the foremost flight, 
 
 Six lengths before the rest. 
 
 The sound or the sight of the gallant chase 
 Makes my blood bod — even now, 
 
 And this was when the tide of youth 
 Kan foaming at its flow ; 
 
 No trifle, in those merry days, 
 Turn'd me and my peers, I trow ! 
 
 Yet a shudder, near akin to fear, 
 
 Thro' my very marrow crept, 
 When I saw a fence, that cross'd our Hue, 
 
 As down the hill we swept ;
 
 38 the lovek's leaf. 
 
 And well the firmest cheek might blanch, 
 
 The sternest courage fail, 
 At the bullfinch, with its yawning drain, 
 A deep drop into a stony lane, 
 
 And a four-foot oaken rail. 
 
 Each look'd on each, 'till thus spoke out 
 
 The best of all our band, 
 A veteran of war and chase, 
 
 Who rode at my right-hand. 
 
 " The churl who yonder ' man-trap' laid, 
 " By an ill death may he fall ! — 
 
 " If the fox has headed across the road, 
 " Good faith ! he has foil'd us all. 
 
 " For a tougher brush it were to face 
 " Yon black-thorn's venom'd spears, 
 
 " Than ever we had, in the olden time, 
 " With Kellermann's Cuirassiers."
 
 the lover's leap. 39 
 
 Meanwhile, not far below us, 
 
 A crowd of gazers stood, 
 Whose eyes had never left us 
 
 Since we broke from Bolton Wood. 
 
 The best blood of two counties 
 Made up that bright array, 
 
 And there my queenlike Ladye-love 
 Rein'd iu her fiery grey. 
 
 Hither and thither rode the field, 
 Seeking an easier place ; 
 
 I, too, had turn'd me, when I met 
 My Mistress face to face : 
 
 And I bounded in my seat, like one 
 Death-stricken thro' the brain, — 
 
 Sweet wife ! the bliss of after years 
 Scarce paid that instant's pain :
 
 40 THE LOVER'S LEAP. 
 
 There was scorn upon her curling lip, 
 In her dark eyes augry flame, 
 
 On the marble of her polish'd brow 
 Red rose the flush of shame ; 
 
 It had made the veriest dastard brave 
 What spoke that glance from her, 
 
 And, with a madman's shout, I gave 
 My good steed rein and spur : 
 
 A snort of wrath from Thunderbolt 
 
 Answer'd my desp'rate cry, 
 The blood gouts dropp'd from his dusky sides, 
 
 Like rain from a low' ring sky, 
 And I felt, as I rush'd him at the fence, 
 
 He was as wild as I : 
 
 Then came, too late, a warning shriek, 
 And, then, such crackling sound 
 
 As echoes thro' a burning house, 
 
 When th' beams are splint'ring round ;
 
 THE LOVER'S LEAP. 41 
 
 But, o'er crash and cry, rose clear and high, 
 
 The voice well loved and known, 
 With clarion note and silv'ry thrill, — 
 
 " Oh, Charlie ! bravely done !" 
 
 Of six score men, there was but one 
 
 To follow where I led ; 
 'Twas a daring deed, and cost him dear, 
 
 For, as I turn'd my head, 
 He was writhing 'neath his steed, which lay, 
 
 With a broken neck, stone dead. 
 
 No time to pause ! for, over the meads, 
 We swept, with a scent breast high : 
 
 Eight more good miles we carried it on, 
 The gallant hounds and I : 
 
 And, when we turn'd him up, my cheer, 
 
 Borne on the rising wind, 
 Came faintly to the straggler's ear, 
 
 A long half-league behind.
 
 42 the lover's leap. 
 
 'Twas a cold November evening ; 
 
 And the way was long and dreary, 
 for, a score of miles before us lay, 
 
 And man and horse were weary ; 
 
 But my heart was warm as I thought of the smile 
 
 That my return would greet, 
 When she heard the story of the day, 
 
 With its trophy at her feet.
 
 A RUN WITH "THE QUORN," 
 
 To the Time of an old Hunting Song. 
 
 Near Kirby-Gate the gorse we drew : 
 
 That a " travelling" fox was there, we knew, 
 
 For 'twas own'd by a sportsman staunch and true, 
 
 As ever went out in the morning. 
 
 " The Squire" was there on his trustiest steed, 
 The boast of the county for bone and breed ; 
 Jack Stevens rode his wiry " weed," 
 To the cover betimes in the morning.
 
 M A KUN WITH "THE QUORN." 
 
 Her tongue we heard old Prioress throw, 
 And she never yet spoke false, you know ; 
 Frank Holyoake view'd the " varmint" go, — 
 " Tally-ho there, away !" in the morning. 
 
 Straight over the pasture-grounds they sail, 
 But the fences run large in the Leicestershire Vale, 
 And there's " bellows to mend," and a length'ning 
 "tail," 
 Tho' it's early yet in the morning. 
 
 Far more select the field has grown, 
 At the last ox-fence a dozen are down ; 
 But " the Earl" ( 6 ) aud " the Squire" still hold their 
 own, 
 And " give 'em a lead" in the morning.
 
 A RUX WITH "THE Qt'ORX." 45 
 
 The Whissendine Brook ran deep and wide, 
 But the foremost-flight never turn'd aside ; 
 And six took it fairly in their stride, 
 
 With a " Tor'rard away !" in the moraine. 
 
 Two hundred started fair and more, 
 But they all tailed off ere the run was o'er ; 
 And, to see him die, there were but four, 
 Of all who met in the morning. 
 
 But " the Squire" was one ; and men have said, 
 That the tree-tops shook upon Woolwell Head 
 When his cheer, that told how the fox was dead, 
 Woke the echoes up in the morning. 
 
 O'er ten good miles the chase had past, 
 You may judge yourselves if the pace was fast, 
 For 'twas fifty minutes from first to last, 
 When they turn'd him up in the morning.
 
 40 A RUN WITH " THE QUORN." 
 
 When " the Quorn" next meet at Kirby-Gate, 
 Unless you can " go" when hounds run straight, 
 You may take my word, for the death you'll be late, 
 Tho' you start with the first in the morning.
 
 A LEGEND OF GALWAY. 
 
 From the gorse of Ahaseragh the chase broke away, 
 With the " grey fox" on foot, and a warm scenting day, 
 The " cracks" of Roscommon are here, and they swear, 
 Come life, or come death, to beat Valentine Maher. 
 
 He's last thro' the clay and the deep of the vale, 
 Not seen at the gap in the third post-and-raU, 
 And, still with the lead, the Roscommons ask " Where 
 " Is the pride of your county, bold Valentine Maher?" 
 
 Then, smiling aside, the old huntsman spoke low, 
 
 " With the grey fox on foot, we've a day's work to do, 
 
 " You'll have nerves of the strongest, nor steel must you 
 
 spare, 
 " If you ride to the finish with Valentine Maher,"
 
 48 A LEGEND OF GALWAY. 
 
 All the while his fierce chestnut was chafing in vain, 
 'Till the foam from her nostrils specked breastplate and 
 
 rein ; 
 But calm, as at first, " Take your time, never care, 
 "We'll catch 'em yet, Kathleen!" said Valentine Maher. 
 
 They near'd the " Black River," they heard its dull roar, 
 They mark'd the thick mist-wreaths that brood on its 
 
 shore, 
 When his laugh, <from the distance, came ringing and 
 
 clear, 
 " Here's food for the fishes !" quoth Valentine Maher. 
 
 While they stood on the bank, and the boldest held breath, 
 As he gazed on the torrent, three fathoms beneath, 
 When the best of Boscommon drew rein, in despair, 
 With a rush to the front came Valentine Maher.
 
 A LEGEND 0? GALWAY. 49 
 
 He called upon Kathleen, — one snort and one spring ; 
 She clove thro' the air, like a swallow on wing ; 
 He turn'd in his saddle, — " Now, follow who dare ! 
 " When I ride for my county," quoth Valentine Maher. 
 
 The hounds left the valley, they strain'd up the hill, 
 But one rider remains, and he sticks to them still ; 
 They check' d on the brow of Kilconnel, and there 
 To turn them and cast them was Valentine Maher. 
 
 Where the coverts of pine over Athenry frown, 
 Within one mile of home " the grey fox" was pull'd down ; 
 And rock, lull, and valley, sent back the death-cheer, 
 As they rang to the halloo of Valentine Maher.
 
 50 A LEGEND OF GALWAY. 
 
 So we'll drink with nine cheers to the old county's breed, 
 To the blood in the veins of both rider and steed ; 
 And here's — "The next time that Roscommon shall dare 
 Go straight across Galway with Valentine Maher !"
 
 THE 
 
 LEGEND OF DECIUS,
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 In the year B.C. 340, Annius of Seta, Praetor of the Latin con- 
 federacy, came to Rome to demand a perfect equality of rights 
 between the two nations. The alternative was a rupture of 
 the alliance then subsisting between them. This was refused ; 
 and the Latin, in his anger, not only defied the Senate, but 
 blasphemed the Capitoline Jupiter. On leaving the Temple, 
 he missed his footing, and falling down the stone steps leading 
 from the Capitol to the Forum, was killed on the spot. So 
 said the Roman account. Upon this ensued the great Latin 
 war. The Roman Consuls were P. Decius Mus and T. Manlius 
 Torquatus. While the armies were encamped opposite to each 
 other, the Consuls issued an edict that no Roman should 
 engage single-handed with a Latin on pain of death. This 
 was disobeyed by the son of Torquatus, who, being challenged 
 by Mettius Geminus, attacked and slew him. When he 
 returned to the camp, Torquatus caused him instantly to be 
 scourged and beheaded. Soon after, a decisive battle took 
 place at the foot of Vesuvius : when the Romans began to give 
 way, Decius devoted himself and the hostile army (according 
 to an ancient formula) to the Infernal Gods; then he spurred 
 into the midst of the enemy, and was slain. The result was 
 that great victory which established the supremacy of Rome 
 over Middle Italy lor ever.
 
 THE COUNCIL. 
 
 In the Curia ( 7 ) of Yelitrse 
 
 The peers of Latium met ; 
 The lords of thirty cities, 
 
 Each in his order set : 
 From township, too, and hamlet 
 
 The grey decurions ( s ) come, 
 And half Italia's destiny 
 Hangs on the question that they try, — 
 
 "Is it peace, or war, with Borne?" 
 The contest of the factions 
 
 Rose with the rising sun, 
 Fiercely it raged, and doubtfully, 
 
 When his middle course was won ; 
 And the Lower Sea ( 9 J blush'd rosy red 
 
 Ere the debate was done.
 
 54 THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 Like Elean wrestlers fairly match'd, 
 
 Thro' the long summer's day, 
 Opposing speakers struggled 
 
 The conclave's vote to sway : 
 Still was it tried ; for neither side 
 
 Could win one foot of way ; 
 'Till rose above the storm of words 
 
 One voice deep-toned and clear, 
 With the clangour of a trumpet-call, 
 
 It smote the list'ner's ear, 
 And each Pancratiast ( 10 ) of the tongue 
 
 Sat hush'd attent to hear, 
 While a whisper thro' the benches 
 
 Of Velitrse's Curia spread : 
 " Now, list to Lucius Annius, 
 
 The brother of the dead !" 
 They had glozed all for policy, 
 
 With state- craft calm and cold; 
 But his accents passionate and strong, 
 Like a flood of lava rolled along, 
 
 Soul-stirring, brief, and bold :
 
 THE COUNCIL. o5 
 
 " Let the college of pale augurs 
 
 " Babble of ' wrath above,' 
 " How Annius perish'd by the bolt 
 
 " Of Capitolian Jove ! 
 " And let Rome's Latin hirelings 
 
 " Of sign and portent tell : 
 " Good faith ! they mouth it fairly, 
 
 " And earn their wages well ! 
 " But we know, 'twas Roman falsehood 
 
 " Our noble Praetor sped : 
 " From the grave he calls us to avenge 
 
 " His blood, so foully shed : 
 " ye ! who follow'd him long ago, 
 " When he led us down on the reeling foe, 
 " Have your ears and your hearts grown deafer now 
 
 " To the voice of the martyr'd dead ? 
 " Tis a sounding boast — ' Quirinus, 
 
 " ' His own will never fail !' 
 " But the hoarse waves of Allia( 11 ) 
 
 •' Murmur a truer tale ; 
 " And the fresh graves are scarcely green, 
 
 " In the Vestinian vale.
 
 50 THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 " He saw his senate slaughtered, 
 
 " His city all a-flame, 
 " When the Capitol could hardly save 
 
 " The embers of Rome's name : 
 " Sure, none of the immortals 
 
 " Hath been more sorely tried, 
 :c Yet it wearied not the patience 
 
 " Of the dread Fratricide ; 
 " A lighter insult moved him more 
 
 " On the day when Remus died ! 
 " Shall we, whose sires were gods and king3, 
 
 " Like herded oxen yield, 
 " To the brood of slaves and renegades, 
 
 " Without one stricken field ? 
 " Not so :— the feud that we have nursed, 
 
 " So silently and long, 
 " Will, in our hour of vengeance, 
 
 " Make nerve and sinew strom?. 
 " We may o'ercome ; we can but die, 
 
 " Like men in glorious fight : 
 " So, — one bold blow for freedom, 
 " And the Gods guard the right !"
 
 THE COUNCIL. 57 
 
 No whisper now, but an eager shout 
 
 Thro' Velitrse's Curia spread, — 
 " Right well hath Lucius spoken, 
 
 "Tor the living aud the dead!" 
 His words have roused to daring 
 
 Faint hearts that lately quail' d, 
 And, echoed by the nation's voice, 
 
 The vote for war prevail'd. 
 
 The heralds cross'd the Tiber, 
 
 As the sun was going down, 
 There was joy, as for a victory, 
 
 In Rome, when the news was known ; 
 Ere midnight, o'er the Latin bounds, 
 
 The Fetial's ( 12 ) lance was thrown. 
 Uprose the haughty burghers, 
 
 In their halls on Palatine, 
 There was bright'ning of corselets and sharp'ning 
 
 of blades, 
 Where the hardy craftsmen ply their trades, 
 
 On the slopes of Aventine ;
 
 5S 
 
 THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 The ruiu'd debtors heard the din, 
 
 Deep down in noisome caves ; 
 And they who still had silent lain, 
 Their senses numb with length of pain, 
 Leapt up in frenzy and rent at their chain, 
 Muttering curses they knew were vain, — 
 
 (War was not made for slaves) ; 
 And, as eager footsteps went sounding by, 
 From the dungeons there rose a wail and a cry, 
 Might have waked, with it's desp'rate misery, 
 
 The usurers in their graves. 
 
 The trumpet sounded as evening closed 
 
 On the fiery Nones ( 13 ) of June, 
 And, ever since, thro' the city's round, 
 There hath been a ceaseless, busy sound, 
 Like distant murmurs of sullen seas, 
 Or restless hum of lab'ring bees, 
 
 At the sultry hour of noon : 
 But, chiefest in the Forum, 
 
 Was the tumult and the din, 
 Where, still to swell the levies, 
 
 Fresh names came pouring in ;
 
 THE COUNCIL. 
 
 And, ere the third day's dawning, 
 
 As the stars began to fade, 
 On the plain, beyond the Capene Gate, 
 
 Six legions stood array'd. 
 
 The Samnites, five times vanquished, 
 
 And yet half unsubdued, 
 Now, at their conqu'rors' utmost need, 
 
 Forget the ancient feud ; 
 From many a rock-built eyrie 
 
 Pentrian and Daunian come, 
 The hardy mountain-dwellers, 
 
 To lend their swords to Home. 
 No foreign hirelings are they, 
 
 "Whom She must now oppose ; 
 Nor, elsewhere, 'tween the Double Seas, 
 
 Are found such worthy foes : 
 And She, who brooks no rival, 
 Nor partner of her throne, 
 Hath a sharp struggle yet to win, 
 Or ever she reign alone. 
 
 59
 
 GO THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 They come not from the Volscian, 
 
 False friend and restless thrall ; 
 Nor from snow-laden forests 
 
 Of bleak Transalpine Gaul ; 
 Nor whence the Umbrian Mountain 
 
 O'er Trasimenus lowers; 
 Nor whence Tarentum, o'er the tide, 
 Casts broken shadows far and wide, 
 
 From a coronal of towers ; 
 But warring hosts and rival Gods 
 
 Must try, on the battle-day, 
 If the Seven Hills or Latium 
 
 A subject world shall sway; 
 And many a soul, from its shatter'd home, 
 
 To Lethe's banks shall fleet : 
 For, 'tis a strife for death and life, 
 
 When the Sister-nations meet !
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 The cloudy racks drift slowly back 
 
 From the Calaforian Hill, 
 The morn of battle rises 
 
 Heavy with mist, aud chill, 
 As if her brows were clouded 
 
 With prescience of ill. 
 There's stir within the Roman camp ; 
 
 For a full hour agone, 
 From tuba and from lituus 
 
 The wakening call was blown. 
 Near the PrEetorium's threshold 
 
 Gather the Augur's ( 14 ) band, 
 Where, by two turf en altars, 
 
 Tribunes and Consuls stand.
 
 62 THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 Alone, amidst the shrinking crowd, 
 
 Torquatus holds his place ; 
 Th' Erinnys ( 15 ), busy in his breast, 
 
 Leaves little outward trace 
 On the features, passionless as steel, 
 
 Of the son-slayer's face : 
 The shades have deepen' d on his cheek, 
 
 But he bears him haughtily, 
 As when he spoke the ruthless word 
 That gave his first-born to the sword, 
 
 And sat to see him die. 
 Eyes only, in which never sleeps 
 
 The red and wolfish glare, 
 Speak of the heart too strong to break, 
 That lives, upon it's kind to wreak 
 
 The venom of despair ; 
 The scent of slaughter cheers him now, 
 And the savage blood mounts to his brow, 
 
 As he hears the Augurs say : — 
 " With trustful heart, Torquatus, 
 
 " Go forth unto the fray ; 
 " The Fates grant half our Founder's prayer, 
 
 " Thou shalt o'crcome to-day."
 
 THE BATTLE. 63 
 
 Meanwhile, on Deeius' altar, 
 
 Girt by an eager throng, 
 From quivering entrails, soothsayers try 
 To draw the rede of destiny, 
 
 Good sooth ! they tarry long. 
 It came, and every listener's pulse 
 
 Stood still in prescient fear, 
 While, with wild eyes and 'bated breath, 
 
 He paused, intent to hear 
 What hath blanched ashen-white the lips 
 
 Of the grey Etruscan seer : — 
 " There is wrath among the nether Gods, 
 
 " Hell yawueth for her prey ; 
 " If our left wing prevail in strife, 
 " 'Twill purchase, with it's leader's life, 
 
 " The victory to-day." 
 At the fatal word, a shuddering groan 
 
 Broke forth from all the crowd, 
 The veterans, comrades of his wars, 
 Smote on their bosoms, seam'd with scars, 
 
 And wept and wail'd aloud. 
 The Consul hush'd them with his hand, 
 As he stood before them all,
 
 C)i THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 The only man of that mighty host, 
 Tho' the evil presage touch' d him most, 
 
 Whom it could not appal : 
 The colour changed not on his cheek, 
 
 Nor shook his steady tone, 
 "While through the ranks, at his earliest word, 
 There was silence, so deep that you might have 
 
 heard, 
 The matin-song of the neighbouring bird, 
 Or the west wind's breath, tho' it scarcely stirr'd 
 
 Dead leaves that last night it had strown. 
 And on his lip, like sunlight, 
 
 The smile began to play, 
 That those who knew it said, of yore, 
 In the hour of triumph, it ever wore, 
 "When the toil of doubtful fight was o'er, 
 And he felt he had won Ihe day. 
 
 What mean these murmurs? shall we pause 
 " When the will of Heaven is clear ? 
 
 : Ye must epiench its wrath with a richer draught 
 " Than the blood of ram or steer ;
 
 THE BATTLE. G5 
 
 " Brief will the rites be, for, I ween, 
 " The sacrificers' blades are keen, 
 
 "And the victim's ready here. 
 " "Where my white porch crowns the Aventine, 
 
 " My sweet, wife bides alone, 
 " And loud aud long Volumnia prays 
 
 " For her last living son : 
 " 'Twiil be lonely round that happy hearth, 
 
 " I fear, when I am gone. 
 " But Rome ! nor wife, nor mother, 
 
 " Are half so dear as thou ; 
 " And by the battles, whose brunt we've borne, 
 " By the Sacramental ( 16 ) oath we've sworn, 
 
 " I will not fail thee now ! 
 " So, if thy Right wing fail thee, 
 
 " And falter in the fray, 
 " Bear bravely up, Torquatus ! 
 
 " I'll aid thee, as I may ; 
 " But if, before the Latin, 
 
 " The Left one foot should flee, 
 " Heaven help Cornelia ! for that hour, 
 
 " A widow'd wife is she !
 
 66 THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 " I shall fall, but as my father fell, 
 " As I pray my son may die. 
 
 " For the City's weal, and the fair fame 
 " Of the Publian Decii." 
 
 The sweet smile faded from his face, 
 
 As it darken' d to a frown, 
 For, just where the hill-range join'd the plain, 
 With a heave in their ranks, like a stormy main, 
 Standard and spear head glistening bright, 
 Where their points caught gleams of the freshening 
 light, 
 
 The Latin host came down : 
 And the long swell of the litui, 
 
 Th ro' the morning air arose ; 
 But there sounded forth no battle cry, 
 
 To mark their eager close ; 
 With teeth hard set and flashing eye, 
 
 They met the mortal foes. 
 
 For a little space, the whirling dust 
 
 Hid the fair light of day,
 
 THE BATTLE. 67 
 
 But, as the breeze grew stronger, 
 
 It swept the mist away ; 
 And Decius turn'd, from where he fought. 
 
 To mark how went the fray : 
 The foe had borne his legions back 
 
 Three spears' length on the field, 
 E'en, while he gazed, the second rank 
 
 Of the Hastats ( 17 ) 'gan to yield : 
 Vainly, to stem the ebbing war, 
 Tribune, centurion, consular, 
 
 With voice and gesture, tried, 
 And the flower of th' ancient Houses f 18 ) 
 
 In the van of battle died; 
 These stirred not, dropping in their ranks. 
 
 Unyielding, side by side. 
 So fared the Left — their litui, 
 That lately swelled so cheerily, 
 Rang fitfully and wearily, 
 
 With a sound like a dying moan ; 
 But on the Eight, tho' hard beste'd, 
 The Roman yet makes gallant head. 
 
 And Manlins holds his own.
 
 68 THE LEGEND OF DECITTS. 
 
 Then Decius staid no longer : 
 
 He saw the Pontiff ( l9 ) ride, 
 Helmless tho' harmless, thro' the darts, 
 
 And called him to his side : 
 " Hither, in haste, Valerius 
 
 " Thou seest mine hour is come ; 
 " Do thou, as 'fits thine office, 
 
 " Rehearse the words of doom. 
 " Comrades ! for your old leader's sake, 
 
 " To the death, this once ! fight on : 
 " The curse that hitherto hath lain 
 " On your hearts and arms, like a leaden chain, 
 
 " Will he lightened when I'm gone ; 
 " And, if ye'd lay mine ashes 
 
 " Where my Fathers sleep in Rome, 
 " Come, seek me in yon serried hies, 
 
 " And charge the Latin home !" 
 
