$B 30fl EM7 The Laurel Speaker FoR^ Boys '* Bear up, my brave comrades ; three days shall decide." — Page 114 THE Laurel Speaker HEROIC CLASSIC VERSE FOR BOYS NELW YORK MGLOUGHLIN BROTHERS Copyright, icx^ by McLouGHLiN Bros., New York, EDUCATION DEPT^ CONTENTS PAGE The Love of Country 7 Rocks of My Country 8 My Father's Sword 9 Bannockburn 10 The Old Continentals 12 Fall of Warsaw, 1794* 14« The Battle of Hohenlinden, 1800 17 Song of Marion's Men 18 Philip Van Artevelde to the Men of Ghent . . 21 Wat Tyler's Address to the King 24* The Soldier's Dream 26 General Scott and the Veteran 27 The Color-Bearer 31 The Picket-Guard 33 The Charge of the Light Brigade S6 The Death Ride 38 The Bayonet Charge 40 The Bon Homme Richard 43 Clear the Way 48 The Soldier From Bingen 50 Sheridan's Ride 55 Burial of the Minnisink 5S Only A Stable Boy 60 Paul Revere's Ride 62 How They Brought the Good News From Ghent TO Aix 67 The O'Kavanagh 71 The Death of Marmion 74 "Stonewall Jackson's Way" 76 Kearney at Seven Pines . 78 "The Brigade Must Not Know, Sir!" .... 80 The Bonnets of Bonny Dundee, 1689 .... 82 The Dandy Fifth 86 The Famine 90 Fate of Charles the Twelfth 97 3 ivi69834 4 CONTENTS The True King QQ Incident of the French Camp 100 William Tell Describes His Escape 102 The Burial of Sir John Moore 104 The Cavalier's Escape 105 Richelieu and France 107 Cromwell on the Death of Charles the First . 109 The Glove Ill Three Days in the Life of Columbus 114 Destruction of the Philistines 119 The Fireman 124 A Border Ballad 126 Danny Deever 129 A Ballad of Athlone ; or How They Broke Down the Bridge 131 The Dying Gladiator 133 George Nidiver 134 Silver-Shoe 137 jMazeppa's Ride 141 moncontour 153 William Tell Among the Mountains . . . . . 154 The Execution of Montrose 156 Screw Guns 159 A Cavalry Song l62 Kosciusko and Poland l63 The Private of the Buffs . . 164 The Soldier's Return l66 The Charge at Waterloo 168 The March to Moscow 170 The Lord of Butrago 174 The Broadswords of Scotland 176 Balaklava 178 The Last Buccanier 182 Lock the Door, Lariston 185 Officers Did It All 187 Monterey 189 MacGregors Gathering 190 Bivouac of the Dead 192 ^ Blessings be with them, and eternal praise Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares— The poets who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays ! ■—Wordsworth. t^ ^ 4 THE LOVE OF COUNTRY. SIR WALTER SCOTT. Breathes there a man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, "This is my own, my native land"? Whose heart hath ne'er within his burned As home his footsteps he hath turned. From wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go, mark him well For him no minstrel raptures swell ! High though his titles, proud his name Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf. The wretch concentred all in self Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 8 THE LAUREL SPEAKER ROCKS OF MY COUNTRY. MRS. HEMA'NS. Ilocks of my country! let the cloud your crested heights array, And rise ye, like a fortress proud, above the surge and spray! My spirit greets you as ye stand, breasting the billow's foam: 1 thus forever guard the land, the severed Land of Home ! I have left rich blue SKies behind, lighting up classic shrines. And music in the southern wind, and sunshine on the vines. The breathings of the myrtle-flowers have floated o'er my way, The pilgrim's voice, at vesper-hours, hath soothed me with its lay. The Isles of Greece, the Hills of Spain, the purple Heavens of Rome, Yes, all are glorious; — yet again I bless thee. Land of Home! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 9 For thine the Sabbath peace, my land! and thine the guarded hearth, And thine the dead, the noble band, that make thee holy earth. Their voices meet me in thy breeze, their steps are on thy plains ; Their names by old majestic trees are whispered round thy fanes. Their blood hath mingled with the tide of thine exulting sea; O ! be it still a joy, a pride, to live and die for thee! MY FATHER'S SWORD. THOS. HAYNES BAYLY. My father's sword upon the wall Has slumbered since his death ; Oh, give it me, for now 'tis time To throw away the sheath. ,Too long I've been content to wear The laurels that he won ; Give me the sword — and it shall gain New laurels for his son ! IC THE LAUREL SPEAKER My father's sword ! Oh, blame me not, Though tears bedew the steel ; Though nerveless now may fall my arm. It is not fear I feel. I weep to think how oft his hand Hath laid aside that sword. While he hath stoop'd to kiss my brow. And breathe some gentle word. My father^s sword! — this silken knot My own dear mother wove. Take hence the weapon — let it grace The halls she used to love. Give me another, — if my prayer In after years be heard — It shall not be unfit to hang Beside my father's sword. BANNOCKBURN. ROBERT BURNS. Bruce* s Address to His Army. Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victorie. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 11 Now's the day, and now's the hour, See the front o' battle lour ; See approach proud Edward's power — Edward ! chains and slaverie. Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee, Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sw^ord will strongly draw. Freeman stand or freeman fa' ; Caledonian! on wi' me! By oppression's woes and pains! By your sons in servile chains, We will drain our dearest veins. But they shall, — they shall be free ! Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow! Forward! let us do, or die! 12 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE OLD CONTINENTALS. GUY HUMPHREY MCMASTER. In their ragged regimentals Stood the old Continentals, Yielding not, When the Grenadiers were lunging, And Hke hail fell the plunging Cannon-shot : When the files Of the isles, From the smoky night encampment, bore the ban- ner of the rampant Unicorn, And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll of the drummer. Through the morn ! Then with eyes to the front all. And with guns horizontal, Stood our sires ; And the balls whistled deadly. And in streams flashing redly Blazed the fires ; As the roar On the shore, THE LAUREL SPEAKER 13 Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green- sodded acres Of the plain; And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder, Cracking amain ! Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red St. George's Cannoniers ; And the "villainous saltpetre" Rang a fierce, discordant metre Round their ears ; As the swift Storm-drift, With hot sweeping anger, came the horse-guards' clangor On our flanks. Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old- fashioned fire Through the ranks ! Then the old-fashioned Colonel Galloped through the white infernal Powder-cloud; And his broad sword was swinging, 14 THE LAUREL SPEAKER And his brazen throat was ringing Trumpet loud. Then the blue Bullets flew, And the trooper- jackets redden at the touch of the leaden Rifle-breath. And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-pounder. Hurling death! FALL OF WARSAW. 1794 THOMAS CAMPBELL. O! sacred Truth! thy triumph ceased a while. And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars Her whiskered pandours and her fierce hussars Waved her dread standard to the breeze of mom, Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn: Timiultuous horror brooded o'er her van. Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 15 Warsaw's last champion from her heights sur- veyed Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid — O Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save! Is there no hand on high to shield the brave? Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains. Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! By that dread name, we wave the sword on high. And swear for her to live ! — with her to die ! He said ; and on the rampart heights arrayed His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed ; Firm paced and slow, a horrid front they form, Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly.- ''Revenge, or death!" — the watchword and reply; Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm! In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew, — O ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe. Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career. 16 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Hope for a season, bade the world. farewell, And Freedom shrieked, as Kosciusko fell! O righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave. Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save? Where was thine arm, O vengeance! where thj^ rod. That smote the foes of Sion and of God? Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled I Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone. And make her arm puissant as your own ! O ! once again to Freedom's cause return : The patriot Tell, — the Bruce of Bannockburn. Yes, thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see That man hath yet a soul, — and dare be free ! A little while, along thy saddening plains, The starless night of Desolation reigns ; Truth shall restore the light by Nature given. And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven ! Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled. Her name, her nature, withered from the world I THE LAUREL SPEAKER 17 THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN, 1800. THOMAS CAMPBELL. On Linden when the 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 warrior drew his battle-blade. And furious every charger neighed, To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steeds 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. 18 THE LAUREL SPEAKER And darker yet shall be the flow Of Iser rolling rapidly. 'T is morn; but scarce yon lurid sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, While furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich, all thy banners w ave And charge with all thy chivalry. Ah! few shall part where many meet. The snow shall be their winding-sheet. Arid every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. SONG OF MARION'S MEN. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. Our band is few, but true and tried. Our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 19 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 arms 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. 20 THE LAUREL SPEAKER 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. » Well knows the fair and friendly moon The band that Marion leads — The glitter of their rifles. The scampering of their steeds. 'T is life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain; 'T is 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, THE LAUREL SPEAKER . 21 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. PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE TO THE MEN OF GHENT. HENRY TAYLOR. Sirs, ye have heard these knights discourse to you Of your ill fortunes, telling on their fingers The worthy leaders ye have lately lost. True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs ; And ill would it become us to make light Of the great loss we suffer by their fall They died like heroes ; for no recreant step Had e'er dishonored them, no stain of fear. No base despair, no cowardly recoil. They had the hearts of freemen to the last. And the free blood that bounded in their veins 22 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Was shed for freedom with a Uberal joy. But had they guessed, or could they but have dreamed, The great examples which they died to show Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here, That men should say, "For liberty these died, Wherefore let us be slaves," — had they thought this. O, then, with what an agony of shame. Their blushing faces buried in the dust. Had their great spirits parted hence for Heaven! What ! shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth To write, that in five bodies were contained The sole brave hearts of Ghent! which five de- funct. The heartless town, by brainless counsel led, Delivered up her keys, stript oif her robes. And so with all humility besought Her haughty Lord that he would scourge her lightly? It shall not be — no, verily ! for now, Thus looking on you as ye stand before me, Mine eye can single out full many a man Who lacks but opportunity to shine As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell. But, lo! the Earl is ''mercifully minded!" THE LAUREL SPEAKER 23 And, surely, if we, rather than revenge The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame, And fall upon our knees, and say we've sinned. Then will my Lord the Earl have mercy on us, And pardon us our strike for liberty ! O, Sirs! look round you, lest ye be deceived. Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue, Forgiveness may be written with the pen. But think not that the parchment and mouth pardon Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart. There's that betwixt you been which men remem- ber. Till they forget themselves, till all 's forgot, — Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed From which no morrow's mischief rouses them. There's that betwixt you been which you your- selves. Should ye forget, would then not be yourselves ; For must it not be thought some base men's souls Have ta'en the seats of yours and turned you out. If, in the coldness of a craven heart, Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes ! 24 THE LAUREL SPEAKER WAT TYLER'S ADDRESS TO THE KING. ROBERT SOUTHEY. King of England, Petitioning for pity is most weak, — The sovereign People ought to demand justice. I lead them here against the Lord's anointed, Because his Ministers have made him odious! His yoke is heavy, and his burden grievous. Why do ye carry on this fatal war. To force upon the French a King they hate ; Tearing our young men from their peaceful homes. Forcing his hard-earned fruits from the honest peasant. Distressing us to desolate our neighbors? Why is this ruinous poll-tax imposed. But to support your Court's extravagance. And your mad title to the Crown of France? Shall we sit tamely down beneath these evils,' Petitioning for pity? King of England, Why are we sold like cattle in your markets, Deprived of every privilege of man? Must we lie tamely at our tyrant's feet. And, like your spaniels, lick the hand that beats us? A ^lonuMit in the British cam}) — A moment — and away. — Pa oe 50. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 25 You sit at ease in your gay palaces: The costly banquet courts your appetite; Sweet music soothes your slumbers : we, the while, Scarce by hard toil can earn a little food, And sleep scarce sheltered from the cold night wind; Whilst your wild projects wrest the little from us Which might have cheered the wintry hours of age! The Parliament forever asks more money; We toil and sweat for money for your taxes ; Where is the benefit, — ^what good reap we From all the counsels of your government? Think you that we should quarrel with the French? What boots to us your victories, your glory? We pay, we fight, — you profit at your ease! Do you not claim the country as your own? Do you not call the venison of the forest. The birds of Heaven, your own? — prohibiting us. Even though in want of food, to seize the prey Which Nature offers? King! is all this just? Think you we do not feel the wrongs we suffer? The hour of retribution is at hand, And tyrants tremble, — mark me, King of England. 26 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. THOMAS CAMPBELL. Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground over- powered, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain. At the dead of night a sweet vision I saw. And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again. Methought, from the battlefield's dreadful array. Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track ; ^Twas autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft. And knew the sweet strain that the corn- reapers sung. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 27 Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. "Stay, stay with us, — rest, thou art weary and worn!" And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay. But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn. And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. GENERAL SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. BAYARD TAYLOR. An old and crippled veteran to the War Depart- ment came. He sought the Chief who led him, on many a field of fame: The Chief who shouted, ^'Forward !" where'er his banner rose, And bore his stars in triumph behind the flying foes. 28 THE LAUREL SPEAKER "Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried, "The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your side? Have you forgotten Johnson, that fought at Lundy's Lane? 'Tis true, I'm old, and pensioned, but I want to fight again." "Have I forgotten?" said the Chief, "my brave old soldier, No! And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so; But you have done your share, my friend ; you're crippled, old, and gray. And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day." "But, General!" cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, "The very men who fought with us, they say, are traitors now; They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old red, white, and blue. And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 29 I'm not so weak but I can strike, and IVe a good old gun To get the range of traitors' hearts, and pick them one by one. Your Minie rifles, and such arms, it a'n't worth while to try ; I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my powder dry!" "God bless you, comrade!" said the Chief — "God bless your loyal heart ! But younger men are in the field, and claim to have their part. They'll plant our sacred banner in each rebellious town. And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it down!" "But, General," — still persisting — the weeping veteran cried, "I am young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide. And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that, at least, can I ; So, give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die ! 30 THE LAUREL SPEAKER If they should fire on Pickens, let the Colonel in command Put me upon the rampart, with the flag-staff in my hand; No odds how hot the cannon smoke, or how the shells may fly, I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die! I'm ready. General, so you let a post to me be given. Where Washington can see me, as he looks from highest Heaven, And says to Putnam, at his side, or, may be. General Wayne, 'There stands old Billy Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane!' And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors When shell and ball are screeching, and bursting in the sky. If any shot should hit me, and lay me on my face. My soul would go to Washington's, and not to Arnold's place!" THE LAUREL SPEAKER 31 THE COLOR-BEARER. HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL. Let them go ! — they are brave, I know — But a berth Hke this, why it suits me best; I can't carry back the Old Colors to-day. We've come together a long rough way — Here's as good a spot as any to rest. No look, I reckon, to hold them long; So here, in the turf, with my bayonet. To dig for a bit, and plant them strong — (Look out for the point^ — ^we may want it yet!) Dry work! but the old canteen holds fast A few drops of water — not over- fresh — So, for a drink ! — it may be the last — My respects to you, Mr. Secesh! No great show for the snakes to sight : Oiu- boys keep 'em busy yet, by the powers! — Hark, what a row going on, to the Right ! Better luck there, I hope, than ours. Half an hour! — (and you'd swear 't was three) — Here by the bully old staff, I've sat — Long enough, as it seems to me. To lose as many lives as a cat. 32 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Now and then, they sputter away ; A puff and a crack, and I hear the ball. Mighty poor shooting, I should say — Not bad fellows, may be, after all. My chance, of course, isn't worth a dime — But I thought, 'twould be over, sudden and quick ; Well, since it seems that we're not on time. Here's for a touch of the Kilikinick. Cool as a clock ! — and, what is strange — Out of this dream of death and alarm, (This wild hard week of battle and change) — Out of the rifle's deadly range — My thoughts are all at the dear old farm. 'Tis green as a sward, by this, I know — The orchard is just beginning to set, They mowed the home-lot a week ago — The corn must be late, for that piece is wet. I can think of one or two, that would wipe A drop or so from a soft blue eye, To see me sit, and puff at my pipe, With a hundred death's heads grinning hard by- All quiet along the Potomac." — Page 35. THE LAUREL SPEAKER Si And I wonder, when this has all passed o er, And the tattered old stars in triumph wave on Through street and square, with welcoming roar, If ever they'll think of us who are gone? How we marched together, sound or sick. Sank in the trench o'er the heavy spade — How we charged on the guns, at double-quick — Kept rank for Death to choose and pick — And lay on the bed no fair hands made. Ah, well! at last, when the Nation's free. And flags are flapping from bluff* to bay, In old St. Lou, what a time there'll be! I mayn't be there, the Hurrah to see — But if the Old Rag goes back to-day. They never shall say 'twas carried by me! THE PICKET-GUARD. MRS. ETHEL LYNN BEERS. "All quiet along the Potomac," they say, "Except now and then a stray picket Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 34 THE LAUREL SPEAKER 'T is nothing : a private or two, now and then, Will not count in the news of battle; Not an officer lost, — only one of the men. Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle." All quiet along the Potomac to-night. Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon, Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind Through the forest leaves softly is creeping; While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep guard, — for the army is sleeping. There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread As he tramps from the rock to the fountain. And he thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed. Far away in the cot on the mountain. His musket falls slack ; his face, dark and grim. Grows gentle with memories tender. As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, For their mother, — may Heaven defend her! The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, That night when the love yet unspoken THE LAUREL SPEAKER 35 Leaped up to his lips, — ^when low, murmured vows Were pledged to be ever unbroken ; Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are welling, And gathers his gun closer up to its place. As if to keep down the heart-swelling. He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree, — The footstep is lagging and weary; Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, Toward the shades of the forest so dreary. Hark! was it the night- wind that rustled the leaves? Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing? It looked like a rifle: "Ha! Mary, good by!" And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. All quiet along the Potomac to-night — No sound save the rush of the river ; While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead — • The picket's off^ duty forever. 36 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. ALFRED TEISTNYSON. Half a league, half a league. Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. * 'Forward the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" he said. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade!" Was there a man dismayed? Not though the soldier 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 Volleyed and thundered ; THE LAUREL SPEAKER 37 Stormed at with shot and shell. Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. Flashed all their sabres bare. Flashed as they turned in air. Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered. Plunged in the battery-smoke Right through the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. Then they rode back, but not, Not the six hundred. Cannon to rignt of them. Cannon to left of them. Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell. While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well 38 THE LAUREL SPEAKER 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 I All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made! Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred! THE DEATH RIDE. A Poem by an American Youth That Preceded Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade." — From the New York Times Saturday Review of Books, On o'er the rocky ground. Cannon on all sides round Belcliing forth death and wound. Madly they rode! On ! like a Demon-blast, Thundering and fierce and fast, Fear to the winds they cast. Needing no goad! THE LAUREL SPEAKER J9 On! through the rocky dell! On! through the cannon's hell! On ! though by heaps they fell, Dying and dead! On with a whirlwind's leap ! Down on the Russ they sweep ! Madly their swords they steep Where the foe bled ! On without stop or stay, Cleaving their bloody way Through that immense array, Through to the rear! **Well done, my gallant men! Halt and return again — On! and charge boldly then, Who feels a fear?" Back! through the serried rank Closing around their flank — Deeply their red blades drank Blood shed anew ! Back! through that iron hail! Back! through that hollow vale! 40 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Back ! through that deadly dale ! Scattered and few! Long shall the memory last Of that fierce ride and fast, When through the carnage past England's brave sons. Centuries hence shall tell How, in that fatal dell. Riding to death they fell. Heroic ones! THE BAYONET CHARGE. NATHAN D. URNER. Not a sound, not a breath ! And as still as death. As we stand on the steep in our bayonet's shine : All is tumult below — Surging friend, surging foe ; But, not a hair's breadth moves our adamant Une : Waiting so grimly. ^ .? 1 1 ^vs^ ^^^^, . 1 1 1 X ■1 1 1 ^Kls ?^'^^^ 1 / 1 H m -1 ^^p- i 1 i H 1 ^^^^^^^^^f M 1 ^1 ^H kj ^^V^ 1 ^1 ^H ^^1 ^^ ^^R\ [^H ^^^1 ^H^l - ^^Mg ^^^ f^^ ^^^^^fe ^^1 ^^^H ^^^^H "*^^ff .^'' :^H S^^^^^P' ^H ^^^1 ^^^H ^ ^"^fc "^ Si ^Bi B^^^E^ 1 1 ^^m 1 K s<^ 1 1 1 'm i r ■m ' THE LAUREL SPEAKER 41 The battle smoke lifts From the valley, and drifts Romid the hill where we stand, like a pall for the world; And a gleam now and then Shows the billows of men, In whose black, boiling surge we are soon to be hm'led. Redly and dimly. There's the word! "Ready all!" See the serried points fall — The grim horizontal so bright and so bare ! Then the other word — Ha ! We are moving! Huzza! We snufF the burnt powder, we plunge in the glare, Rushing to glory! Down the hill, up the glen. O'er the bodies of men. Then on with a cheer to the roaring redoubt! Why stumble so, Ned? No answer: he's dead! And there's Dutch Peter down, with his life leap- ing out. Crimson and gory ! 42 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Onion! Do not think Of the falling ; but drink Of the mad, living cataract torrent of war ! On ! on ! let them feel The cold vengeance of steel! Catch the Captain — ^he's hit! 'Tis a scratch — nothing more! Forward forever ! Huzza ! Here's a trench ! In and out of it ! Wrench From the jaws of the cannon the guerdon of Fame! Charge! charge! with a yell Like the shriek of a shell — O'er the abatis, on through the curtain of flame ! Back again! Never! The rampart! 'Tis crossed — It is ours ! It is lost ! No — another dash now and the glacis is won! Huzza ! What a dust ! Hew them down. Cut and thrust! A T-i-g-a-r ! brave lads, for the red work is done — Victory! Victory! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 43 THE BON HOMME RICHARD. WILLIAM HURD HILLYER. [Dedicated to Atlanta Chapter, D. A. R,] 'Twas on a blue September day Just thrilled by waking dreams of frost, When our five vessels made their way Northward along the Scottish coast; The Bon Homme Richard staunch and true — Deep-scarred in desperate battle scenes — The Alliance with her craven crew ; Three frigates, manned with French marines We saw them whiten through the mist, The tempting, blossoming British sails, Fair men-of-war pledged to resist All spoilers of the merchant's bales. And closely huddled near them moved The fenceless freight-ships, laden all With wealth that ere the day's end proved But trophies for the Brine-King's hall. ** About ship!" came the order clear; The blocks went clattering up the mast. We knew that there was battle near, — A glorious day, perchance our last. 44 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Loud spake our flag-ship's challenge gun: Dull boomed the answer of the foe : We saw the tiny figures run About their high decks, to and fro. We bore down on them then; and they, Two full-rigged warriors of the line, Swung out majestic for the fray. The salt air warmed our throats Hke wine; We thirsted for the danger draught Yet trembled when it reached our lips. Our drumming pulses as we quaffed Throbbed even to our finger-tips. Our forward guns wrought merrier flame As near and nearer drew their mark. Foremost the dread Serapis came Her broad hull standing huge and dark. Leeward, with muttered threatenings dire, Her sister-ship, the Countess, made. Both showed fierce waist-lines fringed with fire Of their continuous cannonade. "Our broadside batteries are no more!" It was the bold Mayrant who spake. "What of it? They've but forty-four, And we have thirty-one, to wake THE LAUREL SPEAKER 45 His starboard, port and forward eyes : We have our sweet twelve-pounders still!" Dauntless our commodore replies, "And we can conquer, if we will!" Now scarce a ship's length lies between The Bon Homme Richard and the foe, Down in that narrowing gulf of green The splintered currents whirl and flow. "Steady ! We'll heave his mainmast yet !" Our long-nine chorus thunders high; The timbers moan, the decks are wet With blood of men who dared to die Our gunners paused with pallid lips And gazed at that menacing prow: A silence settled on both ships. "Ah, God in Heaven! they have us now!" We passed from man to man the word. As Death upon our broadside bore. "Fire, lads! the day is won!" we heard The voice of our own commodore. His wheel went over with such ease As on some feathery pleasure craft Skilled yachtsman taunts the harmless breeze. "Not yet, my British lads!" he laughed. 46 THE LAUREL SPEAKER With canvas full, the Richard swung Alongside, ere the foe could turn: Our men with grappling irons hung Ready to seize and board, or burn. The Britisher sheers oif , and stands Filling and yawing in dismay, Moved swiftly as by hidden hands The Richard makes one masterplay ; For, as the foe cracks on and crowds All sail with new redoubled rage, Lo! silently our mizzen shrouds His forward anchor fast engage. One daring Britisher now tries To cut the fatal link ; in vain — Hatchet in hand he falls, and dies; And after him twice seven are slain; While, — in one wreck-betangled space The two ships aimlessly revolve. Hard locked in that last firm embrace That Death — Death only — must dissolve. Slowly the Richard sinks ; his side Yawning with many a mortal wound. Where — through the hateful, greenish tide Comes pouring in with hollow sound. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 47 But see! the Alliance joins the fray; — Our men respond with lusty cheer, — Her coward captain turns away, And out of gunshot hugs his fear. "Fight on, my lads ! Down with that mast ! Well done! You have the flames in hand? Gkx)d! if the sea comes in too fast — " (This was the commodore's command) "Look that you save it for the fire." He glances up; where, undismayed. Midshipman Fanning high and higher Carries one flickering hand-grenade : And as he flings — "God speed it!" cries. Beneath his breath, our commodore. It curves — it strikes the mark, and lies Quick-stuttering for its final roar. The deck heaved skyward ; and our men Swarmed to the British craft; but lo! Scarce had we raised our colors, when We watched the sinking Richard go, Anchor and all, with headlong dip And horrid whirl, round which we spun Till Pallas, our brave sister-ship. Announced the prize she, too, had won. 48 THE LAUREL SPEAKER But 'round that whirlpool, dark and dread, Like thoughts that rise in troubled sleep, The spirits of the heroes dead Came bubbling through the solemn deep. Oh, he must be bold, and he must be brave Who dared with the Richard wind and wave ; 'Twas a fig for your flesh, and a snap for your bones. With the crew that sailed under John Paul Jones ! CLEAR THE WAY. CHARLES MACKAY. Men of thought! be up, and stirring Night and day : Sow the seed — withdraw the curtain- Clear the way! Men of action, aid and cheer them. As ye may ! There's a fount about to stream. There's a light about to beam. John Paul Jones on the deck of tiie lion Ilonnne Richard.— Page 43. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 49 There's a warmth about to glow. There's a flower about to blow; There's a midnight blackness changing Into gray; Men of thought and men of action, Clear the way! Once the welcome light has broken, Who shall say What the unimagined glories Of the day? .What the evil that shall perish In its ray? Aid the dawning, tongue and pen; Aid it, hopes of honest men; Aid it, paper — aid it, type — Aid it, for the hour is ripe. And our earnest must not slacken Into play; Men of thought and men of action, Clear the way! Lo! a cloud's about to vanish From the day ; And a brazen wrong to crumble Into clay. 50 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Lo! the right's about to conquer; Clear the way ! With the Right shall many more Enter smiling at the door; With the giant Wrong shall fall Many others, great and small, That for ages long have held us For their prey. Men of thought and men of action, Clear the way ! THE SOLDIER FROM BINGEN. MRS. NORTON. A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears But a comrade stood beside him, while the life- blood ebbed away. And bent with pitying glance to hear each word he had to say. The dying soldier faltered, as he took that com- rade's hand. And he said: "I never more shall see my own — my native land! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 51 Take a message and a token to the distant friends of mine, For I was born at Bingen — at Bingen on the Rhine ! ''Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vine- yard ground. That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun; And midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars. The death-wound on their gallant breasts, — ^the last of many scars ! But some were young, and suddenly beheld Life's morn decline, — And one had come from Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine. "Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age. For I was still a truant bird, that thought his home a cage ; 52 THE LAUREL SPEAKER For my father was a soldier, and, even when a child. My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild ; And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword! And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, On the cottage wall at Bingen — calm Bingen on the Rhine ! "Tell my sisters not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head. When the troops come marching home again, with glad and gallant tread ; But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye. For their brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die! And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name To listen to him kindly, without regret and shame; THE LAUREL SPEAKER 53 And to hang the old sword in its place — (my father's sword and mine), For the honor of old Bingen — dear Bingen on the Rhine! "There's another, — not a sister, — in happy days gone by. You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye; Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning, — O! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes some- times heaviest mourning! Tell her the last night of my life — (for, ere the moon be risen, My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison), — I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine On the vine-clad hills of Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine! "I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, — I heard, or seemed to hear. The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear; And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, I 54 THE LAUREL SPEAKER The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still ; And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed, with friendly talk Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remembered walk; And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly, in mine, — But we'll meet no more at Bingen — cloved Bingen on the Rhine!" His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, his gasp was childish weak. His eyes put on a dying look, — he sighed, and ceased to speak; His conGirade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled — The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land was dead! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strewn! Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine. As it shone on distant Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 55 SHERIDAN'S RIDE. THOMAS BUCHANA'N READ. Up from the south at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore. Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door. The terrible grumble and rumble and roar Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away. And wider still those billows of war, Thundered along the horizon's bar; And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, Making the blood of the listener cold As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, With Sheridan twenty miles away. But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway, leading down ; And there, through the flush of the morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night, Was seen to pass as with eagle flight. As if he knew the terrible need, He stretched away with the utmost speed; 56 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Hills rose and fell, — ^but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away. Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South, The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth ; Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster. Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. The heart of the steed, and the heart of the master, Were beating, like prisoners assaulting their walls. Impatient to be where the battle-field calls : Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away. Under his spurning feet, the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, And the landscape sped away behind, Like an ocean flying before the wind: And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire. Swept on, with his wild eyes full of fire; But lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire. He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan only five miles away. Every nerve of the cliarger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away. — Page 56. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 57 The first that the General saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops ; What was done, — ^what to do, — a glance told him both. And, striking his spurs with a terrible oath. He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzas. And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; By the flash of his eye, and his nostril's play. He seemed to the whole great army to say, **I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down, to save the day!" Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan ! Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man ! And when their statues are placed on high, Under the dome of the Union sky, — The American's soldier's Temple of Fame, — There with the glorious General's name Be it said in letters both bold and bright: "Here is the steed that saved the day By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester, — twenty miles away. 58 THE LAUREL SPEAKER BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. On sunny slope and beechen swell The shadowed light of evening fell ; And, where the maple's leaf was brown. With soft and silent lapse came down The glory that the wood receives. As sunset, in its brazen leaves. Far upward in the mellow light Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white. Around a far-uplifted cone. In the warm blush of evening shone; An image of the silver lakes By which the Indian's soul awakes. But soon a funeral hymn was heard Where the soft breath of evening stirred The tall, gray forest ; and a band Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, Came winding down beside the wave, To lay the red chief in his grave. They sang, that by his native bowers He stood, in the last moon of flowers, And thirty snows had not yet shed Their glory on the warrior's head; THE LAUREL SPEAKER 59 But, as the summer fruit decays. So died he in those naked days. A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin Covered the warrior, and within Its heavy folds the weapons, made For the hard toils of war, were laid ; The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds. And the broad belt of shells and beads. Before, a dark-haired virgin train Chanted the death-dirge of the slain ; Behind, the long procession came Of hoary men and chiefs of fame. With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief. Leading the war-horse of their chief. Stripped of his proud and martial dress, Uncurbed, imreined, and riderless. With darting eye, and nostril spread, And heavy and impatient tread. He came; and oft that eye so proud Asked for his rider in the crowd. They buried the dark chief; they freed Beside the grave his battle steed ; And swift an arrow cleaved its way To his stern heart! One piercing neigh Arose, — and, on the dead man's plain. The rider grasps his steed again. 60 THE LAUREL SPEAKER ONLY A STABLE BOY. GEORGE CROUCH. I'm only a stable boy, Sir. Never knew nothin' but horse. I but rub 'em and grub 'em and bed 'em, and have nothin' to do on the course. But say, there are horses and horses; they differ like human kind, And you know, without any one telling, When the right kind of critter you find. My horse knew his owner and trainer, he'd give them his whinny and nose When they patted and stroked him. They loved him. He knew it. That goes. But when they had trained him and timed him, they brought him back to me. And I rubbed him and grubbed him and bed him, and slept in his stall. Don't yer see? He knew little of Jock, with his jacket, who sud- denly jumped on his back, Let him loose at the post and with whip and spur had a two-minute spin on the track. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 61 When the race was off, and the mount was off, it was back to the stable yard. And he left his swell friends in the paddock; he was glad to see me, his old pard. And he'd tell me just what he wanted, What, can horses talk? Of course. You might just as well ask me can horses run or walk. They can talk wth their hoofs when they want to, talk with their eyes when they're kind. And, I hope you won't think I am joking, tiiey can talk with their ears when they're blind. Well, owner and trainer and jockey, maybe he liked them all. Think he did. But they were not in it with the boy who slept in the stall. My horse was the gamest and bravest the turf has ever seen. And whatever was good in man or horse, he was something in between. No wonder, then, that full-grown men, like owner and trainer, and I, Turned wet eyes to the wall as we stood in the stall, and saw the great Sysonby die. 62 THE LAUREL SPEAKER PAUL REVERES RIDE. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 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 row'd to the Charlestown shore. Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The muster of men at the barrack-door, THE LAUREL SPEAKER 63 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 the tower of the Old North Church, By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread. To the highest window in the w all. 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. 64 THE LAUREL SPEAKER 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 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 something 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 walk'd Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side, Now gazed at the landscape for and near. Then, impetuous, stamp'd the earth, And turn'd and tighten'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. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 65 _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. He has 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, i^ow 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 cross'd the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock. 65 THE LAUREL SPEAKER 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 pass'd, 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 thfe village clock When he came to 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. 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. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 67 From behind each fence and farmyard wall, Chasing the red-coats 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 for evermore! 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 -beats of that steed. And the midnight message of Paul Revere. HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. ROBERT BROWNING. I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; 68 THE LAUREL SPEAKER *'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 for 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 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 Mechlin church-steeple we heard the half-chime So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is timet" At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun. And against him the cattle stood black every one, THE LAUREL SPEAKER 69 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 upwards 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 stagger- ing knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. * The X in this word is not sounded. 70 THE LAUREL SPEAKER 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 gi^eet 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. 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 with- out peer ; THE LAUREL SPEAKER 71 Clapped by hands, laughed and sang, 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. THE O'KAVANAGH. J. A. SHEA. T. The Saxons had met, and the banquet was spread, And the wine in fleet circles the jubilee led; And the banners that hung round the festal that night, Seemed brighter by far tfian when lifted in fight. 72 THE LAUREL SPEAKER II. In came the O'Kavanagh, fair as the morn, When earth to new beauty and vigor is born; They shrank from his glance like the waves from the prow, For nature's nobihty sat on his brow. III. Attended alone by his vassal and bard; No trumpet to herald — no clansmen to guard — He came not attended by steed or by steel : No danger he knew, for no fear did he feel. IV. In eye and on lip his high confidence smiled — So proud, yet so knightly — so gallant, yet mild; He moved like a god through the light of that hall. And a smile, full of courtliness, proffered to all. "Come pledge us, lord chieftain! come pledge us!" they cried; Unsuspectingly free to the pledge he replied ; And this was the peace-branch O'Kavanagh bore: "The friendships to come, not the feuds that are o'er." THE LAUREL SPEAKER 73 VI. But, minstrel! why cometh a change o'er thy theme? Why sing of red battle — what dream dost thou dream? Ha! ''Treason's" the cry, and "Revenge" is the call! As the swords of the Saxon surrounded the hall. VII. A kingdom for Angelo's mind! to portray Green Erin's undaunted avenger, that day; The far-flashing sword, and the death-darting eye. Like some comet commissioned with wrath from the sky. VIII. Through the ranks of the Saxon he hewed his red way — Through lances, and sabres, and hostile array; And, mounting his charger, he left them to tell The tale of that feast, and its bloody farewell! IX. And now on the Saxons his clansmen advance. With a shout from each heart, and a soul in each lance. 74 THE LAUREL SPEAKER He rushed, like a storm, o'er the night-covered heath. And swept through their ranks, like the angel of death. X. Then hurrah! for thy glory, young chieftain, hurrah ! Oh! had we such lightning-souled heroes to-day, Again would our "Sunburst"* expand in the gale. And freedom exult o'er the green Innisfail. * Irish national banner. THE DEATH OF MARMION. SIR WALTER SCOTT. And soon straight up the hill there rode Two horsemen, drenched with gore. And in their arms, a helpless load, A wounded knight they bore. His hand still strained the broken brand, His arms were smeared with blood and sand ; Dragged from among the horses' feet, With dinted shield and helmet beat. The falcon-crest and plumage gone, — Can that be haughty Marmion? THE LAUREL SPEAKER 75 Young Blount his armor did unlace, And, gazing on his ghastly face. Said — ''By Saint George, he's gone! The spear-wound has our master sped : And see the deep cut on his head! Good-night to Marmion!" ^'Unnurtured Blount! thy bawling cease; He opes his eyes," said Eustace; "peace!" When, doffed his casque, he felt free air. Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare; "Where's Harry Blount? Fitz Eustace, where? Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare? Redeem my pennon ! — charge again ! Cry, 'Marmion to the rescue!' — Vain! Last of my race, on battle-plain That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! Must I bid twice? — hence, varlets! fly Leave Marmion here alone — to die." With fruitless labor Clara bound. And strove to stanch the gushing wound. The war, that for a space did fail. Now, trebly thundering, swelled the gale. And "Stanley!" was the cry; A light on Marmion's visage spread, And fired his glazing eye ; With dying hand, above his head 76 THE LAUREL SPEAKER He shook the fragment of his blade, And shouted, "Victory!" '^Charge, Chester, charge! On Stanley, on!' Were the last words of Marmion. ''STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY/' Come, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails. Stir up the camp-fire bright ; No matter if the canteen fails. We'll make a roaring night. Here Shenandoah brawls along. There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong. To swell the brigade's rousing song Of "Stonewall Jackson's way." We see him now — the old slouched hat Cocked o'er his eye askew. The shrewd, dry smile, the speech so pat. So calm, so blunt, so true. The "Blue-Light Elder" knows 'em well; Says he, "That's Banks — ^he's fond of shell. Lord save his soul! We'll give him" — well. That's "Stonewall Jackson's way." THE LAUREL SPEAKER 77 Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off! Old Blue-Light's going to pray. Strangle the fool that dares to scoff! Attention! it's his way. Appealing from his native sod, In forma pauperis to God — "Lay bare thine arm, stretch forth thy rod! Amen!" That's "Stonewall's way." He's in the saddle now, — Fall in ! Steady ! the whole brigade ! Hill's at the ford, cut off — we'll win His way out, ball and blade! What matter if our shoes are worn? What matter if our feet are torn? "Quick-step! we're with him before dawn!" That's "Stonewall Jackson's way." The sun's bright lances rout the mists Of morning, and, by George! Here's Longstreet struggling in the lists. Hemmed in an ugly gorge. Pope and his Yankees, whipped before, — "Bay'nets and grape!" hear Stonewall roar; "Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score!" In "Stonewall Jackson's way." 78 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Ah ! maiden, wait and watch and yearn For news of Stonewall's band! Ah! widow, read with eyes that burn That ring upon thy hand. Ah! wife, sew on, pray on, hope on! Thy life shall not be all forlorn; The foe had better ne'er been born That gets in '* Stonewall's way." KEARNEY AT SEVEN PINES, E. C. STEDMAN. So that soldierly legend is still on its journey — That story of Kearney who knew not to yield! 'Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry and Birney Against twenty thousand he rallied the field, Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest. Where the dead lay in climips through the dwarf oak and pine. Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest. No charge like Phil Kearney's along the whole line. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 79 When the battle went ill and the bravest were solemn, Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our ground, He rode down the length of the withering column And his heart at our war-cry leaped up at a bound. He snuif ed, like his charger, the wind of the powder; • His sword waved us on and we answered the sign. Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the louder — "There's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole hne!" How he strode his brown steed! how we saw his blade brighten In the one hand still left, and the reins in his teeth; He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, But a soldier's glance shot from his visor be- neath. Up came the reserves to the valley infernal. Asking where to go in, through the clearing or pine? 80 THE LAUREL SPEAKER "Oh, anywhere! Forward! 'Tis all the same, Colonel; You'll find lovely fighting along the whole line!" Oh, coil the black shroud of the night at Chantilly That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried! Foul! foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's pride. Yet we dream that he still, in that shadowy region Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drummer's sign. Rides on as of old, down the length of his legion. And the word still is, "Forward!" along the whole line. ''THE BRIGADE MUST NOT KNOW. SIRr "Who've ye got there?" — "Onlj^ a dying brother. Hurt in the front just now." "Good boy ! he'll do. Somebody tell his mother Where he was killed, and how." THE LAUREL SPEAKER 81 *'Whom have you there?" — "A crippled courier, Major, Shot by mistake, we hear. He was with Stonewall." — Cruel work they've made here; Quick with him to the rear!" "Well, who comes next?" — ^'Doctor, speak low, speak low, sir; Don't let the men find out! It's Stonewall!"— "God!"— "The brigade must not know, sir. While there's a foe about !" Whom have we here — shrouded in martial manner. Crowned with a martyr's charm? A grand dead hero, in a living banner, Born of his heart and arm : The heart whereon his cause hung — see how clingeth That banner to his bier! The arm wherewith his cause struck — hark! how ringeth His trumpet in their rear! 82 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE BONNETS OF BONNY DUNDEE. 1689. SIR WALTER SCOTT. To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se 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 bonnet of Bonny Dundee!" Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; Come saddle your horses, and call up your men ; Come open the West Port and let me gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny 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 weel quit of that deil of Dun- dee!" Come fill up my cup, S^c. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 83 As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, Ilk carline was flying and shaking her prow ; But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee, Thinking, '*Luck to thy bonnet thou Bonny Dundee." Come fill up my cup, S^c, With sour- featured Whigs the Grass-market was crammed, As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged; There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e, As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cup, 8^c. These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers; But they shrimk to close-heads and the causeway was free At the toss of the boimet of Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cup, 8^c. 84 THE LAUREL SPEAKER 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 Bonny Dundee." Come fill up my cup, S^c. The Gordon demands of him which way he goes, "Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose! Your grace in short time shall hear tidings of me, Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee." Come fill up my cup, <|c. '*There are hills beyond Pentland and lands be- yond 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 Bonny Dun- dee." Come fill up my cup, S^c. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 85 "There's brass on the target of darkened 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 Bonny Dundee." Come fill up my cup, 8^c. "Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks; Ere I own a usurper, 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 I'* Come fill up my cup, 8^c. He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown. The kettle-drums clashed and the horsemen rode on. Till (Ml Ravelston's cliif s and on Clermiston's lea Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; Come saddle the horses, and call up the men; Come open your gates, and let me gae free. For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee! 86 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE DANDY FIFTH. FRANK H. GASSAWAY. 'Twas the time of the workingmen's great strike, When all the land stood still At the sudden roar from the hungry mouths That labor could not fill ; When the thunder of the railroad ceased, And startled towns could spy A hundred blazing factories Painting each midnight sky. Through Philadelphia's surging streets Marched the brown ranks of toil. The grimy legions of the shops, The tillers of the soil ; White-faced militia-men looked on, While women shrank with dread ; 'Twas muscle against money then, — 'Twas riches against bread. Once, as the mighty mob tramped on, A carriage stopped the way. Upon the silken seat of which A young patrician lay. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 87 And as, with haughty glance, he swept Along the jeering crowd, A white-haired blacksmith in the ranks Took off his cap and bowed. That night the Labor League was met, And soon the chairman said : ''There hides a Judas in our midst. One man who bows his head, Who bends the coward's servile knee When capital rolls by." "Down with him! Kill the traitor cur!" Rang out the savage cry. Up rose the blacksmith, then, and held Erect his head of gray : "I am no traitor, though I bowed To a rich man's son to-day ; And though you kill me as I stand — As like you mean to do — I want to tell you a story short. And I ask you'll hear me through. "I was one of those who enlisted firsts The Old Flag to defend. With Pope and Hallock, with 'Mac' and Grant, I followed to the end ; 88 THE LAUREL SPEAKER And 'twas somewhere down on the Rapidan, When the Union cause looked drear, That a regiment of rich young bloods Came down to us from here. "Their uniforms were by tailors cut; They brought hampers of good wine ; And every squad had a servant, too, To keep their boots in shine ; They'd naught to say to us dusty Vets,' And, through the whole brigade, We called them the kid-gloved Dandy Fifth, When we passed them on parade. "Well, they were sent to hold a fort The Rebs tried hard to take, 'Twas the key of all our line, which naught While it held out could break. But a fearful fight we lost just then — The reserve came up too late ; And on that fort, and the Dandy Fifth, Hung the whole division's fate. "Three times we tried to take them aid. And each time back we fell. Though once we. could hear the fort's far guns Boom like a funeral knell ; TFIE LAUREL SPEAKER 89 Till at length Joe Hooker's corps came up, And then straight through we broke ; How we cheered as we saw those dandy coats Still back of the drifting smoke ! *'With the bands all front and our colors spread We swarmed up the parapet, But the sight that silenced our welcome shout I shall never in life forget. Four days before had their water gone, — They had dreaded that the most, — The next their last scant ration went. And each man looked a ghost. **As he stood, gaunt-eyed, behind his gun. Like a crippled stag at bay. And watched starvation — ^though not defeat — Draw nearer every day. Of all the Fifth, not fourscore men Could in their places stand. And their white lips told a fearful tale. As we grasped each bloodless hand. "The rest in the stupor of famine lay, ] Save here and there a few In death sat rigid against the guns, ,Grim sentinels in blue; 90 THE LAUREL SPEAKER And their Colonel, he could not speak or stir, But we saw his proud eye thrill As he simply glanced at the shot-scarred staff Where the old flag floated still! "Now, I hate the tyrants who grind us down, While the wolf snarls at our door, And the men who've risen from us — to laugh At the misery of the poor ; But I tell you, mates, while this weak old hand I have left the strength to lift. It will touch my cap to the proudest swell Who fought in the Dandy Fifth!" THE FAMINE. HENRY W^ADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. O the long and dreary Winter! O the cold and cruel Winter! Ever thicker, thicker, thicker Froze the ice on lake and river. Ever deeper, deeper, deeper Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, Fell the covering snow, and drifted Through the forest, round the village. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 91 Hardly from his buried wigwam Could the hunter force a passage; With his mittens and his snow-shoes Vainly walked he through the forest, Sought for bird or beast and found none, Saw no track of deer or rabbit, In the snow beheld no footprints. In the ghastly, gleaming forest Fell, and could not rise from weakness. Perished there from cold and hunger. O the famine and the fever ! O the wasting of the famine ! O the blasting of the fever! O the wailing of the children! O the anguish of the women ! All the earth was sick and famished; Hungry was the air around them. Hungry was the sky above them. And the hungry stars in heaven Like the eyes of wolves glared at them! Into Hiawatha's wigwam Came two other guests, as silent As the ghosts were, and as gloomy. Waited not to be invited, Did not parley at the doorway. Sat there without word of welcome In the seat of Laughing Water; 92 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Looked with haggard eyes and hollow At the face of Laughing Water. And the foremost said: "Behold me! I am Famine, Bukadawin!" And the other said: ^'Behold me! I am Fever, Ahkosewin!" And the lovely Minnehaha Shuddered as they looked upon her, Shuddered at the words they uttered, Lay down on her bed in silence. Hid her face, but made no answer; Lay there trembling, freezing, burning At the looks they cast upon her, At the fearful words they uttered. Forth into the empty forest Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ; In his heart was deadly sorrow. In his face a stonv firmness ; On his brow the sweat of anguish Started, but it froze and fell not. Wrapped in furs and armed for hunting. With his mighty bow of ash-tree. With his quiver full of arrows, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Into the vast and vacant forest On his snow-shoes strode he forward. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 93 "Gitche Manito, the Mighty!" Cried he with his face uplifted In that bitter hour of anguish, "Give your children food, O father! Give us food, or we must perish! Give me food for Minnehaha, For my dying Minnehaha!" Through the far-resounding forest. Through the forest vast and vacant Rang that cry of desolation. But there came no other answer Than the echo of his crying. Than the echo of the woodlands, ''Minnehaha! Minnehaha!" All day long roved Hiawatha In that melancholy forest. Through the shadow of whose thickets. In the pleasant days of Summer, Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, He had brought his young wife homeward From the land of the Dacotahs ; When the birds sang in the thickets, And the streamlets laughed and glistened. And the air was full of fragrance And the lovely Laughing Water Said with voice that did not tremble *'I will follow you, my husband!" 94 THE LAUREL SPEAKER In the wigwam with Nokomis, With those gloomy guests, that watched her, With the Famine and the Fever, She was lying, the Beloved, She the dying Minnehaha. ''Hark!" she said; 'I hear a rushing, Hear a roaring and a rushing, Hear the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to me from a distance!" "No, my child!" said old Nokomis, '' 'Tis the night- wind in the pine trees!" ''Look!" she said; "I see my father Standing lonely at his doorway. Beckoning to me from his wigwam In the land of the Dacotahs!" "No, my child!" said old Nokomis, " 'Tis the smoke, that waves and beckons!" "Ah!" said she, the eyes of Pauguk Glare upon me in the darkness, I can feel his icy fingers Clasping mine amid the darkness ! Hiawatha! Hiawatha!" And the desolate Hiawatha, Far away amid the forest. Miles away among the mountains, Heard that sudden cry of anguish. Heard the voice of Minnehaha THE LAUREL SPEAKER 95 Calling to him in the darkness, "Hiawatha ! Hiawatha !" Over snowfields waste and pathless Under snow-encumbered branches, Homeward hurried Hiawatha, Empty-handed, heavy-hearted. Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing: "Wahonowin! Wahonowin! Would that I had perished for you, Would that I were dead as you are ! Wahonowin! Wahonowin!" And he rushed into the wigwam, Saw the old Nokomis slowly Rocking to and fro and moaning. Saw his lovely Minnehaha Lying dead and cold before him, ' And his bursting heart within him Uttered such a cry of anguish. That the forest moaned and shuddered. That the very stars in heaven Shook and trembled with his anguish. Then he sat down, still and speechless. On the bed of Minnehaha, At the feet of Laughing Water, At those willing feet, that never More would lightly run to meet him. Never more would lightly follow. 96 THE LAUREL SPEAKER With both hands his face he covered, Seven long days and nights he sat there, As if in a swoon he sat there, Speechless, motionless, unconscious Of the daylight or the darkness. Then they buried Minnehaha ; In the snow a grave they made her, In the forest deep and darksome. Underneath the moaning hemlocks ; Clothed in her richest garments. Wrapped in her robes of ermine ; Covered her with snow, like ermine. Thus they buried Minnehaha. And at night a fire was lighted. On her grave four times was kindled. For her soul upon its journey To the Islands of the Blessed. From his doorway Hiawatha Saw it burning in the forest, Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks; From his sleepless bed uprising, From the bed of Minnehaha, Stood and watched it at the door-way, - That it might not be extinguished, Might not leave her in the darkness. "Farewell!" said he, "Minnehaha! Farewell, O my Laughing Water! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 97 All my heart is buried with you, All my thoughts go onward with you! Come not back again to labor, Come not back again to suiFer, Where the Famine and the Fever Wear the heart and waste the body. Soon my task will be completed, Soon your footsteps I shall follow To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Land of the Hereafter!" FATE OF CHARLES THE TWELFTH. SAMUEL JOHNSON. On what foundation stands the warrior's pride How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide! A frame of adamant, a soul of fire. No dangers fright him, and no labors tire ; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain ; No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, • War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field. Behold surrounding Kings their powers combine And one capitulate, and one resign 98 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain, *'Think nothing gained," he cries, ''till naught remain On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly. And all be mine beneath the Polar sky." The march begins in military state. And nations on his eye suspended wait. Stern Famine guards the solitary coast. And Winter barricades the realms of Frost; He comes — nor want nor cold his course delay; — Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day! The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands. And shows his miseries in distant lands ; Condemned a needy supplicant to wait, While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. But did not Chance at length her error mend? Did no subverted empire mark his end? Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? Or hostile millions press him to the ground? His fall was destined to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale ! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 99 THE TRUE KING. From Seneca. LEIGH HUNT. 'Tis not wealth that makes a King, Nor the purple coloring; Nor a brow that's bound with gold, Nor gate on mighty hinges rolled. The King is he, who, void of fear. Looks abroad with bosom clear; Who can tread ambition down. Nor be swayed by smile or frown; Nor for all the treasure cares. That mine conceals, or harvest wears, Or that golden sands deliver. Bosomed in a glassy river. What shall move his placid might? Not the headlong thunder-light. Nor the shapes of slaughter's trade. With onward lance, or fiery blade. Safe, with wisdom for his crown, He looks on all things calmly down, He welcomes Fate, when Fate is near Nor taints his dying breath with fear. 10« THE LAUREL SPEAKER No — ^to fear not earthly thing, This it is that makes the King; And all of us, whoe'er we be May carve us out that royalty. INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. ROBERT BROWNING. You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away. On a little moimd, Napoleon Stood, on our storming-day ; With neck thrust out, 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. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 101 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 Wa^ all but shot in two. "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; his plans 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. 102 THE LAUREL SPEAKER WILLIAM TELL DESCRIBES HIS ESCAPE. JOHANN FREDERICK YON SCHILLER. I lay on deck, fast bound with cords, disarmed, In utter hopelessness. I did not think Again to see the gladsome light of day, Nor the dear faces of my wife and children. And eyed disconsolate the waste of waters. Then we put forth upon the lake, — ^the Viceroy Rudolph der Harras, and their suite. My bow And quiver lay astern beside the helm ; And just as we had reached the corner, near The Little Axen, Heaven ordained it so. That from the Gotthardt's gorge a hurricane Swept down upon us with such headlong force. That every rower's heart within him sank. And all on board looked for a watery grave. Then heard I one of the attendant train. Turning to Gessler, in this strain accost him: "You see our danger, and your own, my lord. And that we hover on the verge of death. The boatmen there are powerless from fear, Nor are they confident what course to take; — Now, here is William Tell, a fearless man. And knows to steer with more than common skill. How if we should avail ourselves of him. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 103 In this emergency?" The Viceroy then Addressed me thus: "If thou wilt undertake To bring us through this tempest safely, Tell, I might consent to free thee from thy bonds." I answered, "Yes, my lord, with God's assistance I'll see what can be done, and help us Heaven!" On this they loosed me from my bonds, and I Stood by the helm and fairly steered along. Yet ever eyed my shooting gear askance. And kept a watchful eye upon the shore, To find some point where I might leap to land. And when I had descried a shelvin^^ crag, That jutted, smooth atop, into the lake, — I bade the men put forth their utmost might. Until we came before the shelving crag. For there, I said, the danger will be past ! Stoutly they pulled, and soon we neared the point One prayer to God for His assisting grace. And, straining every muscle, I brought round. The vessel's stern close to the rocky wall ; Then, snatching up my weapons, with a bound I swung myself upon the flattened shelf. And with my feet thrust off, with all my might, The puny bark into the hell of waters. There let it drift about, as Heaven ordains! Thus am I here, delivered from the might Of the dread storm, and man, more dreadful still. 104 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. CHARLES WOLFE. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sod with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast. Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest. With his martial cloak around him! Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead. And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed. And smoothed down his lonely pillow. That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! I swung myself upon tlie flattened shelf And with my feet thrust off, with all my might. The puny bark into the hell of waters. — Page 103. THE LAUREL SPEAKER I05 Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he'll reck if they let him sleep on, In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — But we left him alone with his glory ! THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE. 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. 106 THE LAUREL SPEAKER 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. , 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. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 107 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 villian's crown, — Clove through the rest, and flogged brave Kate, Fast, fast to Salisbury town! Pad ! pad ! they came on the level sward. Thud! thud! upon the sand, — With a gleam of swords and a burnng match, And a shaking of flag and hand ; But one long bound, and I passed the gate. Safe from the canting band. RICHELIEU AND FRANCE. E. BULWER LYTTON. My liege, your anger can recall your trust, Annul my office, spoil me of my lands. Rifle my coff*ers ; but my name, — my deeds, — Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre. Pass sentence on me, if you will ; — from Kings, Lo, I appeal to time! Be just, my liege. I found your Kingdom rent with heresies, And bristling with rebellion; — lawless nobles And breadless serfs ; England fomenting discord, Austria, her clutch on your dominion; Spain 108 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind To armed thunderbolts. The Arts lay dead ; Trade rotted in your marts; your Armies mutinous. Your Treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke Your trust, so be it! and I leave you, sole, Supremest Monarch of the mightiest realm, From Ganges to the Icebergs. Look without, — No foe not humbled! Look within, — the Arts Quit, for our schools, their old Hesperides, The golden Italy! while throughout the veins Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides Trade, the calm health of Nations! Sire, I know That men have called me cruel; — I am not; — I am just! I found France rent asunder. The rich men despots, and the poor banditti. Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple Brawls festering to rebellion; and weak laws Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. I have re-created France ; and, from the ashes Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass. Civilization, on her luminous wings, Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove! What was my art? Genius, some say; — some. Fortune; — Witchcraft, some. Not so; — ^my art was Justice! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 109 CROMWELL ON THE DEATH OF ' CHARLES THE FIRST. E. BULWER LYTTON. By what law fell King Charles? By all the laws He left us ! And I, Cromwell, here proclaim it. Sirs, let us, with a calm and sober eye. Look on the -spectre of this ghastly deed. Who spills man's blood, his shall by man be shed! 'Tis Heaven's first law; to that law we had come, None other left us. Who, then, caused the strife That crimsoned Naseby's field, and Marston's moor? It was the Stuart; — so the Stuart fell! A victim, in the pit himself had digged! He died not. Sirs, as hated Kings have died, In secret and in shade, — no eye to trace The one step from their prison to their pall; He died i' the eyes of Europe, — in the face Of the broad Heaven; amidst the sons of England, Whom he had outraged ; by a solemn sentence, Passed by a solemn Court. Does this seem guilt? You pity Charles! 'tis well; but pity more The tens of thousand honest humble men. 110 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Who, by the tyranny of Charles compelled To draw the sword, fell butchered in the field! Good Lord! when one man dies who wears a Crown, How the earth trembles, — ^how the Nations gape, Amazed and awed! — but when that one man's victims. Poor worms, unclothed in purple, daily die, In the grim cell, or on the groaning gibbet, Or on the civil field, ye pitying souls Drop not one tear from your indifferent eyes! He would have stretched his will O'er the unlimited empire of men's souls, Fettered the Earth's pure air, — for freedom is That air, to honest lips, — and here he lies. In dust most eloquent, to after time A never-silent oracle for Kings ! Was this the hand that strained within its grasp So haught a sceptre? — this the shape that wore Majesty like a garment? Spurn that clay, — It can resent not ; speak of royal crimes. And it can frown not ; — schemeless lies the brain Whose thoughts were sources of such fearful deeds. What things are we, O Lord, when, at thy will, A worm like this could shake the mighty world ! A few years since, and in the port was moored THE LAUREL SPEAKER HI A bark to far Columbia's forests bound ; And I was one of those indignant hearts Panting for exile in the thirst for freedom. Then that pale clay (poor clay, that was a King!) Forbade my parting, in the wanton pride Of vain command, and with a fated sceptre Waved back the shadow of the death to come. Here stands that baffled and forbidden wanderer, Loftiest amid the wrecks of ruined empire, Beside the coffin of a headless King! He thralled my fate, — I have prepared his doom; He made me captive, — lo! his narrow cell! So hands unseen do fashion forth the earth Of our frail schemes into our funeral urns ; So, walking dream-led in Life's sleep, our steps Move blindfold to the scaffold or the Throne! THE GLOVE. JOHANN FREDERICK VON SCHILLER. Before his lion-garden gate, The wild-beast combat to await, King Francis sate: Around him were his nobles placed. The balcony above was graced 112 THE LAUREL SPEAKER By ladies of the court, in gorgeous state: And as with his finger a sign he made, The iron grating was open laid. And with stately step and mien A lion to enter was seen. With fearful look His mane he shook, And yawning wide, Stared around him on every side; And stretched his giant limbs of strength, And laid himself down at his fearful length. And the king a second signal made, — And instant was opened wide A second gate, on the other side, From which, with fiery bound, A tiger spnmg. Wildly the wild one yelled. When the lion he beheld; And, bristKng at the look. With his tail his sides he strook, And rolled his rabid tongue. And, with glittering eye, Crept round the lion slow and shy Then, horribly howling, And grimly growling, Down by his side himself he laid. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 113 And the king another signal made The opened grating vomited then Two leopards forth from their dreadful den, — They rush on the tiger, with signs of rage. Eager the deadly fight to wage, Who, fierce, with paws uplifted stood, And the lion sprang up with an awful roar. Then were still the fearful four: And the monsters on the ground Crouched in a circle round, Greedy to taste of blood. Now, from the balcony above, A snowy hand let fall a glove : Midway between the beasts of prey, Lion and tiger, — there it lay. The winsome lady's glove ! And the Lady Kunigund, in bantering mood. Spoke to Knight Delorges, who by her stood: "If the flame which but now to me you swore Burns as strong as it did before. Go pick up my glove. Sir Knight." And he, with action quick as sight, In the horrible place did stand: And with dauntless mien. From the beasts between 114 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Took up the glove, with fearless hand; And as ladies and nobles the bold deed saw. Their breath they held, through fear and awe. The glove he brings back, composed and light. His praise was announced by voice and look. And Kunigund rose to receive the knight With a smile that promised the deed to requite ; But straight in her face he flung the glove, — "I neither desire your thanks nor love;" And from that same hour the lady forsook. THREE DAYS IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS. JEAN FRANCOIS CASMIR DELAVIGNE. On the deck stood Columbus : the ocean's expanse, Untried and unlimited, swept by his glance. *'Back to Spain!" cry his men: "Put the vessel about ! We venture no further through danger and doubt"— "Three days, and I give you a world!" he replied: "Bear up, my brave comrades; — three days shall decide." He sails, — ^but no token of land is in sight : THE LAUREL SPEAKER 115 He sails, — but the day shows no more than the night : On, onward he sails, while in vain o'er the lee The lead is plunged down through a fathomless sea. The pilot, in silence, leans mournfully o'er The rudder, which creaks mid the billowy roar: He hears the hoarse moan of the spray-driving blast. And its funeral wail through the shrouds of the mast. The stars of far Europe have sunk from the skies. And the great Southern Cross meets his terrified eyes; But, at length, the slow dawn, softly streaking the night. Illumes the blue vault with its faint crimson light. "Columbus! 'tis day, and the darkness is o'er." — "Day ! and what dost thou see?" — "Sky and ocean. No more!" The second day's past, and Columbus is sleeping, While Mutiny near him its vigil is keeping: "Shall he perish?"— "Ay ! death!" is the barbarous cry; 116 THE LAUREL SPEAKER **He must triumph to-morrow, or, perjured, must diel" Ungrateful and blind! — shall the world-linking sea, He traced for the Future, his sepulchre be? Shall that sea, on the morrow, with pitiless waves, Fling his corse on that shore which his patient eye craves? The corse of an humble adventurer, then : One day later, — Columbus, the first among men! But, hush! he is dreaming! — ^A veil on the main. At the distant horizon, is parted in twain. And now, on his dreaming eye, — rapturous sight! Fresh bursts the New World from the darkness of night ! O, vision of glory! how dazzling it seems! How glistens the verdure! how sparkle tiie streams! How blue the far mountains ! how glad the green isles ; And the earth and the ocean, how dimpled with smiles ; "Joy! joy!" cries Columbus, "this region is mine!" — Ah! not e'en its name, wondrous dreamer is thine! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 117 But, lo ! his dream changes ; — a vision less bright Comes to darken and banish that scene of delight. The gold-seeking Spaniards, a merciless band. Assail the meek natives, and ravage the land. He sees the fair palace, the temple on fire, And the peaceful Cazique, 'mid their ashes expire: He sees, too, — O, saddest! O, mournfuUest sight! The crucifix gleam in the thick of the fight. More terrible far than the merciless steel Is the uplifted cross in the red hand of Zeal! Again the dixum changes. Columbus looks forth, And a bright constellation beholds in the Njorth. 'Tis the herald of empire ! A People appear. Impatient of wrong, and unconscious of fear! They level the forest; they ransack the seas: Each zone finds their canvas unfurled to the breeze. "Hold!" Tyranny cries; but their resolute breath Sends back the reply, ^'Independence or Death!" The ploughshare they turn to a weapon of might. And, defying all odds, they go forth to the fight. They have conquered! The People, with grateful acclaim Look to Washington's guidance from Washing- ton's fame; — 118 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Behold Cincinnatus and Cato combined In his patriot heart and republican mind. O, type of true manhood ! What sceptre or crown But fades in the light of thy simple renown? And lo ! by the side of the Hero, a Sage, In Freedom's behalf, sets his mark on the age : Whom Science adoringly hails, while he wrings The lightning from Heaven, the sceptre from kings! At length, o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks, — TLand! land!" cry the sailors; "land! land!" — ^he awakes — He runs, — ^yes! behold it! — it blesseth his sight: The land! O, dear spectacle! transport! delight! O, generous sobs, which he cannot restrain! What will Ferdinand say? and the Future? and Spain? He will lay this fair land at the foot of the Throne: His King will repay all the ills he has known : In exchange for a world what are honors and gains? Or a crown? But how is he rewarded? — with chains! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 119 DESTRUCTION OF THE PHILISTINES. JOHN MILTON. Occasions drew me early to the city ; And, as the gates I entered with sunrise, The morning trumpets festival proclaimed Through each high street : little I had despatched, When all abroad was rumored that this day Samson should be brought forth, to show the People Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games. I sorrowed at his captive state, but minded Not to be absent at that spectacle. The building was a spacious theatre Half round, on two main pillars vaulted high. With seats where all the lords, and each degree Of sort, might sit, in order to behold: The other side was open, where the throng On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand: I among these aloof obscurely stood. The feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice Had filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and wine. When to their sports they turned. Immediately 120 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Was Samson as a public servant brought, In their state livery clad : before him pipes, And timbrels, — on each side went armed guards. Both horse and foot, — before him and behind, Archers, and slingers, cataphracts and spears. At sight of him, the People with a shout Rifted the air, clamoring their god with praise. Who had made their dreadful enemy their thrall. He, patient, but undaunted, where they led him, Came to the place; and what was set before him, Which without help of eye might be essayed, To heave, puU, draw or break, he still performed All with incredible, stupendous force: None daring to appear antagonist. At length, for intermission sake, they led him Between the pillars : he his guide requested ( For so from such as nearer stood we heard) , As over-tired, to let him lean a while With both his arms on those two massy pillars That to the arched roof gave main support. He, unsuspicious, led him: which when Samson Felt in his arms, with head a while inclined. And eyes fast fixed he stood, as one who prayed, Or some great matter in his mind revolved : THE LAUREL SPEAKER 121 At last with head erect, thus cried aloud: — "Hitherto, Lords, what your commands imposed I have performed, as reason was, obeying, Not without wonder or delight beheld: Now of my own accord such other trial I mean to show you of my strength, yet greater, As with amaze shall strike all who behold." This uttered, straining all his nerves, he bowed : As with the force of winds and waters pent. When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars With horrible convulsion to and fro He tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder Upon the heads of all who sat beneath, Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests, Their choice nobility and flower, not only Of this, but each Philistian city round. Met from all parts to solemnize this feast. Samson, with these inmixed, inevitably Pulled down the same destruction on himself: The vulgar only 'scaped, who stood without. 122 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE CHARGE BY THE FORD. THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH. Eighty and nine with their captain Rode on the enemy's track, Rode in the gray of the morning: Nine of the ninety came back. Slow rose the mist from the river, Lighter each moment the way ; Careless and tearless and fearless Galloped they on to the fray. Singing in tune, how the scabbards Loud on the stirrup-irons rang, Clinked as the men rose in saddle, Fell as they sank with a clang. What is it moves by the river, Jaded and weary and weak? Gray-backs — a cross on their banner — Yonder the foe whom they seek. Silence ! They see not, they hear not, Tarrying there by the marge : Forward! Draw sabre! Trot! Gallop! Charge! like a hurricane, charge!' THE LAUREL SPEAKER 123 Ah ! 'twas a man- trap infernal — Fire like the deep pit of hell! Volley on volley to meet them, Mixed with the gray rebels' yell. Ninety had ridden to battle, Tracing the enemy's track, — Ninety had ridden to battle. Nine of the ninety came back. Honor the name of tne ninety; Honor the heroes who came Scatheless from five hundred muskets. Safe from the lead-bearing flame. Eighty and one of the troopers Lie on the field of the slain — Lie on the red field of honor: Honor the nine who remain! Cold are the dead there, and gory, There where their life-blood was spilt; Back come the living, each sabre Red from the point to the hilt. 124 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Give them three cheers and a tiger! Let the flags wave as they come! Give them the blare of the trumpet! Give them the roll of the drum ! THE FIREMAN. F. S. HILL. Hark! that alarm-bell, 'mid the wintry storm! Hear the loud shout ! the rattling engines swarm. Hear that distracted mother's cry to save Her darling infant from a threatened grave! That babe who lies in sleep's light pinions bound. And dreams of heaven, while hell is raging round! Forth springs the Fireman — stay! nor tempt thy fate! — He hears not — heeds not — nay, it is too late! See how the timbers crash beneath his feet! O, which way now is left for his retreat? The roaring flames already bar his way, Like ravenous demons raging for their prey! He laughs at danger, — pauses not for rest, Till the sweet charge is folded to his breast. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 125 Now, quick brave youth, retrace your path, — but lo! A fiery gulf yawns fearfully below! One desperate leap ! — lost ! lost — the flames arise. And paint their triumph on the o'erar,ching skies! Not lost! again his tottering form appears! The applauding shouts of rapturous friends he hears ! The big drops from his manly forehead roll. And deep emotions thrill his generous soul. But struggling nature now reluctant yields; Down drops the arm the infant's face that shields. To bear the precious burden all too weak ; When, hark! — the mother's agonizing shriek! Once more he's roused, — ^his eye no longer swims. And tenfold strength reanimates his limbs; He nerves his faltering frame for one last bound, — **Your child!" he cries, and sinks upon the ground! And his reward you ask ; — reward he spurns ; For him the father's generous bosom burns, — For him on high the widow's prayer shall go, — For him the orphan's pearly tear-drop flow. His boon, — the richest e'er to mortals given, — Approving conscience, and the smile of Heaven ! 126 THE LAUREL SPEAKER A BORDER BALLAD. SIR WALTER SCOTT. March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. Many a banner spread Flutters above your head. Many a crest that is famous in story; Mount and make ready then, Sons of the mountain glen. Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory. Come from the hills where the hirsels are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and the roe ; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Trumpets are sounding, War-steeds are bounding. Stand to your arms then, and march in good order; England shall many a day Tell of the bloody fray. When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 127 THE PRESS. EBENEZER ELLIOT. God said— 'Xet there be light!" Grim darkness felt His might, And fled away : Then startled seas and mountains cold Shone forth, all bright in blue and gold, And cried—" 'Tis day! 'tis day!" "Hail, holy light!" exclaimed The thunderous cloud that flamed O'er daisies white ; And lo ! the rose, in crimson dressed. Leaned sweetly on the lily's breast. And, blushing, murmured — "Light." Then was the skylark bom ; Then rose the embattled corn; Then floods of praise Flowed o'er the sunny hills of noon; And then, in stillest night, the moon Poured forth her pensive rays. Lo, Heaven's bright bow is glad Lo, trees and flowers, all clad In glory, bloom ! 128 THE LAUREL SPEAKER And shall the immortal sons of God Be senseless as the trodden clod, And darker than the tomb? No, by the mind of man! By the swart artisan! We will aspire ! Our souls have holy light within. And every form of grief and sin Shall see and feel its fire. By all we hope of Heaven, The shroud of souls is riven 1 Mind, mind alone Is light, and hope, and life, and power! Earth's deepest night, from this blessed hour. The night of mind, — ^is gone! "The Press!" all lands shall sing; The Press, the Press we bring. All lands to bless. O, pallid Want! O, Labor stark! Behold! we bring the second ark! The Press, the Press, the Press! Forward ! Draw sabre ! Trot ! Gallop ! Charge! like a hurricane, Charge! — Page 13Q. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 129 DANNY DEEVER. RUDYARD KIPLING. "What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on- Parade. ''To turn you out, to turn you out," the Color- Sergeant said. "What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on-Parade. "I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the Color- Sergeant said. For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can 'ear the Dead March play, The regiment's in 'oUow square — they're hangin' him to-day; They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away, An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. "What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said Files-on-Parade. "It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Color-Ser- geant said. "What makes that front-rank man fall down?" said Files-on-Parade. 130 THE LAUREL SPEAKER "A touch of sun, a touch of sun," the Color-Ser- geant said. They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round. They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is cof- fin on the ground; An' 'e'U swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakr in', shootin' hound — O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin' ! " 'Iscot was right-'and cot to mine," said Files-on Parade. "E's sleepin' out an' far to-night," the Color-Ser- geant said. "I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times," said Files- on-Parade. *' 'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone," the Color-Ser- geant said. They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark 'im to 'is place. For 'e shot a comrade sleepin' — ^you must look 'im in the face; Nine 'undred of 'is country an' the regi- ment's disgrace, While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 131 'What's that so black agin the sun?" said Files- on-Parade. 'It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life," the Color-Ser- geant said. 'What's that that whimpers over 'ead?" said Files-on-Parade. 'It's Danny's soul that's passin' now," the Color- Sergeant said. For they're done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play. The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us away; Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their beer to-day. After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin.' A BALLAD OF ATHLONE; OTj How They Broke Down the Bridge AUBREY DE VERE. Does any man dream that a Gael can fear?— Of a thousand deeds let him learn but one4 The Shannon swept onward, broad and clear, Between the leaguers and worn Athlone. • 132 THE LAUREL SPEAKER "Break down the bridge!" — Six warriors rushed Through the storm of shot and the storm of shell: With late, but certain, victory flushed The grim Dutch gunners eyed them well. They wrenched at the planks 'mid a hail of fire: They fell in death, their work half done : The bridge stood fast ; and nigh and nigher The foe swarmed darkly, densely on. "O who for Erin will strike a stroke? Who hurl yon planks where the waters roar?" Six warriors forth from their comrades broke, And flung them upon that bridge once more. Again at the rocking planks they dashed ; And four dropped dead ; and two remained : The huge beams groaned, and the arch down crashed; — Two stalwart swimmers the margin gained. St. Ruth in his stirrups stood up, and cried, "I have seen no dead like that in France!" With a toss of his head Sarsfield replied, **They had luck, the dogs! 'Twas a merry chance !" THE LAUREL SPEAKER 133 O many a year upon Shannon's side, They sang upon moor and they sang upon heath Of the twain that breasted that raging tide, And the ten that shook bloody hands with Death! THE DYING GLADIATOR. LORD BYRON. I see before me the Gladiator lie: He leans upon his hand, — his manly brow Consents to death but conquers agony. And his drooped head sinks gradually low, — And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one. Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now The arena swims around him — ^he is gone. Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won. He heard it, but he heeded not : his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away; He recked not of the life he lost nor prize. But where his rude hut by the Danube lay. There were his yomig barbarians all at play. 134 THE LAUREL SPEAKER There was their Dacian mother, — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman hohday, — All this rushed with his blood. — Shall he expire, And unavenged? — Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire. GEORGE NIDIVER. ANONYMOUS. Men have done brave deeds. And bards have sung thera well; I of good George Nidiver Now the tale will tell. In Calif ornian mountains A hunter bold was he ; Keen his eye and sure his aim As any you should see. A little Indian boy Followed him everywhere. Eager to share the hunter's joy, The hunter's meal to share. And when the bird or deer Fell by the hunter's skill. The boy was always near To help with right good-will. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 135 One day as through the cleft Between two mountains steep, Shut in both right and left, Their questing way they keep, .They see two grizzly bears. With hunger fierce and fell. Rush at them unawares, Right down the narrow dell. The boy turned round with screams. And ran with terror wild ; One of the pair of savage beasts Pursued the shrieking child. The hunter raised his gun, — He knew one charge was all, — And through the boy's pursuing foe He sent his only ball. The other on George Nidiver Came on with dreadful pace; The hunter stood unarmed. And met him face to face. I say unarmed he stood: Against those frightful paws The rifle-butt, or club of wood. Could stand no more than straws. 136 THE LAUREL SPEAKER George Nidiver stood still, And looked him in the face; The wild beast stopped amazed, Then came with slackening pace. Still firm the hunter stood, Although his heart beat high; Again the creature stopped, And gazed with wondering eye. The hunter met his gaze. Nor yet an inch gave way; The bear turned slowly round, And slowly moved away. What thoughts were in his mind It would be hard to spell ; What thoughts were in George Nidiver I rather guess than tell. But sure that rifle's aim, Swift choice of generous part, Showed in its passing gleam The depths of a brave heart. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 137 SILVER SHOE. WALTER THORNBURY. The sky was dimpled blue and white. The west was leaden gray, Till in the east rose a fire of red, That burnt all the fog away. The thorn-bush seemed new-dipped in blood. The firs were hung with cones, The oaks were golden-green with moss. The birch wore its silver zones. The deer with skins of a velvet pile Were feeding under the boughs Of the oaks, that stretched their guarding arms Around the manor-house. 'Twas Oh ! for the glossy chestnut mare, And hurrah! for the fiery roan, But the caps went up like a cloud in the air For Silver-Shoe alone. We left the stable, where the door Was nailed with winners' shoes. And we trampled out to the crop-eared down By laughing ones and twos. 138 THE LAUREL SPEAKER The diamond seed of sprinkling dew From the firs were shaking down, As we cantered out by the dark-thorned trees, And over the green hill-crown. The chestnut mare was dancing mad, The roan gave a snorting shout, 3nt you never heard a rolling cheer Till Silver-Shoe came out. The starter waved his scarlet flag. And then we stole along, Past the line of rails and the nodding heads, And past the thicker throng. Gathering up, we trod, we trod. Till like a boat well rowed. Together went our hoofs thrown out. So evenly we strode. And now we skirt the crescent down. Past the crimson-spotted thorns. And away we go with a toss of hats And a driving blast of horns. Pad, pad together went our hoofs. Ting, ting the rings and chains, Chat, chat, chatter over the stones. And splash through the red-clay lanes. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 139 A white froth rose on our horses' mouths, A lather on their hides, And soon blood-drops from the rowel pricks Oozed red from dripping sides. There was a black mare, Yorkshire bred. And the strong-built Irish gray, But Silver-Shoe was the only one To show them all the way. Strong and wide was his massy chest. And bright his deep-brown eye; He could do anything but walk , And everything but fly. I knew the music of his feet Over the hollow down ; He was the chosen of the ten, And the pet of Salisbury town. Over we went, like skimming birds. Clean over the wattled fence, And crash through the bristling purple hedge, With its thorny mailed defence. The chestnut fell, at the water-leap. With its shining fourteen feet ; At the double rail the roan broke down, But the black mare was not beat. 140 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Together went our double shoes, Together went our stride, Till I saw the blood in a crimson thread Run down Black Bessy's side. I pushed him at the brook and hedge. And never touched a twig, But I shuddered to see a stiff strong fence That rose up bold and big. Now ghastly rose the rasping fence. Broad yawned the ditch below; I gave him head, and gave him spur, And let my wild blood go. The black was down, and I was clear, Though staggering and blown; As I rode in trusty Silver-Shoe His saddle seemed a throne. ,The sky was spinning like a wheel, The trees were waltzing too. As oif I leaped, and clapped the flank Of the winner — Silver-Shoe. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 141 MAZEPPA'S BIDE. LORD BYRON. " *Bring forth the horse!' — the horse was brought, In truth, he was a noble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed. Who looked as though the speed of thought Were in his limbs ; but he was wild, Wild as the wild deer, and untaught. With spur and bridle undefiled, — 'T was but a day he had been caught ; And snorting, with erected mane. And struggling fiercely, but in vain. In the full foam of wrath and dread To me the desert-born was led ; They bound me on, that menial throng. Upon his back with many a thong; Then loosed him with a sudden lash, — Away! — away! — and on we dash! Torrents less rapid and less rash. "Away! — away! — My breath was gone, — I saw not where he hurried on ; 'Twas scarcely yet the break of day. And on he foamed, — away! — away! — The last of human sounds which rose, As I was darted from my foes. 142 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Was the wild shout of savage laughter, Which on the wind came roaring after A moment from that rabble rout ; With sudden wrath I wrenched my head, And snapped the cord which to the mane Had bound my neck in lieu of rein, And, writhing half my form about. Howled back my curse ; but midst the tread. The thunder of my courser's speed, Perchance they did not hear nor heed: "Away, away, my steed and I, Upon the pinions of the wind, All human dwellings left behind; We sped like meteors through the sky, When with its crackling sound the night Is checkered with the northern light : Town, — village, — none were on our track, But a wild plain of far extent. And bounded by a forest black; And, save the scarce seen battlement On distant heights of some strong hold, Against the Tartars built of old. "But fast we fled, away, away, And I could neither sigh nor pray; THE LAUREL SPEAKER 143 And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain Upon the courser's bristling mane; But, snorting still with rage and fear, He flew upon his far career ; At times I almost thought, indeed, He must have slackened in his speed ; But no, — ^my bound and slender frame Was nothing to his angry might. And merely like a spur became : Each motion which I made to free My swoln limbs from their agony Increased his fury and affright : I tried my voice, — 't was faint and low, But yet he swerved as from a blow ; And, starting to each accent, sprang As from a sudden trumpet's clang; Meantime my cords were wet with gore. Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er; And in my tongue the thirst became A something fierier far than flame. "We neared the wild wood, — 'twas so wide, I saw no bounds on either side; 'Twas studded with old sturdy trees. That bent not to the roughest breeze Which howls down from Siberia's waste. And strips the forest in its haste, — 144 THE LAUREL SPEAKER But these were few and far between, Set thick with shrubs more young and green, Luxuriant with their annual leaves, Ere strown by those autumnal eves That nip the forest's foliage dead, Discolored with a lifeless red, Which stands thereon like stiif ened gore Upon the slain when battle's o'er. And some long winter's night hath shed Its frost o'er every tombless head. So cold and stark the raven's beak May peck unpierced each frozen cheek : 'T was a wild haste of underwood. And here and there a chestnut stood. The strong oak, and the hardy pine; But far apart, — and well it were. Or else a different lot were mine, — The boughs gave way, and did not tear My limbs ; and I found strength to bear My wounds, already scarred with cold, — My bonds forbade to loose my hold. We rustled through the leaves like wind, Left shrubs and trees and wolves behind ; By night I heard them on the track. Their troop came hard upon our back With their long gallop, which can tire The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire ; THE LAUREL SPEAKER 145 Where'er we flew they followed on. Nor left us with the morning sun ; Behind I saw them, scarce a rood, At daybreak winding through the wood, And through the night had heard their feet Their stealing, rustling step repeat. O, how I wished for spear or sword, At least to die amidst the horde, And perish — if it must be so — At bay, destroying many a foe ! When first my courser's race begun I wished the goal already won; But now I doubted strength and speed. Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed Had nerved him like the mountain roe ; "The wood was passed; 't was more than noon. But chill the air, although in June ; Or it might be my veins ran cold, — Prolonged endurance tames the bold ; "What marvel if this worn-out trunk Beneath its woes a moment sunk? The earth gave way, the skies rolled round, I seemed to sink upon the ground ; But erred, for I was fastly bound. 146 THE LAUREL SPEAKER My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore, And throbbed awhile, then beat no more ; The skies spun Kke a mighty wheel; I saw the trees like drunkards reel, And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes. Which saw no farther; he who dies Can die no more than then I died. O'ertortured by that ghastly ride, I felt the blackness come and go. And strove to wake ; but could not make My senses climb up from below; I felt as on a plank at sea. When all the waves that dash o'er thee. At the same time upheave and whelm. And hurl thee towards a desert realm. My undulating life was as The fancied lights that flitting pass Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when Fever begins upon the brain ; But soon it passed, with little pain, But a confusion worse than such ; I own that I should deem it much. Dying, to feel the same again ; And yet I do suppose we must Feel far more ere we turn to dust : No matter; I have bared my brow Full in Death's face — ^before — and now. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 147 "My thoughts came back: where was I? Cold And numb and giddy: pulse by pulse Life reassumed its lingering hold. And throb by throb, — till grown a pang Which for a moment would convulse. My blood reflowed, though thick and chill; My ear with uncouth noises rang ; My heart began once more to thrill ; My sight returned, though dim; alas! And thickened, as it were, with glass. Methought the dash of waves was nigh ; There was a gleam too of the sky, Studded with stars ; — it is no dream ; The wild horse swims the wilder stream! The bright, broad river's gushing tide Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide, And we are half-way, struggling o'er To yon unknown and silent shore. The waters broke my hollow trance. And with a temporary strength My stiffened limbs were rebaptized, My courser's broad breast proudly braves, And dashes off the ascending waves, And onward we advance ! We reach the slippery shore at length, A haven I but little prized. 148 THE LAUREL SPEAKER For all behind was dark and drear, And all before was night and fear. How many houi'S of night or day In those suspended pangs I lay, I could not tell ; I scarcely knew If this were human breath I drew. "With glossy skin, and dripping mane. And reeling limbs, and reeking flank, The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain Up the repelling bank. We gain the top ; a boundless plain Spreads through the shadow of the night, And onward, onward, onward, seems. Like precipices in our dreams, To stretch beyond the sight ; And here and there a speck of white, Or scattered spot of dusky green, In masses broke into the light As rose the moon upon my right. But naught distinctly seen In the dim waste would indicate The omen of a cottage gate ; No twinkling taper from afar Stood like a hospitable star ; Not even an ignis- fatuus rose To make him merry with my woes ; THE LAUREL SPEAKER 149 That very cheat had cheered me then! Although detected, welcome still, Reminding me, through every ill, Of the abodes of men. "Onward we went, — but slack and slow; His savage force at length overspent, The drooping courser, faint and low. All feebly foaming went. A sickly infant had had power To guide him forward in that hour; But useless all to me. His new-born tameness naught availed, — My limbs were bound; my force had failed, Perchance, had they been free. With feeble efforts still I tried To rend the bonds so starkly tied. But still it was in vain; My limbs were only wrung the more. And soon the idle strife gave o'er Which but prolonged their pain ; The dizzy race seemed almost done, Although no goal was nearly won ; Some streaks announced the coming sun, — How slow, alas ! he came ! Methought that mist of dawning gray Would never dapple into day; 150 THE LAUREL SPEAKER How heavily it rolled away, — Before the eastern flame Rose crimson, and deposed the stars. And called the radiance from their cars, And filled the earth, from his deep throne. With lonely lustre, all his own. "Up rose the sun; the mists were curled Back from the solitary world Which lay around — behind — before. What booted it to traverse o'er Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute. Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, Lay in the wild luxuriant soil ; No sign of travel, — none of toil ; The very air was mute ; And not an insect's shrill small horn, Nor matin bird's new voice, was borne From herb nor thicket. Many a werst, Panting as if his heart woulid burst, The weary brute still staggered on ; And still we were, or seemed, alone. At length, while reeling on our way, Methought I heard a courser neigh From out yon tuft of blackening firs. Is it the wind those branches stirs? THE LAUREL SPEAKER 151 No, no! from out the forest prance A trampling troop ; I see them come ! In one vast squadron they advance ! I strove to cry, — my lips were dumb. The steeds rush on in plunging pride; But where are they the reins to guide? A thousand horse, — and none to ride! With flowing tail, and flying mane. Wide nostrils, never stretched by pain, Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, And feet th^t iron never shod, And flanks unscarred by spur or rod, A thousand horse, the wild, the free, Like waves that follow o'er the sea. Came thickly thundering on. As if our faint approach to meet; The sight renerved my courser's feet, A moment staggering, feebly fleet, A moment, with a faint low neigh. He answered and then fell: With gasps and glazing eyes he lay^ And reeking limbs immovable, His first and last career is done ! On came the troop, — they saw him stoop. They saw me strangely bound along His back with many a bloody thong: 152 THE LAUREL SPEAKER They stop, — they start, — they snuff the air, Gallop a moment here and there, Approach, retire, wheel round and round, Then plunging back with sudden bound, Headed by one black mighty steed, Who seemed the patriarch of his breed, Without a single speck or hair Of white upon his shaggy hide ; They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside, And backward to the forest fly. By instinct, from a human eye. They left me there to my despair. Linked to the dead and stiffening wretch. Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch. Relieved from that unwonted weight, From whence I could not extricate Nor him nor me, and there we lay The dying on the dead ! I little deemed another day Would see my houseless, helpless head. "And there from morn till twilight bound, I felt the heavy hours toil round. With just enough of life to see My last of suns go down on me. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 153 ' MONCONTOUB. THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. O, weep for Moncontour! O, weep for the hour When the children of darkness and evil had power; When the horsemen of Valois triumphantly trod On the bosoms that bled for their rights and their God. O, weep for Moncontour! O, weep for the slain Who for faith and for freedom lay slaughtered in vain! O, weep for the living, who linger to bear The renegade's shame or the exile's despair ! One look, one last look, to the cots and the towers, To the rows of our vines and the beds of our flowers ; To the church where the bones of our fathers decayed, Where we fondly had deemed that our own should be laid. Alas ! we must leave thee, dear desolate home. To the spearman of Uri, the shavelings of Rome; 154 THE LAUREL SPEAKER To the serpent of Florence, the sultan of Spain ; To the pride of Anjou, and the guile of Lorraine. Farewell to thy fountains, farewell to thy shades, To the song of thy youths, the dance of thy maids ; To the breath of thy gardens, the hum of thy bees, And the long waving line of the blue Pyrenees! Farewell and forever! The priest and the slave May rule in the halls of the free and the brave ; Our hearths we abandon, — our lands we resign, — But, Father, we kneel to no altar but thine. WILLIAM TELL AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. J. S. KNOWLES. Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again! I hold to you the hands you first beheld. To show they still are free. Methinks I hear A spirit in your echoes answer me. And bid your tenant welcome to his home Again! — O sacred forms, how proud you look! How high you lift your heads into the sky ! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 155 How huge you are ! how mighty, and how free ! Ye are the things that tower, that shine, — ^whose smile Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms, Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty, I'm with you once again! — I call to you With all my voice ! — I hold my hands to you, To show they still are free. I rush to you As though I could embrace you! Scaling yonder peak, I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow O'er the abyss : — his broad-expanded wings Lay calm and motionless upon the air. As if he floated there without their aid. By the sole act of his unlorded will. That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively I bent my bow ; yet kept he rounding still His airy circle, as in the delight Of measuring the ample range beneath And round about ; absorbed, he heeded not The death that threatened him. I could not shoot — 'T was liberty! — I turned my bow aside. And let him soar away! 156 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. WILLIAM EDMONDSTOXJKE AYTOUN. The morning dawned full darkly, The rain came flashing down, And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt Lit up the gloomy town. The thunder crashed across the heaven, The fatal hour was come ; Yet aye broke in, with muffled beat. The 'larum of the drum. There was madness on the earth below And anger in the sky. And young and old, and rich and poor. Came forth to see him die. Ah God! that ghastly gibbet! How dismal 't is to see The great tall spectral skeleton, The ladder and the tree ! Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms, — The bells begin to toll,— "He is coming! he is coming! God's mercy on his soul!" One last long peal of thunder, — The clouds are cleared away. And the glorius sun once more looks down Amidst the dazzling day. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 157 "He is coming! he is coming!" Like a bridegroom from his room Came the hero from his prison To the scaffold and the doom* There was glory on his forehead. There was lustre in his eye, And he never walked to battle More proudly than to die. There was color in his visage, Though the cheeks of all were wan ; And they marveled as they saw him pass, That great and goodly man! He mounted up the scaffold, And he turned him to the crowd; But they dared not trust the people. So he might not speak aloud. But he looked upon the heavens, And they were clear and blue, And in the liquid ether The eye of God shone through: Yet a black and murky battlement Lay resting on the hill. As though the thunder slept within, — All else was calm and still. 158 THE LAUREL SPEAKER The grim Geneva ministers With anxious scowl drew near. As you have seen the ravens flock Around the dying deer. He would not deign them word nor sign, But alone he bent the knee ; And veiled his face for Christ's dear grace Beneath the gallow's-tree. Then, radiant and serene, he rose. And cast his cloak away ; For he had ta'en his latest look Of earth and sun and day. A beam of light fell o'er him, Like a glory round the shriven, A' 4 he climbed the lofty ladder As it were the path to heaven. Then came a flash from out the cloud, And a stunning thunder-roll ; And no man dared to look aloft. For fear was on every soul. There was another heavy sound, A hush, and then a groan ; And darkness swept across the sky, — The work of death was done ! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 159 SCREW-GUNS. RUDYARD KIPLING. Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool, I walks in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule. With seventy gunners be'ind me, an' never a beg- gar forgets It's only the pick o' the Army that handles the dear little pets — Tss! Tss! For you all love the screw-guns — ^the screw guns they all love you. So when we call round with a few guns, o' course you will know what to do — ^hoo! hoo ! Jest send in your Chief an' surrender — it's worse if you fights or you runs: You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don't get away from the guns. They send us along where the roads are, but most- ly we goes where they ain't ; We'd climb up the side of a sign-board, an' trust to the stick o' the paint ; 160 THE LAUREL SPEAKER We've chivied the Naga an' Lushai, we've give the Af reedeeman fits, For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns that are built in two bits — Tss ! Tss ! For you all love the screw-guns — If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im an' teaches 'im 'ow to be'ave ; If a beggar can't march, why, we kills 'im an' rattles 'im into 'is grave. You've got to stand up to our business an' spring without snatchin' or fuss. D' you say that you sweat with the field-guns? By God, you must lather with us — Tss! Tss! For you all love the screw-guns — The eagles is screamin' around us, the river's a- moanin' below. We're clear o' the pine an' the oak-scrub, we're out on the rocks an' the snow. An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what car- ries away to the plains The rattle an' stamp o' the lead-mules — the jinglety-jink o' the chains — Tss! Tss! For you all love the screw-guns — There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin, an' a wheel on the edge o' the Pit, THE LAUREL SPEAKER 161 An' a drop into nothin' beneath us as straight as a beggar can spit ; With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves an' the sun off the snow in your face, An' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old gun in 'er place — Tss ! Tss ! For you all love the screw-guns — Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the momin' cool, I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule. The monkey can say what our road was — the wild- goat 'e knows where we passed. Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's ! Out drag- ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast! — Tss! Tss! Bor you all love the screw-guns — the screw-guns they all love you! So when we take tea with a few guns, o' course you will know what to do — hoo! hoo! Just send in your Chief and surrender — it's worse if you fights or you runs : You may hide in the caves, they'll be only your graves, but you don't get away from the guns ! 162 THE LAUREL SPEAKER A CAVALRY SONG. EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. Our good steeds snuiF the evening air. Our pulses with their purpose tingle; The foeman's fires are twinkling there; He leaps to hear our sabres jingle; Halt! Each carbine send its whizzing ball: Now, cling ! clang ! forward all, Into the fight ! Dash on beneath the smoking dome : Through level lightnings gallop nearer ! One look to Heaven ! No thoughts of home : The guidons that we bear are dearer. Charge! Cling! clang! forward all! Heaven help those whose horses fall : Cut left and right ! They flee before our fierce attack! They fall! they spread in broken surges. Now, comrades, bear our wounded back, And leave the f oeman to his dirges. Wheel! The bugles sound the swift recall: Cling! clang! backward all! Home, and good night ! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 163 KOSCIUSKO AND POLAND. THOMAS CAMPBELL. Warsaw's last champion from her height sur- veyed, Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid; "O Heaven!" he cried, "my bleeding country save ! — Is there no hand on high to shield the brave? Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains. Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains! By that dread name, we wave the sword on high. And swear for her to live — with her to die!" He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed; Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm; Low murmuring sounds along the banners fliy, Revenge, or death, — the watchword and reply; Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm! — In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew : — O, bloodiest picture in the book of Time! Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! 164 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career; Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked — as Kosciusko fell! THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS. SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE. Last night, among his fellow roughs. He jested, quaffed, and swore ; A drunken private of the Buffs, Who never looked before. To-day, beneath the foeman's frown. He stands in Elgin's place. Ambassador from Britain's crown. And type of all her race. Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught. Bewildered, and alone, A heart, with English instinct fraught, He yet can call his own. Ay, tear his body limb from limb, Bring cord or axe or flame, He only knows that not through him Shall England come to shame. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 165 Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed, Like dreams, to come and go; Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed, One sheet of living snow ; The smoke above his father's door In gray soft eddyings hung; Must he then watch it rise no more, Doomed by himself so young? Yes, honor calls ! — with strength like steel He put the vision by; Let dusky Indians whine and kneel. An English lad must die. And thus, with eyes that would not shrink. With knee to man unbent. Unfaltering on its dreadful brink. To his red grave he went. Vain mightiest fleets of iron framed. Vain those all-shattering guns. Unless proud England keep untamed The strong heart of her sons ; So let his name through Europe ring, — A man of mean estate. Who died, as firm as Sparta's king, Because his soul was great. 166 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. How sweet it was to breathe that cooler air, And take possession of my father's chair ! Beneath my elbow, on the solid frame, Appeared the rough initials of my name, Cut forty years before! The same old clock Struck the same bell, and gave my heart a shock I never can forget. A short breeze sprung, And while a sigh was trembling on my tongue. Caught the old dangling almanacs behind. And up they flew like banners in the wind ; Then gently, singly, down, down, down they went. And told of twenty years that I had spent Far from my native land. That instant came A robin on the threshold ; though so tame. At first he looked distrustful, almost shy. And cast on me his coal-black steadfast eye. And seemed to say, — past friendship to renew, — "Ah ha! old worn-out soldier, is it you?" While thus I mused, still gazing, gazing still, On beds of moss that spread the window-sill, I deemed no moss my eyes had ever seen Had been so lovely, brilliant, fresh, and green, THE LAUREL SPEAKER 167 And guessed some infant hand had placed it there. And prized its hue, so exquisite, so rare. Feelings on feelings mingling, doubling rose ; My heart felt everything but calm repose; I could not reckon minutes, hours, nor years, But rose at once, and bursted into tears ; Then, like a fool, confused, sat down again. And thought upon the past with shame and pain ; I raved at war and all its horrid cost. And glory's quagmire, where the brave are lost. On carnage, fire, and plunder long I mused. And cursed the murdering weapons I had used. Two shadows then I saw, two voices heard. One bespoke age, and one a child's appeared. In stepped my father with convulsive start, And in an instant clasped me to his heart. Close by him stood a little blue-eyed maid ; And stooping to the child, the old man said : "Come hither, Nancy, kiss me once again; This is your Uncle Charles, come home from Spain." The child approached, and with her fingers light Stroked my old eyes, almost deprived of sight. But why thus spin my tale, — thus tedious be? Happy old soldier! what's the world to me? 168 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE CHARGE AT WATERLOO. SIR WALTER SCOTT. On came the whirlwind, — hke the last But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast ; On came the whirlwind, — steel-gleams broke Like lightning through the rolling smoke ; The war was waked anew. Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud, And from their throats, with flash and cloud, Their showers of iron threw. Beneath their fire, in full career, Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier. The lancer couched his ruthless spear. And, hurrying as to havoc near. The cohorts' eagles flew. In one dark torrent, broad and strong, The advancing onset rolled along. Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim, That, from the shroud of smoke and flame, Pealed wildly the imperial name. But on the British heart were lost The terrors of the charging host ; For not an eye the storm that viewed Changed its proud glance of fortitude, Nor was one forward footstep stayed, THE LAUREL SPEAKER 169 As dropped the dying and the dead. Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, Fast they renewed each serried square ; And on the wounded and the slain Closed their diminished files again, Till from their lines scarce spears' lengths three, Emerging from the smoke they see Helmet and plume and panoply. Then waked their fire at once ! Each musketeer's revolving knell As fast, as regularly fell. As when they practice to display Their discipline on festal day. Then down went helm and lance, Down were the eagle-banners sent, Down reeling steeds and riders went. Corselets were pierced and pennons rent ; And, to augment the fray. Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, The English horsemen's foaming ranks Forced their resistless way. Then to the musket-knell succeeds The clash of swords, the neigh of steeds ; As plies the smith his clanging trade. Against the cuirass rang the blade ; And while amid their close array The well-served cannon rent their way, 170 THE LAUREL SPEAKER And while amid their scattered band Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand, Recoiled in common rout and fear Lancer and guard and cuirassier, Horsemen and foot, — a mingled host, — Their leaders fallen, their standards lost. THE MARCH TO MOSCOW. ROBERT SOUTHEY. The Emperor Nap he would set out For a summer excursion to Moscow; The fields were green and the sky was blue ; Morbleu! Parbleu! What a pleasant excursion to Moscow ! Four hundred thousand men and more. Heigh-ho, for Moscow! There were marshals by dozens and dukes by the score. Princes a few, and kings one or two, While the fields are so green and the sky so blue, Morbleu! Parbleu! What a pleasant excursion to Moscow! THE LAUREL SPEAKER 171 There was Junot and Augereau, Heigh-ho, for Moscow! Dombrowsky and Poniatowsky, General Rapp and Emperor Nap, Nothing would do, While the fields were so green and the sky so blue, Morbleu! Parbleu! But they must be marched to Moscow. But the Russians they stoutly turned to. All on the road to Moscow, Nap had to fight his way all through. They could fight, but they could not parley-vous. But the fields were green, and the sky was blue, Morbleu! Parbleu! And so he got to Moscow ! They made the place too hot for him, For they set fire to Moscow ; To get there had cost him much ado, And then no better course he knew. While the fields were green and the sky was blue, Morbleu! Parbleu! Than to march back again from Moscow. The Russians they stuck close to him. All on the road from Moscow ; There was Tormazow and Gomalow, 172 THE LAUREL SPEAKER And all the others that end in ow; Raj ef sky and Noverefsky, And all the others that end in efshy; Schamscheff, SouchosaneflF, and Sehepeleff , And all the others that end in eff; Wasitsehecoff , KostomarofF, and Theoglokoff , And all the others that end in off; Milaravoditch, and Juladovitch, and Karateh- kowiteh, And all the others that end in itch; Oscharoffsky, and Rostoffsky, Kasatichkoffsky, And all the others that end in off shy; And PlatofF he played them off, And Markoff he marked them off, And Tutchkoff he touched them off. And Kutusoff he cut them off, And Woronzoff he worried them off. And Dochtoroff he doctored them off. And Rodinoff he flogged them off; And last of all an Admiral came, A terrible man, with a terrible name, A name which you all must know very well, Nobody can speak, and nobody can spell. They stuck close to Nap with all their might, They were on the left and on the right. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 173 Behind and before, and by day and by night; Nap would rather parley- vous than fight; But parley-vous would no more do, Morbleu! Parbleu! For they remembered Moscow! And then came on the frost and snow. All on the road from Moscow ! The Emperor Nap found, as he went, That he was not quite omnipotent ; And worse and worse the weather grew, The fields were so white and the sky so blue, Morbleu! Ventrebleu! What a terrible journey from Moscow! The devil take the hindmost, All on the road from Moscow ! Quoth Nap, who thought it small delight. To fight all day and to freeze all night; And so, not knowing what else to do. When the fields were so white and the sky so blue, Morbleu! Parbleu! He stole away, I tell you true. All by himself from Moscow. 174 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE LORD OF BUTRAGO. JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART. **Your horse is faint, my King, my lord I your gallant horse is sick, — His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick; Mount, momit on mine, O, mount apace, I pray thee, mount and fly! Or in my arms I'll lift your Grace, — their tram- pling hoofs are night! "My King, my King ! you're wounded sore, — the blood runs from your feet ; But only lay a hand before, and I'll lift you to your seat ; Mount, Juan, for they gather fast ! — I hear their coming cry, — Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy, — I'll save you though I die! "Stand, noble steed! this hour of need, — be gentle as a lamb; I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth, — thy master dear I am, — Mount, Juan, mount; whate'er betide, away the bridle fling. And plunge the rowels in his side. — My horse shall save my King! THE LAUREL SPEAKER I75 "Nay, never speak; my sires, Lord King, received their land from yours, And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it thine secures; If I should fly, and thou, my King, be found among the dead. How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head? "Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain, And say there's one that ran away when our good lords were slain! I leave Diego in your care, — you'll fill his father's place; Strike, strike the spur, and never spare, — God's blessing on your Grace!" So spake the brave Montanez, Butrago's lord was he; And turned him to the coming host in steadfast- ness and glee ; He flung himself among them, as they came down the hill,— He died, God wot! but not before his sword had drunk its fill. 176 THE LAUREL SPEAKER THE BROADSWORDS OF SCOTLAND. JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART. Now there's peace on the shore, now there's cahn on the sea, Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept us free, Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and Dundee. O the broadswords of old Scotland! And O the old Scottish broadswords! Old Sir Ralph Abercromby, the good and the brave, — Let him flee from our board, let him sleep with the slave. Whose libation comes slow while we honor his grave. O the broadswords of old Scotland! etc. Though he died not, like him, amid victory's roar, Though disaster and gloom wove his shroud on the shore. Not the less we remember the spirit of Moore. O the broadswords of old Scotland! etc. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 177 Yea, a place with the fallen the living shall claim; We'll intwine in one wreath every glorious name, The Gordon, the Ramsay, the Hope, and the Graham. All the broadswords of old Scotland, etc. Count the rocks of the Spey, count the groves of the Forth, Count the stars in the clear, cloudless heaven of the north; Then go blazon their numbers, their names, and their worth. All the broadswords of old Scotland! etc. The highest in splendor, the humblest in place, Stand united in glory, as kindred in race, For the private is bi jther in blood to his Grace. O the broadswords of old Scotland! etc. Then sacred to each and to all let it be. Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept us free. Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and Dundee. O the broadswords of old Scotland! etc. 178 THE LAUREL SPEAKER BALAKLAVA. ALEXANDER B. MEEK. O the charge of Balaklava ! O that rash and fatal charge! Never was a fiercer, braver, Than that charge at Balaklava, On the battle's bloody marge! All the day the Russian columns, Fortress huge, and blazing banks, Poured their dread destructive volumes On the French and English ranks,- On the gallant allied ranks ! Earth and sky seemed rent asunder By the loud incessant thunder! When a strange but stern command- Needless, heedless, rash command — Came to Lucan's little band, — Scarce six hundred men and horses Of those vast contending forces: — "England's lost unless you save her! Charge the pass at Balaklava!" O that rash and fatal charge, On the battle's bloody marge! Far away the Russian Eagles Soar o'er smoking hill and dell, THE LAUREL SPEAKER 179 And their hordes, hke howling beagles, Dense and countless, round them yell! Thundering cannon, deadly mortar. Sweep the field in every quarter ! Never, since the days of Jesus, Trembled so the Chersonesus ! Here behold the Gallic Lilies — Stout St. Louis' golden Lilies — Float as erst at old Ramillies ! And beside them, lo ! the Lion ! With her trophied Cross, is flying! Glorious standards! — shall they waver On the field of Balaklava? No, by Heavens ! at that command — Sudden, rash, but stern command — Charges Lucan's little band ! Brave Six Hundred! lo! they charge, On the battle's bloody marge! Down yon deep and skirted valley. Where the crowded cannon play, — Where the Czar's fierce cohorts rally, Cossack, Calmuck, savage Kalli, — Down that gorge they swept away! Down that new Thermopylae, Flashing swords and helmets see! 180 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Underneath the iron shower, To the brazen cannon's jaws. Heedless of their deadly power. Press they without fear or pause,— To the very cannon's jaws! Gallant Nolan, brave as Roland At the field of Roncesvalles, Dashes down the fatal valley. Dashes on the bolt of death. Shouting with his latest breath, "Charge, then, gallants! do not waver. Charge the pass at Balaklava!" O that rash and fatal charge, On the battle's bloody marge! Now the bolts of volleyed thunder Rend that little band asunder, Steed and rider wildly screaming. Screaming wildly, sink away; Late so proudly, proudly gleaming. Now but lifeless clods of clay! Now but bleeding clods of clay ! Never, since the days of Jesus, Saw such sight the Chersonesus ! Yet your remnant, brave Six Hundred, Presses onward, onward, onward, THE LAUREL SPEAKER 181 Till they storm the bloody pass, — Till, like brave Leonidas, They storm the deadly pass ! Sabring Cossack, Calmuck, Kalli, In that wild shot-rended valley, — Drenched with fire and blood, like lava. Awful pass at Balaklava ! O that rash and fatal charge, On that battle's bloody marge! For now Russia's rallied forces. Swarming hordes of Cossack horses. Trampling o'er the reeking corses. Drive the thinned assailants back. Drive the feeble remnant back. O'er their late heroic track! Vain, alas! now rent and sundered, Vain your struggles, brave Two Hundred ! Thrice your number lie asleep. In that valley dark and deep. Weak and wounded you retire From that hurricane of fire, — That tempestuous storm of fire, — But no soldiers, firmer, braver. Ever trod the field of fame. Than the Knights of Balaklava, — Honor to each hero's name! 182 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Yet their country long shall mourn For her rank so rashly shorn, — So gallantly, but madly shorn In that jSerce and fatal charge, On the battle's bloody marge. THE LAST BUCCANIER. CHARLES KINGSLEY. O England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high, But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I; And such a port for mariners I ne'er shall see again As the pleasant Isle of Aves, beside the Spanish Main. There were forty craft in Aves that were both swift and stout. All furnished well with small arms and cannons round about; And a thousand men in Aves made laws so fair and free To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 183 Thence we sailed against the Spaniard with his hoards of plate and gold, Which he wrung with cruel torture from Indian folk of old; Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as stone, Who flog men and keelhaul them, and starve them to the bone. O the palms grew high in Aves, and fruits that shone like gold. And the colibris* and parrots they were gorgeous to behold; And the negro maids to Aves from bondage fast did flee. To welcome gallant sailors, a-sweeping in from sea. O sweet is was in Aves to hear the landward breeze, A-swing with good tobacco in a net between the trees. With a negro lass to fan you, while you listened to the roar Of the breakers on the reef outside, that never touched the shore, ♦humming bird. 184 THE LAUREL SPEAKER But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be; So the King's ships sailed on Aves, and quite put down were we. All day we fought like bull-dogs, but they burst the booms at night ; And I fled in a piragua+, sore wounded, from the fight. Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass be- side, Till, for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died ; But as I lay a-gasping, a Bristol sail came by, And brought me home to England here, to beg until I die. And now I'm old and going — I'm sure I can't tell where ; One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be worse off there : If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main, To the pleasant Isle of Aves, to look at it once again. t canoe. 3 cr? O D- ^ 2. 5. s .r6 Z THE LAUREL SPEAKER 185 LOCK THE DOOR, LARISTON. JAMES HOGG. "Lock the door, Lariston, Lion of Liddesdale ; Lock the door, Lariston, Lowther comes on ; The Armstrongs are flying, The widows are crying. The Castletown's burning, and Ohver's gone! "Lock the door, Lariston, — high on the weather- gleam See how the Saxon plumes bob on the sky — Yoemen and carbineer, Billman and halberdier, Fierce is the foray, and far is the cry ! "Bewcastle brandishes high his broad scimitar; Ridley is riding his fleet-footed grey; Hidley and Howard there, Wandale and Windermere ; Lock the door, Lariston; hold them at bay. "Why dost thou smile, noble Elliot of Lariston? Why does the joy-candle gleam in thine eye? Thou bold Border ranger, Beware of thy danger; Thy foes are relentless, determined, and nigh." 186 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Jack Elliot raised up his steel bonnet and lookit, His hand grasp'd the sword with a nervous em- brace ; "Ah, welcome, brave f oemen. On earth there are no men More gallant to meet in the foray or chase! "Little know you of the hearts I have hidden here ; Little know you of our moss-troopers' might — Linhope and Sorbie true, Sundhope and Milburn too, Gentle in manner, but lions in fight! "I have Mangerton, Ogilvie, Raeburn, and Netherbie, Old Sim of Whitram, and all his array; Come all Northumberland, Teesdale and Cumberland, Here at the Breaken tower end shall the fray!" Scowled the broad sun o'er the links of green Liddesdale, Red as the beacon-light tipped he the wold; Many a bold martial eye Mirror'd that morning sky. Never more oped on his orbit of gold. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 187 Shrill was the bugle's note, dreadful the warrior's shout, Lances and halberds in splinters were borne ; Helmet and hauberk then. Braved the claymore in vain, Buckler and armlet in shivers were shorn. See how they wane — the proud files of the Wind- ermere ! Howard! ah, woe to thy hopes of the day! Hear the wide welkin rend, While the Scots' shouts ascend — "EUiot of Lariston, Elliot for aye!" OFFICERS DID IT ALL. The "General" tells, with swelling pride. How the fires of battle gleamed — Of the slaughter of men "on the other side," As the shell and shrapnel screamed ; How "we charged the foe like the mighty wave Of a wild and stormy sea," But, in that rush of the true and brave, The Private — ^where was he? 188 THE LAUREL SPEAKER The ''Colonel" boasts how his horse fell On Georgia's blood-stained hills ; How he stemmed the wave of that battle hell, Avenging his country's ills ; How the ghastly heaps of the gallant slain Bestrewed the slippery gromid — But we study the tragic tale in vain, There were no Privates 'round. Oh, the "Major's" sword, it was red with gore! And great was the foe's alarm, As they charged, and halted, and fled, before The swing of his mighty arm ; But Freedom bumish'd her epaulettes. As she swatted the hosts of sin — And the lonely pensioner still forgets That the Privates were not in. How brave they flew, at their country's call, To the outpost's, far in front ! "Generals," "Colonels," and "Majors" all To strive in the battle's brunt ; And the "Captain's" stand, ten thousand strong To tell how the thing was done — But where was the "Private" in that throng? Alas, there was not one ! — From the Cleveland ''Plain Dealer'' THE LAUREL SPEAKER 189 MONTEREY. CHARLES FEN^O HOFFMAN. We were not many, — we who stood Before the iron sleet that day; Yet many a gallant sprit would Give half his years if but he could Have been with us at Monterey. Now here, now there, the shot it hailed In deadly drifts of fiery spray, Yet not a single soldier quailed Wheil 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. 190 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Our banners on those turrets wave, And there our evening bugles play ; Where 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? MACGREGOR'S GATHERING. SIR WALTER SCOTT. The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae. And the clan has a name that is nameless by day ; Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! Gather, gather, gather, etc. Our signal for fight, that from monarch's we drew. Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo ! Then haloo, Grigalach! haloo, Grigalach! Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, etc. THE LAUREL SPEAKER 191 Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchurn and her towers, Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours : We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach! Landless, landless, landless, etc. But doomed and devoted by vassal and lord Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword ! Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach! Courage, courage, courage, etc. If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles. Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles ! Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach ! Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, etc. While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the river, Macgregor, despite them, shall flourish forever I Come, then, Grigalach! come then, Griga- lach! Come then, come then, come then, etc. 192 THE LAUREL SPEAKER Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career, O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer, And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles melt, Ere our wrongs be forgot or our vengeance un- felt! Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach! Gather, gather, gather, etc. BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD. THEODORE G^'hARA. The muffled drum's sad roll has beat The soldier's last tattoo; No more on Life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few. On Fame's eternal camping-ground Their silent tents are spread. And Glory guards, with solemn round. The bivouac of the dead.