But he looked on, and smiled, nor bared his sword,
But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said

'Thou strik'st too hard! that club of thine will float
Upon the summer-floods, and not my bones.
But rise, and be not wroth! not wroth am I;
No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul.

Thou say'st, thou art not Rustum; be it so!
Who art thou then, that canst so touch my soul ?
Boy as I am, I have seen battles too-
Have waded foremost in their bloody waves,
And heard their hollow roar of dying men;
But never was my heart thus touched before.

Are they from Heaven, these softenings of the heart?
O thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven!
Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears,
And make a truce, and sit upon this sand,
And pledge each other in red wine, like friends,
And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum's deeds.
There are enough foes in the Persian host
Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang;
Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou

Mayst fight; fight them, when they confront thy spear!
But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and me!'

He ceased, but while he spake, Rustum had risen, And stood erect, trembling with rage; his club He left to lie, but had regained his spear, Whose fiery point now in his mailed right-hand Blazed bright and baleful, like that autumn-star, The baleful sign of fevers: dust had soiled His stately crest, and dimmed his glittering arms. His breast heaved, his lips foamed, and twice his voice Was choked with rage; at last these words broke way 'Girl! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands! Curled minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words! Fight, let me hear thy hateful voice no more!

Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now

With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance;
But on the Oxus-sands, and in the dance

Of battle, and with me, who make no play
Of war; I fight it out, and hand to hand.
Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine!
Remember all thy valour; try thy feints
And cunning! all the pity I had is gone;

Because thou hast shamed me before both the hosts
With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's wiles.'
He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts,
And he too drew his sword; at once they rushed
Together, as two eagles on one prey

Come rushing down together from the clouds,
One from the east, one from the west; their shields
Dashed with a clang together, and a din
Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters
Make often in the forest's heart at morn,
Of hewing axes, crashing trees-such blows
Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed.
And you would say that sun and stars took part
In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud
Grew suddenly in Heaven, and darked the sun
Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose
Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain,
And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair.
In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they alone;
For both the on-looking hosts on either hand
Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure,
And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream.

But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes
And labouring breath; first Rustum struck the shield
Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-spiked spear
Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin,
And Rustum plucked it back with angry groan.

Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm, Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest He shore away, and the proud horsehair plume, Never till now defiled, sank to the dust;

And Rustum bowed his head; but then the gloom

Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air,

And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse,
Who stood at hand, uttered a dreadful cry ;-
No horse's cry was that, most like the roar
Of some pained desert-lion, who all day
Has trailed the hunter's javelin in his side,
And comes at night to die upon the sand-
The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear,
And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream.

But Sohrab heard, and quailed not, but rushed on,
And struck again; and again Rustum bowed
His head; but this time all the blade, like glass,
Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm,
And in the hand the hilt remained alone.
Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes
Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear,
And shouted: Rustum !-Sohrab heard that shout,
And shrank amazed; back he recoiled one step,
And scanned with blinking eyes the advancing form;
And then he stood bewildered, and he dropped
His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side.
He reeled, and staggering back, sank to the ground;
And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell,
And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all
The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair ;-
Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet,
And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand.

M. Arnold.

THE BATTLE OF NASEBY.

OH! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North,
With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red?
And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout?
And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye tread?

Oh evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit,

And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod ; For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong, Who sate in the high places, and slew the saints of God.

It was about the noon of a glorious day of June,

That we saw their banners dance, and their cuirasses shine, And the Man of Blood was there, with his long essenced hair, And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of the Rhine.

Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword,
The General rode along us to form us to the fight,
When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled into a shout,
Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's right.

And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore,
The cry of battle rises along their charging line!

For God! for the Cause! for the Church! for the Laws !
For Charles King of England and Rupert of the Rhine!

The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums, His bravoes of Alsatia, and pages of Whitehall;

They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes, close your ranks;

For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall.

They are here! They rush on! We are broken! We are gone!
Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast.
O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the right!
Stand back to back, in God's name, and fight it to the last.

Stout Skippon hath a wound; the centre hath given ground : Hark! hark!-What means the trampling of horsemen on our rear?

Whose banner do I see, boys? 'Tis he, thank God, 'tis he, boys, Bear up another minute: brave Oliver is here.

Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row,
Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dykes,
Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst,
And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes.

Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide
Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple Bar;
And he he turns, he flies :-shame on those cruel eyes
That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war.

Ho! comrades, scour the plain; and, ere ye strip the slain,
First give another stab to make your search secure,
Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad-pieces and
lockets,

The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor.