Then left he all: a few fond tears, by firmness half con- And in the midst, with faltering steps, and pale and cealed, anxious face, A blessing, and a parting prayer, and he was in the In manacles, between two guards, a soldier had his fieldplace, The field of strife, whose dews are blood, whose breezes A youth-led out to die;-and yet, it was not death, war's hot breath, but shame Whose fruits are garnered in the grave, whose hus- That smote his gallant heart with dread, and shook his bandman is death! manly frame. Without a murmur, he endured a service new and Still on, before the marshall'd ranks, the train pursued hard; But, wearied with a toilsome march, it chanced one night, on guard, He sank, exhausted, at his post, and the gray morning found its way Up to the designated spot, whereon a coffin lay— He took his station by its side, abandoned to his fate. His prostrate form—a sentinel asleep upon the ground. Then came across his wavering sight strange pictures in The woes of thirty millions filled his burned heart with grief, Embattled hosts, on land and sea, acknowledged him their chief; And yet, amid the din of war, he heard the plaintive cry the air; He saw his distant mountain home; he saw his mother there; He saw his father bowed in grief, thro' fast-declining years; He saw a nameless grave; and then, the vision closed -in tears. Yet once again. In double file advancing, then, he saw Twelve comrades sternly set apart to execute the law But saw no more; his senses swam-deep darkness settled round And, shuddering, he awaited now the fatal volley's sound. Then suddenly was heard the noise of steed and wheels approach, And, rolling through a cloud of dust, appeared a stately coach, On, past the guards, and through the field, its rapid course was bent, Till, halting, 'mid the lines was seen the nation's Presi dent. He came to save that stricken soul, now waking from despair; And from a thousand voices rose a shout which rent the air; The pardoned soldier understood the tones of jubilee, Of that poor soldier, as he lay in prison, doomed to die. And, bounding from his fetters, blessed the hand that made him free. 'Twas morning.-On a tented field, and through the 'Twas spring-within a verdant vale, where War heated haze, wick's crystal tide Flashed back, from lines of burnished arms, the sun's Reflected, o'er its peaceful breast, fair fields on either effulgent blaze; sideWhile, from a sombre prison-house, seen slowly to Where birds and flowers combined to cheer a sylvan emerge solitude ance stood. A sad procession, o'er the sward, moved to a muffled Two threatening armies. face to face in fierce defi· dirge. Proclaimed, along the echoing hills, the conflict had begun ; And shot and shell, athwart the stream with fiendish fury sped, To strew among the living lines the dying and the dead. Then, louder than the roaring storm, pealed forth the stern command, "Charge! soldiers, charge!" and, at the word, with shouts, a fearless band, Two hundred heroes from Vermont, rushed onward, through the flood, And upward o'er the rising ground, they marked their way in blood. The smitten foe before them fled, in terror, from his post While, unsustained, two hundred stood, to battle with a host! Then turning as the rallying ranks, with murd'rous fire replied, J They bore the fallen o'er the field, and through the purple tide. The fallen! And the first who fell in that unequal strife, Was he whom mercy sped to save when justice claimed his life The pardon'd soldier' And while yet the conflict raged around, While yet his life-blood ebbed away through every gaping wound While yet his voice grew tremulous, and death bedimmed his eye- He called his comrades to attest he had not feared to die; And in his last expiring breath, a prayer to heaven was sent, That God, with His unfailing grace, would bless our President. FRANCIS DE HAES JANVIER. THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. AMELIN Town's in Brunswick. By famous Hanover City; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side. A pleasanter spot you never spied, To see the townsfolk suffer so Rats! They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: "'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation-shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine An hour they sate in council— At length the Mayor broke silence: It's easy to bid one rack one's brain- He advanced to the council-table; Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats; Into the street the piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Which was: "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, And a moving away of pickle-tub boards, (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, "O rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, With a "First if you please, my thousand guilders!"' Το pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! "Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink The piper's face fell, and he cried, And folks who put me in a passion "How?" cried the Mayor, "d' ye think I'll brook Being worse treated than a cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst " Once more he stept into the street; Laid his long pipe of smooth, straight cane; There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling Out came the children running: All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As the piper turned from the High street Right in the way of their sons and daughters! And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, Great was the joy in every breast. 'He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, When lo, as they reached the mountain's side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the piper advanced and the children followed; And could not dance the whole of the way; "It's dull in our town since my playmates left, Of all the pleasant sights they see, For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the Hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!" ROBERT BROWNING. HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris and he; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, 'Twas moonset at starting, but while we drew near So Joris broke silence with "Yet there is time." At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence-ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, its own master, askance ! And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. By Hasselt, Dirck groaned, and cried Joris, "Stay spur! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, We'll remember at Aix;"—for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, So we were left galloping, Joris and I, chaff; Till over by Dalhelm a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!" "How they'll greet us!"—and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone, I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight three; "Good speed !" cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew, "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast. Not a word to each other: we kept the great pace Neck and neck, stride by stride, never changing our place. Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets rim. Then I cast loose my buff coat, each holster let fall, Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise bad | "At the ringing of the Curfew, Basil Underwood must or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember, is friends flocking round, And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, Which, (the burgesses voted by common consent,) from Ghent. ROBERT BROWNING. CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT. die." And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright; In an undertone she murmured : "Curfew must not ring to-night." With quick step she bounded forward, sprung within the old church door, Left the old man threading slowly paths so oft he'd trod before; Not one moment paused the maiden, but with eye and cheek aglow Mounted up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro, As she climbed the dusty ladder on which fell no ray of light, 'LOWLY England's sun was setting o'er the hill-Up and up-her white lips saying: tops far away, Filling all the land with beauty at the close of And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and He with footsteps slow and weary, she with sunny floating hair; He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful, she with lips all cold and white, Struggling to keep back the murmur— "Curfew must not ring to-night." "Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old, With its turrets tall and gloomy, with its walls dark, damp and cold, "Curfew must not ring to-night." She has reached the topmost ladder: o'er her hangs the great, dark bell; Awful is the gloom beneath her, like the pathway down Lo, the ponderous tongue is swinging-'tis the hour of And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her Shall she let it ring? No, never! flash her eyes with sudden light, As she springs, and grasps it firmly "Curfew shall not ring to-night!" "I've a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to Out she swung-far out; the city seemed a speck of die, light below, At the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly help is There 'twixt heaven and earth suspended as the bell nigh swung to and fro, Cromwell will not come till sunset," and her lips grew And the sexton at the bell-rope, old and deaf, heard strangely white As she breathed the husky whisper - "Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton-every word pierced Like the piercing of an arrow, like a deadly poisoned dart "Long, long years I've rung the Curfew from that gloomy, shadowed tower, Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour; not the bell, Sadly thought, "That twilight Curfew rang young Still the maiden clung more firmly, and with trembling Said to hush her heart's wild throbbing :— It was o'er, the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped once more Firmly on the dark old ladder where for hundred years before I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right, Human foot had not been planted. The brave deed Now I'm old I will not falter Curfew, it must ring to-night." Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow, As within her secret bosom Bessie made a solemn vow. She had listened while the judges read without a tear or sigh: that she had done Should be told long ages after, as the rays of setting sun Crimson all the sky with beauty; aged sires, with heads of white, Tell the eager, listening children. "Curfew did not ring that night." |