 Then reverently, with steady voice, 
 
 He spoke the words of fear; 
 His cloak wrapt close around his face, 
 
 His bare foot on a spear : —
 
 THE BATTLE. 69 
 
 " Sire of our Founder ! hearken ; 
 
 " And ye, mysterious Powers, 
 " Indigetes, Novensiles !( 20 ) 
 " Whom earth revered as deities 
 
 " In the childhood of the Hours ; 
 " And ye, too, who the shadowy tribes 
 
 " Of the pale Manes sway, 
 " To whom, at dead of moonless nisrhts, 
 
 " The coal-black steer we slay, 
 " Who, in the leaden twilight, dwell 
 " Where ninefold Styx, with ambient swell, 
 " Girdles the burning marl of Hell, 
 
 " List all ! the while I pray : 
 " To you, in meet libation, 
 
 " I shed this blood of mine, 
 " As priests, before the sacrifice, 
 
 " Pour out Falernian wine ; 
 " Now turn the channel of your wrath, 
 
 " Prom Rome avert the blow ; 
 " But let it fall the heavier 
 
 " On me and on the foe ; 
 " And grant that myriads of their dead 
 
 " May follow where I go !"
 
 THE LEGEXD OF DECITJS. 
 
 He spake, and, as lie ended, 
 
 Gave liis charger spur and rein ; 
 With his first bound, the Apulian( 21 ) clear' d 
 
 Three fathoms' length of plain ; 
 The Latin cower'd before him, 
 
 Like sheep within their fold, 
 When the wolf of Apennine comes down 
 
 From his lair upon the wold; 
 While, even Lucius Annius 
 
 For an instant held his breath, 
 All guess'd with what intent he came, 
 
 The Messenger of Death. 
 But, the thought of his dead brother 
 
 Hath waked the Latin's wrath, 
 So, with set teeth and writhen brow, 
 
 He barr'd the Consul's path: 
 Twas a meeting, as of thunder-clouds, 
 
 When they 'couuter'd, breast to breast ; 
 Bui tlio' Ms thrust sped fiercely home, 
 Before the strongest lance in Rome, 
 
 Down went the Praetor's crest ; 
 While, all unscathed, his slayer 
 
 Rode onward in his pride ;
 
 THE BATTLE. 71 
 
 The foe, still yielding lightsome room, 
 
 Rolled back on either side, 
 So ; cleft by the Liburnian's (- ) prow, 
 
 Grey Ocean's waves divide ; 
 But, as the billows silently 
 
 Close 'neath the flying stern, 
 Their ranks, uniting as he past, 
 
 Barr'd rescue or return ; 
 Yet, onward bore the Consul, 
 
 'Till he had clov'n his way, 
 To where "The Cities'''^) standard 
 
 Look'd down upon the fray. 
 Then thicken'd all around him, 
 
 The tumult and the stour, 
 'Till eager eyes, that track' d his course, 
 
 Could follow it no more ; 
 But, where the swarm was darkest, 
 
 Was heard a piercing cry, 
 The scream of his Apulian steed 
 
 In the death agony. 
 And that one crest, that topp'd the rest, 
 
 Sank downward suddenly ;
 
 72 THE LEGEND OF DECITJS. 
 
 Still sharper came the hail of steel 
 
 On his uncover' d head : 
 His arm grows faint with slaughter now, 
 
 And grasps a broken blade : 
 A score of spears, thro' gaping wounds, 
 
 Tor the struggling soul gave way, 
 One shiver of the mighty limbs, — 
 
 And a strong heart was clay. 
 Then a shout burst from a thousand breasts, 
 
 As tho' some spell were broken, 
 Shrill with the trace of recent fright, 
 Like the cry of sleepers, at dead of night, 
 
 From hideous dreams awoken ; 
 It was answer'd by a growl of wrath, 
 
 From the heaving ranks of Rome, 
 Such murmur, ominous and deep, 
 Preludes the storm, that soon will sweep, 
 
 'Cross Hadria's ( 24 ) seething foam: 
 With a crash, as when that whirlwind bursts, 
 
 Rome's knights are spurring on ; 
 Torquatus leads their flashing lines, 
 Whde, in his gripe, the broadsword shines, 
 
 That the proud Agnomen ( 25 ) won ;
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 The blade, beneath whose griding sweep, 
 
 The fair-hair' d Giant fell, 
 Never before this fatefnl hour, 
 
 Hath wrought its work so well. 
 Tireless, resistless, pitiless, 
 
 He clears his desp'rate way, 
 And, where the torquis on his crest 
 
 Gleams, starlike, thro' the fray, 
 Six times three hundred horsemen 
 
 Ai*e following as they may ; 
 While, thro' the scatter'd maniples ( 2G ) 
 
 With spirit fresh and high, 
 They come to turn the tide of Qght, 
 
 Rome's proved Triarii. ( 27 ) 
 Then swell' d, tenfold more furious, 
 
 The gatlvring battle's roar, 
 Like the moan of many prison'd waves, 
 Whose dungeons are those sunless caves, 
 
 That skirt Illyria's shore ; 
 And, in after soug and story, 
 
 Were the victors wont to tell, 
 How those they vanquish' d, to the last, 
 Fought stubbornly and well.
 
 74 THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 But the nameless horror of a curse 
 
 On the shrinking Latin press'd, 
 The Roman, mad for vengeance, fought, 
 
 Like fiends, or men possess'd : 
 Little could warlike stratagem, 
 
 Or trick of fence avail, 
 For, when they found, with changing blows, 
 
 Pilum and broadsword fail, 
 They grappled at their foemen's throat, 
 
 And rent them, tooth and nail. 
 Hast seen the pinewoods bending, 
 
 That the ridge of Gaurus crown, 
 When, from the hold of iEolus, 
 
 Euroclydon ( 2S ) comes down ? — 
 When heavy rains of spring-time, 
 
 And tides of melting snow 
 Bring down, in flood, five fathom deep, 
 
 The tawny waves of Po, 
 Hast seen the reed-beds yielding 
 
 That skirt the river's flow ? — 
 So, bent before their onset, 
 
 The centre of the foe.
 
 THE BATTLE. ~ ~> 
 
 Five times the Hue was broken, 
 
 Five times the strife renew'd, 
 And not a foot of ground was won 
 
 But paid its price of blood ; 
 But, while the vanguard struggled, 
 
 And hardly held their own, 
 Rome's horse, thro' their unguarded flank, 
 
 With a furious charge, bore down : 
 And, as thro' broken bank or weir 
 
 Gushes the swollen linn, 
 Torquatus and his riders, 
 
 Thro' the gap, came slaughtering in ; 
 There was one baffled rally, 
 
 The last of their despair, 
 And the Latin broke, and turn'd, and fled, 
 
 Leaving their noblest there. 
 Once, where the pass grew narrow, 
 
 The fliers stood at bay, 
 But the Roman press'd them fierce and fast. 
 
 As the pack that scents its prey. 
 For, where the footmen might not pierce, 
 
 The horsemen hew'd their way.
 
 76 THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 And, louder than the storm of steel, 
 One voice was heard and known, 
 
 As the Consul, wild with the lust of blood, 
 Hounded his legions on :— 
 
 " Dastards ! have ye forgotten, 
 
 " Whose blood for you was shed ? 
 " Before you stands the foeman, — 
 
 " Beh'nd you lies the dead : 
 " Each Latin that outlives to-day, 
 
 " On your honour is a stain ; 
 " Do ye linger ? dare ye falter ? 
 
 " Hath Decius died in vain ? 
 " Where Styx repels the unanneal'dX 29 ) 
 
 " He roams the hither coast, 
 " 'Twill need a royal hecatomb 
 
 " To soothe that sullen ghost; 
 " And whoso to the vanquish'd, 
 
 " Shall ruth or mercy show, 
 " By Pluto ! I will strike him dead, 
 
 "As I would my mortal foe !"
 
 
 THE BATTLE. 77 
 
 But their own thoughts bore a sharper sting 
 
 Than taunt or threat'ning word, 
 None stay'cl his hand from vengeance, 
 
 "While it could lift a sword. 
 Vain was the shriek for mercy, 
 
 In the name of friendships ( 30 ) old ; 
 (The Present blotted out the Past,) 
 
 And vain the proffer'd gold, — 
 Not one had bought his forfeit life 
 With the ransom ten times told. 
 At early dawn, the fight began, 
 And, all that summer's day, 
 There was carnage in the troubled heart 
 
 Of the mountain-ranges grey ; 
 The runnels of the blue hill streams 
 
 Were stain'd with curdling red 
 Each nook of all those quiet dells, 
 
 Held its own heap of dead. 
 Nor ever ceased the slaughter, 
 Till the night began to fall, 
 And the sullen note of the litui 
 Sounded a late recall.
 
 78 THE LEGEND OF DEC1US. 
 
 The moon is high on Veseris, — 
 
 O lonely mountain-river ! 
 How ghastly, in the doubtful light, 
 
 Thy tainted waters quiver ! 
 No marvel., if they curl and shrink, 
 
 The waves of the Lower Sea, 
 Meeting the load of swollen dead, 
 
 To-night hath laid on thee. 
 
 The moon is low on Veseris, — 
 
 On water, marsh, and plain, 
 The torches gleam of those that seek 
 
 The self-devoted slain. 
 A fruitless quest, tho' it began 
 
 With earliest shades of night, 
 So thickly lie the relics 
 
 Of the nation's mortal fight : 
 It was at that chill and dreary hour 
 
 That heraldeth the day, 
 When the darkness deepens blacker, 
 
 Just ere it turns to grey,
 
 THE BATTLE. 79 
 
 That they came where "The Cities'" standard 
 
 At yester-morn had stood, 
 And the red lights glint smoothly back, 
 
 From a spreading pool of blood : 
 There He lay, — the dead his pillow, 
 
 By the dead, too, overlaid ; 
 His left-hand griped a Lathi's throat, — 
 
 His right, a shiver' d blade. 
 Ev'n as a reaper resteth, 
 
 Weary with toil and drought, 
 By the brown swarths embosom'd, 
 
 That his own hand hath wrought. 
 'Twas not so much the ghastly face 
 
 That met the torches' glare, 
 A- the thrill at all their hearts, that told 
 
 The search was ended there. 
 The awe that fell upon them all 
 
 Was a strange sight to see, 
 As they straighten'd ev'ry written limb 
 
 Gently and tenderly ; 
 Their rough hands smooth'd his tangled hair. 
 
 With gore and dust defiled,
 
 81 1 THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 Softly, as watching mothers stroke 
 
 The locks of a sleeping child ; 
 Then they laid his head, where it loved to rest, 
 
 In the hollow of his shield, 
 And the grey dawn's first struggling rays 
 Lighted upon the rigid face, 
 As they bare him from the field.
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 Stilly above the Seven-hill'd Town, 
 
 Broodeth a sultry noon, 
 Pillar and cornice shimmer white 
 
 In the glowing smile of June. 
 'Twas but yestreen,— the sky was dark, 
 
 With thunder-clouds and rain, — 
 When Manlius, up the Sacred Road, 
 
 Pass'd with triumphal train; 
 There was a gloom, too, on the faces 
 
 Of the dumb and sullen crowd, 
 And the comrades of his murder'd son 
 
 Forbore not curses loud : 
 Never hath Roman festal 
 
 Boasted so scant display ; 
 There are more to swell the triumph 
 
 That the Dead must lead to-day ! 
 
 G
 
 82 THE LEGEND OP DECIUS. 
 
 Manhood, and age, and childhood, 
 
 From far and near have come, 
 None, save their Household Gods, are left 
 
 To guard the hearths of Home. 
 With heads bent low, his kinsmen go, 
 
 Behind him one by one ; 
 Before they bear the limnings 
 
 Of the deeds that he hath done, 
 With trophies gay and numberless 
 
 Of the battles he hath won : 
 The civic and the mural crown 
 They bind around his brow, 
 And sadly suit the sere oak-leaves 
 With the wither'd cheek below. 
 When the breeze lifts the sagum, ( 31 ) 
 
 And bares his breast to view, 
 Lo ! where the ancient gashes 
 Are mingling whir the new; 
 They are plain to read those records, 
 
 Of what for Rome he bore : 
 With twice ten wounds the corse is mark'd, 
 And every wound before.
 
 THE PUNEHAL. 83 
 
 So, ever as the train pass'd on, 
 
 Green laurel-leaves and flowers 
 From window, door, and house-top, 
 
 On the bier came down in showers : 
 But onward, still, wound slowly 
 
 The long array of cars, 
 Till their steps they staid, where the pyre was laid, 
 
 In the great Field of Mars. 
 
 The while, Volumnia spake no word, 
 Nor sob, nor breath, her vesture stirr'd, 
 
 She stood some space apart, 
 Rigid as marble master-piece 
 
 Of Attic graver's art ; 
 Out spoke Csecina's haughty wife — 
 
 (Of the Claudian blood she came, 
 While others marvell'd silently, 
 
 She only dar'd to blame) : — 
 
 " Now by the great Matuta^ 32 ) 
 " I hold it sin and shame,
 
 84 THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 " That, while there's grief at all our hearts, 
 
 " And tears in ev'ry eye, 
 " The mother of the dead should stand 
 
 " Tearless, and careless by." 
 
 Slow was the hand, and never shook, 
 
 That raised the mourner's veil ; 
 The thousand eyes that met her gaze, 
 Of ruth, or weakness, found no trace ; 
 Tho' never yet hath living face, 
 
 Been seen so deathly pale ; 
 Her oldest friends knew not her voice, 
 
 So alter'd it had grown, — 
 Words cannot tell the dreariness 
 
 Of the shrill, uncertain tone, 
 Most like the wail of winds, at night, 
 
 Thro' clefts of mouldering stone : — 
 
 " There's iron in our blood, men say, 
 " Who boast the Sergian line,
 
 
 THE FUNERAL. S5 
 
 " Rome's Annals knew it long before 
 
 "The Exile C 33 ) founded thine. 
 " We keep the She-wolf's nature yet, 
 " And when the toils are round us set, 
 
 " Die without howl or whine. 
 " I tell thee this, when Decius writhed 
 
 " In the agony of death, 
 " He felt no sharper pang than mine, 
 
 " "When my travail gave him breath. 
 " Speak out, I charge thee, Claudia ! 
 
 " Wast thou not standing by ? 
 " Did all the pains that rent me, then, 
 
 " Force from my breast one cry ? 
 " Albeit mine eyes in torture burn'd, 
 
 " They would not shed a tear, 
 " When Heaven had listen'd to our vows, 
 
 " And given our House an heir. 
 "But, when Lucina( 34 ) would have claim'd 
 
 " The groans she holds her due, 
 " I clench'd my hands, till the blood sprung out, 
 " And bit my closed lips through ;
 
 86 THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 " And in this sharper trial, 
 
 " It shall be even so, 
 "No pomp of noisy grief from me 
 
 " Shall grace your funeral show. 
 " How 1 lov'd him, how I mourn him, 
 
 " The great Gods know and see ; 
 " But the tale of my heart's bitterness 
 
 " Is not for such as ye." 
 
 Her fierce glance challenged a reply, 
 
 But answer came there none ; 
 As from some ghastly shape that walks 
 
 Thro' grave-yards dark and lone, 
 The crowd shrank backward from her path, 
 
 Spell-bound till she was gone. 
 Then, as the rite demauded, 
 
 With head averted came, 
 The Gentile t 35 ) that was next of blood, 
 
 And to the pile set flame ; 
 The Veterans cast their offerings, 
 
 As they circled round the pyre, 
 Garlands of bays, incense, and arms, 
 
 With store of rich attire,
 
 THE FUNERAL. 87 
 
 And gems that flash'd with a changeful light, 
 
 In the heart of the rising fire : 
 It's hot breath, for an instant, fann'd 
 
 The loose locks of the Dead, 
 And a crimson tinge, of life-like hue, 
 
 On the livid cheek was shed: 
 Then rising quick and hungrily, 
 
 Wit h a rustle and a roar, 
 The Fire-God, wolf-like, clutch'd his prey 
 
 The mourners looked no more. 
 The funeral chorus yet remain'd 
 
 Before the rites were done, 
 It rose upon the summer air 
 
 In solemn monotone, 
 And double flutes chimed in the while 
 
 With deep diapason. 
 
 " Dost hear us, parted Spirit, 
 " Or comes our dirge too late ? 
 
 " For, sounds of earth but faintly pass 
 " Elysium's ivory gate,
 
 88 THE LEGEND OF DECIUS. 
 
 " Ev'n now, with kindly greeting, 
 
 " They gather to thy side, 
 " The train of ancient worthies, 
 
 " Who, for Borne, have lived and died ; 
 " They lead thee where, from life's long toil, 
 
 " Their weary limbs rest well, 
 " Where soft winds breathe eternal spring, 
 
 " And silvery fountains swell 
 " With a musical murmur o'er golden sands, 
 
 " In the meadows of asphodel. 
 " Let Latin maids and widows 
 
 " For their dead the moan prolong, 
 " Our pride shall cheek the starting tears 
 
 '' That do thy glories wrong, 
 " And with our nseuia mingle 
 
 " Clear notes of Psean-song. 
 " Not only in an hour like this 
 
 " Would we remember thee ; 
 " But, in revel and in battle-field, 
 
 " Well guard thy memory ; 
 " When we meet our foemen face to face, 
 
 " 'Twill stir our blood to flame,
 
 THE FO'EKAL. S9 
 
 " And, 'twixt the wine-cup and the lip, 
 
 " Shall rise thiae honoured name, 
 " While we pour a deep libation 
 
 " To the Tutelars of Rome ; 
 " And, another to the Fateful Three, ^) 
 " Who days so glorious wove for thee, 
 
 " Tho' they called thee early home. 
 " Yet, once more, let the double-flutes 
 
 " A deeper cadence breathe, 
 " Till the dead of thrice three thousand years 
 
 " Start from their rest beneath. 
 " thou ! whose praise, yet more than ours, 
 
 " The coming age shall tell, — 
 " Strong arm, brave heart, and subtle brain, 
 
 " Receive tins last farewell !"
 
 NOTES. 

 
 NOTES. 
 
 NYMPHOLEPTES. 
 
 (') Oread. — A mountain-nymph. 
 
 ( : ) Etna, i. — Evius was one of the many names of Bacchus 
 His devotees were called Maenads, 
 
 THE KKI.mUAIRE. 
 
 ( 3 ) The maiden myriad. — The eleven thousand Virgins, whose 
 relics are still preserved at Cologne.
 
 91 NOTES. 
 
 ( 4 ) Fairy -rings. — I suppose every one has seen the greeu 
 circles on old pasture-grounds, that are known by this title. 
 
 THE EYE OF BATTLE. 
 
 ( 5 ) The soldier's " Iron Bride." — Theodore Korner uses this 
 image throughout his " Song of the Sword." 
 
 A RUN WITH THE QUORN. 
 
 ( 6 ) The "Earl," fyc. — I hope it is not making an invidious 
 distinction to select Lord Wiltou and Mr. Osbaldestone as 
 " having the best of it" at this point. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF DPCIUS. 
 
 Q) Curia. — The senate-house.
 
 NOTES. 95 
 
 ( 8 ) Decurions. — The delegates from the different towns of the 
 confederacy, representing the " tiers etat" in the great national 
 assembly. 
 
 ( 9 ) The Lower Sea.— The Adriatic and the Gulf of Genoa 
 were called respectively the Upper and Lower Seas. 
 
 ( 10 ) Pancratiast. — The Pancratium embraced all the five 
 exercises of the Arena, and to attain its perfection was the 
 highest point of athletic excellence. 
 
 ( u ) AUia. — On the banks of this river, the Romans met with 
 their decisive defeat from the Gauls. 
 
 ( 1: ) The Fetial. — One of the priests of Mars. A preliminary 
 to hostilities was his casting a lance stained with blood over the 
 enemy's frontier. This ceremony precluded further negotiations. 
 
 ( 13 ) The Nones. — A division of the Roman calendar. Iu this 
 month ausvvering to the 5th. 
 
 ( u ) The Augurs. — Before engaging with the enemy, it was 
 customary for the augurs, or soothsayers, to consult the Fates, 
 by examining the entrails of the victims. 
 
 ( 1S ) Erhwgs.— One of the names of the Furies.
 
 90 NOTES. 
 
 ( lfi ) Sacramental. — The military oath, taken by each soldier as 
 he was eurolled, was called Sacramentum. 
 
 Q 7 ) Hastats. — The heavy-armed infantry, occupying the 
 second rank in the order of battle. 
 
 ( 1S ) " Houses." — This was the distinguishing name of the 
 Patrician families. 
 
 ( 19 ) Pontiff. — The Pontifex Maximus was the chief of the 
 Roman priestly order. 
 
 ( x ) Indigetes, Novensiles. — These deities belonged to the old 
 Pelasgian or Tyrrhenian mythology. 
 
 (- 1 ) Apidian. — This part of Italy was famous for its breed of 
 
 horses. 
 
 (") Liburnian. — The vessels, so called from the nation who 
 first employed them in piracy, were very light barques, renowned 
 for their swiftness. 
 
 ( J3 ) " The Cities." — The Latin confederacy was made up of 
 thirty principal cities. 
 
 C 24 ) Haclria, hod. the Adriatic.
 
 NOTES. 97 
 
 ( :5 ) Agnomen. — This was a title added to a person's other 
 names {nomen and cognomen), generally in consequeuce of some 
 great exploit; e.g. Manlius was called Torqnatus from his having 
 slain in single combat a gigantic Gaul, and taken from him the 
 golden iorquis, or necklet, that he wore. 
 
 ( :,; ) Mani-ples. — The small detached bodies into which the 
 Roman battalia was subdivided. 
 
 (- 7 ) Triarii — These, occupying the third rank, were a reserve, 
 composed of tried veterans, and never brought into action but at 
 the last necessity. 
 
 ( x ) Euroclydon. — The north-east wind. 
 
 P) Unannealed. — Before their funeral rites were performed, 
 the spirits of the dead were not allowed to cross the Stygian ferry. 
 
 (?°) Friendships old. — The Romans and Latins, while allied, 
 had often served in the same army, and on this occasion, Livy 
 tells us, that, while standing opposed to each other in battle 
 array, many knew the faces of their ancient comrades, and saluted 
 them by their names. 
 
 ( 3I ) Sagum. — Military cloak. 
 
 H
 
 98 NOTES. 
 
 ( 32 ) Matuia. — One of the names of Juno, under which she 
 was specially worshipped by the Roman matrons. 
 
 (f 3 ) The Exile. — The Claudian family was founded, some time 
 after the building of the City, by Attus Clausus, a Sabine exile. 
 
 Q*) Lueina. — The goddess presiding over accouchemens. 
 
 ( 3S ) The Gentile. — The blood-relations belonging to the same 
 " family," or gens, were called Gentiles. 
 
 C 6 ) The Fateful Three— The Parca; who, like the " Valkhyr" 
 of Scandinavian mythology, were supposed to weave the web of 
 every mortal's destiny. 
 
 [I will take the opportunity of this last note to apologize for 
 having, in " Decius," annotated things that every " fourth-form" 
 boy knows by heart. My only reason is the hope, that few of 
 my fair readers will be "so 'deeply, darkly, beautifully blue," as 
 not to require such aid.] 
 
 THE END. 
 
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