And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his

pride;

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 16

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his

mail:

And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the

Lord!

1815.

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Lord Byron.

THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW

OH, that last day in Lucknow fort!

We knew that it was the last;

That the enemy's lines crept surely on,

And the end was coming fast.

To yield to that foe meant worse than death;
And the men and we all worked on;

It was one day more of smoke and roar,
And then it would all be done.

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a

There was one of us, a corporal's wife,
A fair, young, gentle thing,
Wasted with fever in the siege,

And her mind was wandering.

She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid,
And I took her head on my knee;

12

"When my father comes hame frae the pleugh,"

she said,

"Oh! then please wauken me.”

She slept like a child on her father's floor,

In the flecking of woodbine-shade,

When the house dog sprawls by the open door, And the mother's wheel is stayed.

It was smoke and roar and powder stench,
And hopeless waiting for death;

And the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child,
Seemed scarce to draw her breath.

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24

I sank to sleep; and I had my dream

All over her face; and she caught my hand

And drew me near as she spoke :

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"The Hielanders! O! dinna ye hear

The slogan far awa?

The McGregor's. O! I ken it weel;

It 's the grandest o' them a'!

"God bless the bonny Hielanders!

We're saved! we're saved!" she cried; And fell on her knees; and thanks to God Flowed forth like a full flood-tide.

Along the battery-line her cry

Had fallen among the men,

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40

And they started back;-they were there to die;

But was life so near them, then?

They listened for life; the rattling fire

Far off, and the far-off roar,

Were all; and the colonel shook his head,
And they turned to their guns once more.

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48

But Jessie said, "The slogan's done;

But winna ye hear it noo,

The Campbells are comin'? It's no a dream; Our succors hae broken through!"

We heard the roar and the rattle afar,

But the pipes we could not hear;

So the men plied their work of hopeless war, And knew that the end was near.

It was not long ere it made its way,-
A thrilling, ceaseless sound:

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56

It was no noise from the strife afar,

Or the sappers under the ground.

It was the pipes of the Highlanders!

And now they played Auld Lang Syne. It came to our men like the voice of God, And they shouted along the line.

And they wept, and shook one another's hands,
And the women sobbed in a crowd;
And every one knelt down where he stood,
And we all thanked God aloud.

That happy time, when we welcomed them,
Our men put Jessie first;

And the general gave her his hand, and cheers
Like a storm from the soldiers burst.

And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed,
Marching round and round our line;
And our joyful cheers were broken with tears,
As the pipes played Auld Lang Syne.

1860.

Robert Traill Spence Lowell.

60

64

68

72

76

MARCO BOZZARIS

Ar midnight, in his guarded tent,

The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power.

In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror;

In dreams his song of triumph heard; Then wore his monarch's signet-ring, Then pressed that monarch's throne-a king; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,

As Eden's garden bird.

At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,-
True as the steel of their tried blades,

Heroes in heart and hand.

There had the Persian's thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drunk their blood,
On old Platæa's day;

And now there breathed that haunted air
The sons of sires who conquered there,
With arm to strike, and soul to dare,

As quick, as far as they.

An hour passed on, the Turk awoke:
That bright dream was his last;
He woke to hear his sentries shriek,
"To arms! they come! the Greek! the
Greek!"

He woke to die midst flame, and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,

And death-shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band:

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