O tell her, brief is life, but love is long,
And brief the sun of summer in the North,
And brief the moon of beauty in the South.

O Swallow, flying from the golden woods,

Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her

mine,

And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.

'THY VOICE IS HEARD THROUGH ROLLING DRUMS.’

HY voice is heard thro' rolling drums,

That beat to battle where he stands ; Thy face across his fancy comes,

And gives the battle to his hands:
A moment, while the trumpets blow,

He sees his brood about thy knee;
The next like fire he meets the foe,

And strikes him dead for thine and thee.

H

OME they brought her warrior dead :

She nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry: All her maidens, watching, said, 'She must weep or she will die.'

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Call'd him worthy to be loved,

Truest friend and noblest foe;

Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,

Lightly to the warrior stept,

Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years—
Set his child upon her knee-
Like summer tempest came her tears--
'Sweet my child, I live for thee.'

'OUR ENEMIES HAVE FALL'N, HAVE FALL'N.'

OUR enemies have fall'n, have fall'n; the

seed,

The little seed they laugh'd at in the

dark,

Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk

Of spanless girth, that lays on every side

A thousand arms and rushes to the Sun.

Our enemies have fall'n, have fall'n: they came;

The leaves were wet with women's tears: they heard