Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise? And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips-"The foe! they come! they come!" And wild and high the "Cameron's Gathering" rose! With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,-alas! (B 838) Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, Which, now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial blent! Byron. The Hallowing of the Fleet (1854) ER captains for the Baltic bound H Silent, whilst holy dew Dimmed her kind eyes. She stood in tears, And wifely cares she knew. She wept, she could not bear to say, Of them that seaward go. Oh warriors, when you stain with gore, Whereon that lady stept, When the fierce joy of battle won Remember that she wept. W. Cory. T Alma (1854) HOUGH till now ungraced in story, scant although thy waters be, Alma, roll those waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea. Yesterday unnamed, unhonoured, but to wandering Tartar known, Now thou art a voice for ever, to the world's four corners blown. In two nations' annals graven, thou art now a deathless name, And a star for ever shining in their firmament of fame. Many a great and ancient river, crowned with city, tower, and shrine, Little streamlet, knows no magic, boasts no potency like thine, Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a living head, Cannot lend the light thou lendest to the memories of the dead. Yea, nor all unsoothed their sorrow, who can, proudly mourning, say When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept itself away "He has past from us, the loved one; but he sleeps with them that died By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hill-side ". Yes, and in the days far onward, when we all are cold as those, Who beneath thy vines and willows on their hero-beds repose, Thou on England's banners blazoned with the famous fields of old, Shalt, where other fields are winning, wave above the brave and bold: And our sons unborn shall nerve them for some great deed to be done, By that twentieth of September, when the Alma's heights were won. O thou river! dear for ever to the gallant, to the free, Alma, roll thy waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea. R. C. Trench. The Order of Valour (1856) HUS saith the Queen! "For him who gave So he from Russian wrong might save My crown, my people and my right,— Let there be made a cross of bronze And grave thereon my queenly crest, Write VALOUR on its haughty scroll And hang it on his breast." Thus saith the Land! "He who shall bear In token that he did not fear To die-had need been-for her rest; Sir Edwin Arnold. E travelled in the print of olden wars; W And love we found, and peace, Where fire and war had been. They pass and smile, the children of the sword No more the sword they wield; And O, how deep the corn Along the battlefield! R. L. Stevenson. |