They can affirm his praises best,

And have, though overcome, confest How good he is, how just,

And fit for highest trust:

Nor yet grown stiffer by command,
But still in the republic's hand,
How fit he is to sway
That can so well obey.

He to the commons' feet presents

A kingdom for his first year's rents,
And, what he may, forbears
His fame to make it theirs:

And has his sword and spoils ungirt,
To lay them at the public's skirt.
So when the falcon high
Falls heavy from the sky,

She, having killed, no more does search
But on the next green bough to perch

Where, when he first does lure,
The falconer has her sure.

What may not then our isle presume,
While victory his crest does plume?

What may not others fear
If thus he crowns each year?

As Cæsar he, ere long, to Gaul;
To Italy an Hannibal;

And to all states not free
Shall climacteric be.

The Pict no shelter now shall find Within his parti-colored mind; But from this valor sad Shrink underneath the plaid,

Happy, if in the tufted brake
The English hunter him mistake,
Nor lay his hounds in near
The Caledonian deer.

But thou, the war's and fortune's son,
March indefatigably on;

And, for the last effect,
Still keep the sword erect!

Besides the force it has to fright
The spirits of the shady night,

The same arts that did gain
A power, must it maintain.

ANDREW MARVELL.

Sonnets.

TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL.

CROMWELL, Our chief of men, who through a cloud

Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,

To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,

And on the neck of crowned fortune proud

Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued,

While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued,

And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains

To conquer still; peace hath her victories No less renowned than war. New foes arise Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.

WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY.

CAPTAIN, or Colonel, or Knight in arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,

If deed of honor did thee ever please,
Guard them, and him within protect from
harms.

He can requite thee, for he knows the charms
That call fame on such gentle acts as these,
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and

seas,

Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower:

The great Emathian Conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground: and the repeated air Of sad Electra's poet had the power

To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.

TO CYRIAC SKINNER.

CYRIAC, this three years day these eyes, tho' clear
To outward view of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

Against heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, friend, t' have lost them over-
plied

In liberty's defence, my noble task,

Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask,

Content though blind, had I no better guide.

JOHN MILTON.

The trumpets from turrets high

Loudly are braying; The steeds for the onset

Are snorting and neighing; As waves in the ocean, The dark plumes are dancing; As stars in the blue sky, The helmets are glancing.

Their ladders are planting,

Their sabres are sweeping; Now swords from our sheaths By the thousand are leaping; Like the flash of the levin

Ere men hearken thunder, Swords gleam, and the steel caps Are cloven asunder.

The shouting has ceased,

And the flashing of cannon!

I looked from the turret

For crescent and pennon:

As flax touched by fire,

As hail in the river,

They were smote, they were fallen, And had melted for ever.

378

ANONYMOUS.

When Banners are Waving.

WHEN banners are waving,

And lances a-pushing;
When captains are shouting,

And war-horses rushing;
When cannon are roaring,
And hot bullets flying,
He that would honor win,
Must not fear dying.
Though shafts fly so thick

That it seems to be snowing;
Though streamlets with blood
More than water are flowing;
Though with sabre and bullet
Our bravest are dying,
We speak of revenge, but
We ne'er speak of flying.

Come, stand to it, heroes!

The heathen are coming;
Horsemen are round the walls,
Riding and running;
Maidens and matrons all

Arm! arm! are crying,
From petards the wildfire's
Flashing and flying.

The Covenanters' Battle-Chant.

To battle! to battle!
To slaughter and strife!
For a sad, broken covenant
We barter poor life.
The great God of Judah

Shall smite with our hand, And break down the idols That cumber the land.

Uplift every voice

In prayer, and in song; Remember the battle

Is not to the strong. Lo, the Ammonites thicken! And onward they come, To the vain noise of trumpet, Of cymbal, and drum.

The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming,

The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming,

The Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.

To the lords of convention 'twas Claverhouse 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 bonnets of bonnie Dundee!"
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can;
Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;
Come open the Westport and let us gang free,
And it's room for the bonnets of bonnie 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 well quit of that deil of Dundee!"

ing,

When in Wellwood's dark muirlands the mighty were falling.

When the righteous had fallen, and the combat was ended,

A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended;

Its drivers were angels on horses of whiteness, And its burning wheels turned upon axles of brightness.

But the young plants of grace they looked cowthie and slee,

Thinking, Luck to thy bonnet, thou bonnie Dundee!

As they watched for the bonnets of bonnie Dundee.

spears,

tion.

On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding, Through the path of the thunder the horsemen are riding

But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free

At the toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee.

He spurred to the foot of the proud castle rock,

ye

A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory!

JAMES HYSLOP.

"Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three,

For the love of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee."