O tell her, brief is life, but love is long, 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: He sees his brood about thy knee; 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, 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; Rose a nurse of ninety years— '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 |