The focus of the fight;

And fast by Wellesley's gallant side
The Craufurd rode amain,

And Hill, the British soldier's pride,
And Nightingale, and Fane.

Crouching like a tiger,

In his high and rocky lair,

The Frenchman howled and showed his teeth,
And-wished he wasn't there;

For Craufurd, Hill, and Nightingale,
Flew at him as he lay,

And up our gallant fellows sprang

As bloodhounds on the prey!

And, look! we hunt the bold Laborde
To Zambugeira's height-

While Trant with Fane and Ferguson
Outflank him left and right;

And then with cheers we charge the front,
With cheers the foe reply, -

No child's play was that battle brunt,
We swore to win or die!

Thoughts and things each day
Seem to be fading away;

Yet this is, I wot,

Their lot to be not
Continuing in one stay.

A mingled mesh it seems
Of facts and fancy's gleams;
I scarce have power

From hour to hour

To separate things from dreams.

Darkly, as in a glass,

Like a vain shadow they pass;

Their ways they wend

And tend to an end,

The goal of life, alas!

Alas? and wherefere so?

Be glad for this passing show:
The world and its lust

Back must to their dust

Before the soul can grow.

Expand! my willing mind,
Thy nobler life to find,
Thy childhood leave
Nor grieve to bereave
Thine age of toys behind.

PEACE AND QUIETNESS.

PEACE is the precious atmosphere I breathe;
And my calm mind goes to her dewy bower,
A trellis rare of fragrant thoughts to wreathe,
Mingling the scents and tints of every flower;

My happy fancies, lest the flock take wing, Fly to the wilderness and perish there! For I have secret luxuries, that bring Gladness and brightness to mine eyes and heart, Memory, and Hope, and keen Imagining, Sweet thoughts and peaceful, never to depart.

THEN give me Silence; for my spirit is rare,

Of delicate edge and tender: when I think I rear aloft a mental fabric fair;

But soon as words come hurtling on the air,
Down to this dust my ruined fancies sink:
Look you! on yonder Alp's precipitous brink
An avalanche is tottering;
one breath

Loosens an icy chain; —it falls, — it falls, Filling the buried glens and glades with death! Or as, when on the mountain's granite walls

The hunter spies a chamois, — hush! be calm, A word will scare it, even so, my Mind Creative, energizing, seeks the balm Of Quiet: Solitude and Peace combin'd.

(Written in the saddle, on the crown of my hat.)

Ar five on a dewy morning,

Before the blazing day,

To be up and off on a high-mettled horse,

Over the hills away,

To drink the rich, sweet breath of the gorse,

And bathe in the breeze of the Downs,

ASCOT: JUNE 3, 1847.- WHEN HERO WON.

Ha! man, if you can, match bliss like this

In all the joys of towns!

With glad and grateful tongue to join
The lark at his matin hymn,

And thence on faith's own wing to spring

And sing with Cherubim!

To pray from a deep and tender heart,

With all things praying anew,

The birds and the bees, and the whispering trees,

Then, off again with a slackened rein,
And a bounding heart within,
To dash at a gallop over the plain,
Health's golden cup to win!

This, this is the race for gain and grace

Richer than vases and crowns;

And you that boast your pleasures the most,

Amid the steam of towns,

Come taste true bliss in a morning like this,
Galloping over the Downs!

299

ASCOT:

JUNE 3, 1847.- WHEN HERO WON

MODERN Olympia! shorn of all their pride-
The patriot spirit, and unlucred praise -
Thou art a type of these degenerate days

When love of simple honor all hath died;

Oh dusty, gay, and eager multitude,

Agape for gold-No! do not thus condemn;
For hundreds here are innocent, and good,

And young, and fair, among, but not of them;