In whose young heart have freshly met
Two streams of love so deep and clear,
And cheer her drooping spirits yet.
Now, while she kneels before thy throne,
O, teach her, Ruler of the skies,
That, while by thy behest alone
Earth's mightiest powers fall or rise,
No tear is wept to Thee unknown,
No hair is lost, no sparrow dies!
That Thou canst stay the ruthless hand
Of dark disease, and soothe its pain;
That only by Thy stern commands
The battle's lost, the soldier's slain;
That from the distant sea or land
Thou bring'st the wanderer home again.
And when upon her pillow lone
Her tear-wet cheek is sadly pressed, May happier visions beam upon
The brightening current of her breast, No frowning look or angry tone
Disturb the Sabbath of her rest! Whatever fate these forms may show Loved with a passion almost wild,
By day, by night, in joy or woe,
By fears oppressed, or hopes beguiled, From every danger, every foe,
O God, protect my wife and child!
HENRY R. JACKSON.
E were not many-we who stood
Before the iron sleet that day;
Yet many a gallant spirit would
Give half his years if but he could
Have 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
When wounded comrades round them wailed
Their dying shout at Monterey.
And on, still on our column kept,
Through walls of flame, its withering way; Where fell the dead, the living stept, Still charging on the guns which swept The slippery streets of Monterey. The foe himself recoiled aghast,
When, striking where he strongest lay, We swooped his flanking batteries past, And, braving full their murderous blast, Stormed home the towers of Monterey. Our banners on those turrets wave,
And there our evening bugles pay; 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?
CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.
T was upon an April morn,
While yet the frost lay hoar,
We heard Lord James's bugle-horn
Sound by the rocky shore.
Then down we went, a hundred knights,
All in our dark array,
And flung our armor in the ships
That rode within the bay.
We spoke not as the shore grew less,
But gazed in silence back,
Where the long billows swept away
The foam behind our track.
And aye the purple hues decayed
Upon the fading hill,
And but one heart in all that ship
Was tranquil, cold, and still.
The good Lord Douglas paced the deck,
And O, his face was wan!
Unlike the flush it used to wear
When in the battle-van.
Come hither, come hither, my trusty knight,
Sir Simon of the Lee,
There is a freit lies near my soul
I fain would tell to thee.
"Thou know'st the words King Robert spoke Upon his dying day:
How he bade take his noble heart
And carry it far away;
"And lay it in the holy soil
Where once the Saviour trod, Since he might not bear the blessed Cross, Nor strike one blow for God.
"Last night as in my bed I lay,
I dreamed a dreary dream :-
Methought I saw a pilgrim stand
In the moonlight's quivering beam. "His robe was of the azure dye,
Snow-white his scattered hairs,
And even such a cross he bore
As good St. Andrew bears.
"Why go ye forth, Lord James,' he said,
'With spear and belted brand?
Why do you take its dearest pledge
From this our Scottish land?
"The sultry breeze of Galilee
Creeps through its groves of palm,
The olives on the Holy Mount
Stand glittering in the calm;
But 't is not there that Scotland's heart
Shall rest, by God's decree,
Till the great angel calls the dead
To rise from earth and sea!
"Lord James of Douglas, mark my re e
That heart shall pass once more
In fiery fight against the foe,
As it was wont of yore.
"And it shall pass beneath the Cross,
And save King Robert's vow;
But other hands shall bear it back,
Not, James of Douglas, thou!'
"Now, by thy knightly faith, I pray,
Sir Simon of the Lee-
For truer friend had never man
Than thou hast been to me-
"If ne'er upon the Holy Land
'Tis mine in life to tread,
Bear thou to Scotland's kindly earth
The relics of her dead.”
The tear was in Sir Simon's eye
As he wrung the warrior's hand-
"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
I'll hold by thy command.
"But if in battle-front, Lord James,
'I is ours once more to ride,
Nor force of man, nor craft of fiend,
Shall cleave me from thy side'''
And aye we sailed and aye we sailed
Across the weary sea,
Until one morn the coast of Spain
Rose grimly on our lee.
And as we rounded to the port,
Beneath the watch-tower's wall,
We heard the clash of the atabals,
And the trumpet's wavering call.
"Why sounds yon eastern music here
So wantonly and long,
And whose the crowd of armed men
That round yon standard throng?"
"The Moors have come from Africa
To spoil and waste and slay,
And King Alonzo of Castile
Must fight with them to-day.”
"Now shame it were," cried good Lord James, "Shall never be said of me
That I and mine have turned aside
From the Cross in jeopardie!
"Have down, have down, my merry men all
Have down unto the plain, We'll let the Scottish lion loose
Within the fields of Spain !"
"Now welcome to me, noble lord.
Thou and thy stalwart power,
Dear is the sight of a Christian knight
Who comes in such an hour!
"Is it for bond or faith you come,
Or yet for golden fee?
Or bring ye France's lilies here,
Or the flower of Burgundie?"
"God greet thee well, thou valiant king.
Thee and the belted peers-
Sir James of Douglas am I called,
And these are Scottish spears.
"We do not fight for bond or plight,
Nor yet for golden fee;
But for the sake of our blessed Lord,
Who died upon the tree.
"We bring our great King Robert's heart
Across the weltering wave,
To lay it in the noly soil
Hard by the Saviour's grave
"True pilgrims we, by land or sea,
Where danger bars the way,
And therefore are we here, Lord King,
To ride with thee this day!"
The King has bent his stately head,
And the tears were in his eyne-
"God's blessing on thee, noble knight,
For this brave thought of thine!
"I know thy name full well, Lord James,
And honored may I be,
That those who fought beside the Bruce
Should fight this day for me!
"Take thou the leading of the van,
And charge the Moors amain,
There is not such a lance as thine
In all the host of Spain!"
The Douglas turnèd towards us then,
O, but his glance was high!-
"There is not one of all my men
But is as bold as I
"There is not one of all my knights
But bears as true a spear-
Then onward, Scottish gentlemen,
And think King Robert's here""
The trumpets blew, the cross-bolts flew,
The arrows flashed like flame,
As spur in side, and spear in rest,
Against the foe we came.
And many a bearded Saracen
Went down, both horse and man; For through their ranks we rode like corn,
So furiously we ran !
But in behind our path they closed, Though fain to let us through, For they were forty thousand men, And we were wondrous few.
We might not see a lance's length,
So dense was their array,
But the long fell sweep of the Scottish blade Still held them hard at bay.
“Make in! make in!" Lord Douglas cried"Make in, my brethren dear!
Sir William of St. Clair is down;
We may not leave him here!"
But thicker, thicker grew the swarm,
And sharper shot the rain,
And the horses reared amid the press,
But they would not charge again.
"Now Jesus help thee," said Lord James,
"Thou kind and true St. Clair!
And if I may not bring thee off,
I'll die beside thee there!"
Then in his stirrups up he stood,
So lion-like and bold,
And held the precious heart aloft,
All in its case of gold.
He flung it from him, far ahead,
And never spake he more,
But--"Pass thou first, thou dauntless heart,
As thou wert wont of yore !"
The roar of fight rose fiercer yet,
And heavier still the stour,
Till the spears of Spain came shivering in,
And swept away the Moor.
'Now praised be God, the day is won!
They fly, o'er flood and fell—
Why dost thou draw the rein so hard,
Good knight, that fought so well?”
"O, ride ye on, Lord King!" he said,
"And leave the dead to me.
For I must keep the dreariest watch
That ever I shall dree!
There lies, above his master's heart,
The Douglas, stark and grim;
And woe is me I should be here,
Not side by side with him!
"The world grows cold, my arm is old,
And thin my lyart hair,
And all that I loved best on earth
Is stretched before me there.
"O Bothwell banks, that bloom so bright Beneath the sun of May!
The heaviest cloud that ever blew,
Is bound for you this day.
"And Scotland! thou mayst veil thy hea
In sorrow and in pain,
The sorest stroke upon thy brow
Hath fallen this day in Spain !
"We'll bear them back unto our ship,
We'll bear them o'er the sea,
And lay them in the hallowed earth
Within our own countrie.
"And be thou strong of heart, Lord King: For this I tell thee sure,
The sod that drank the Douglas' blood Shall never bear the Moor!"
The King he lighted from his horse,
He flung his brand away,
And took the Douglas by the hand,
So stately as he lay.
"God give thee rest, thou valiant soul!
That fought so well for Spain;
I'd rather half my land were gone,
So thou wert here again!"
We bore the good Lord James away,
And the priceless heart we bore,
And heavily we steered our ship
Towards the Scottish shore.
No welcome greeted our return,
Nor clang of martial tread,
But all were dumb and hushed as death
Before the mighty dead.
We laid our chief in Douglas Kirk,
The heart in fair Melrose;
And woful men were we that day-
God grant their souls repose!
WILLIAM EDMUNDSTONE AYTOUN.
HUDIBRAS' SWORD AND DAGGER.
IS puissant sword unto his side,
Near his undaunted heart was tied,
With basket hilt that would hold broth,
And serve for fight and dinner both.
In it he melted lead for bullets
To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets,
To whom he bore so fell a grutch
He ne'er gave quarter to any such.
The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty,
For want of fighting was grown rusty,
And ate into itself, for lack
Of somebody to hew and hack.
The peaceful scabbard, where it dwelt,
The rancor of its edge had felt,
For of the lower end two handful
It had devoured, it was so manful;
And so much scorned to lurk in case,
As if it durst not show its face.
This sword a dagger had, his page,
That was but little for his age,
And therefore waited on him so
As dwarfs unto knight-errants do.
It was a serviceable dudgeon,
Either for fighting or for drudging.
When it had stabbed or broke a head,
It would scrape trenchers or chip breač,
Toast cheese or bacon, though it were
To bait a mouse-trap 't would not care;
'Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth
Set leeks and onions, and so-forth:
It had been 'prentice to a brewer,
Where this and more it did endure;
But left the trade, as many more
Have lately done on the same score.
[The battle was fought in September, 1513, between the forces of England and Scotland. The latter were worsted, and King James slain with eight thousand of his men. Lord Surrey commanded the English troops.]
MOMENT then Lord Marmion stayed,
And breathed his steed, his men arrayed,
Then forward inoved his band,
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won.
He halted by a cross of stone,
That on a hillock standing lone,
Did all the field command.
Hence might they see the full array
Of either host for deadly fray;
Their marshalled lines stretched east and west,
And fronted north and south,
And distant salutation past
From the loud cannon-mouth;
Not in the close successive rattle
That breathes the voice of modern battle,
But slow and far between.-
The hillock gained, Lord Marmion stayed: 'Here, by this cross," he gently said,
"You well may view the scene;
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare:
O, think of Marmion in thy prayer !—
Thou wilt not?-well-no less my care
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare-
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard
With ten picked archers of my train;
With England if the day go hard,
To Berwick speed amain-
But, if we conquer, cruel maid,
My spoils shall at your feet be laid,
When here we meet again."
He waited not for answer there,
And would not mark the maid's despair,
Nor heed the discontented look
From either squire; but spurred amain,
And, dashing through the battle-plain,
His way to Surrey took.
Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still
With Lady Clare upon the hill;
On which (for far the day was spent)
The western sunbeams now were bent.
The cry they heard, its meaning knew,
Could plain their distant comrades view s
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,
"Unworthy office here to stay!
No hope of gilded spurs to-day.—
But, see! look up-on Flodden bent
The Scottish foe has fired his tent."
And sudden, as he spoke,.
From the sharp ridges of the hill,
All downward to the banks of Till
Was wreathed in sable smoke.
Volumed and vast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,
As down the hill they broke;
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march; their tread alone,
At times their warning trumpet blown,
At times a stifled hum,
Told England from his mountain-throne
King James did rushing come-
Scarce could they hear or see their foes,
Until at weapon-point they close.
They close in clouds of smoke and dust,
With sword-sway and with lance's thrust;
And such a yell was there,
Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon the earth
And fiends in upper air:
O, life and death were in the shout,
Recoil and rally, charge and rout,
And triumph and despair.
Long looked the anxious squires; their eye
Could in the darkness naught descry.
At length the freshening western blast
Aside the shroud of battle cast;
And, first, the ridge of mangled spears
Above the brightening cloud appears;
And in the smoke the pennons flew,
As in the storm the bright sea-mew.
Then marked they, dashing broad and far,
The broken billows of the war,
And plumed crests of chieftains brave
Floating like foam upon the wave;
But naught distinct they see:
Wide raged the battle on the plain;
Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain;
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,
Wild and disorderly.
Amid the scene of tumult, high
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly:
And stainless Tunstall's banner white,
And Edmund Howard's lion bright,
Still bear them bravely in the fight;
Although against them come
Of gallant Gordons many a one,
And many a stubborn Highlandman,
And many a rugged Border clan,
With Huntley and with Home.
Far on the left, unseen the while,
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;
Though there the western mountaineer
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear,
And flung the feeble targe aside,
And with both hands the broadsword plied,
'T was vain :—but fortune, on the right,
With fickle smile, cheered Scotland's fight.
Then fell that spotless banner white,
The Howard's lion fell;
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew
Around the battle-yell.
The Border slogan rent the sky!
A Home! a Gordon! was the cry:
Loud were the clanging blows;
Advanced-forced back-now low, now high,
The pennon sunk and rose;"
As bends the bark's mast in the gale,
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and saiļ
It wavered mid the foes.
No longer Blount the view could bear :'By heaven and all its saints, I swear,
I will not see it lost!
Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare
May bid your beads, and patter prayer-
I gallop to the host."
And to the fray he rode amain,
Followed by all the archer train.
The fiery youth, with desperate charge,
Made, for a space, an opening large—
The rescued banner rose,
But darkly closed the war around,
Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground,
It sunk among the foes.
Then Eustace mounted too ;-yet stayed,
As loath to leave the helpless maid,
When, fast as shaft can fly,
Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread,
The loose rein dangling from his head,
Housing and saddle bloody red,
Lord Marmion's steed rushed by ;
And Eustace, maddening at the sight,
A look and sign to Clara cast,
To mark he would return in haste,
Then plunged into the fight.
Ask me not what the maiden feels,
Left in that dreadful hour alone:
Perchance her reason stoops or reels;
Perchance a courage, not her own,
Braces her mind to desperate tone.—
The scattered van of England wheels ;—
She only said, as loud in air
The tumult roared, "Is Wilton there?"-
They fly, or, maddened by despair,
Fight but to die-" Is Wilton there?"
With that, 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!
Young Blount his armor did unlace,
And, gazing on his ghastly face,
Said "By St. George, he's gone!
That spear-wound has our master sped-
And see the deep cut on his head!
Good-night to Marmion."—
"Unnurtured Blount! thy brawling 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 !—
Yet my last thought is England's :-fly,
To Dacre bear my signet-ring:
Tell him his squadrons up to bring :—
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie;
Trunstall lies dead upon the field,
His life-blood stains the spotless shield :
Edmund is down;-my life is reft ;-
The Admiral alone is left,
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire-
With Chester charge, and Lancashire,
Full upon Scotland's central host,
Or victory and England's lost.
Must I bid twice?—hence, varlets! fly!
Leave Marmion here alone-to die."
They parted, and alone he lay :
Clare drew her from the sight away,
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan,
And half he murmured-"Is there none,
Of all my halls have nurst,
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring,
Of blessed water from the spring,
To slake my dying thirst?
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