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Bride maidens, those And the bride-maidens * whispered, ""Twere 35
who were in attend
ance on the bride.
hind the saddle.
better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with
One touch to her hand, one word in her ear,
Croupe, a place be- So light to the croupe* the fair lady he swung,
Scaur, a steep bank of a river.
and scaur! *
They'll have fleet steeds that follow!" quoth
There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode
Cannobie Lea, a plain There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea,* 45 But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they
So daring in love and so dauntless* in war,
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.*-Wolfe.
CHARLES WOLFE (1791-1823) was born at Dublin. He was a poet of great promise. Byron considered this poem one of the most perfect in the language.
Corse, a dead body.
Farewell shot, it is
NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
We buried him darkly at dead of night,
* Sir John Moore was a distinguished military commander. After a skilful and arduous retreat before a superior force of the French, he fell mortally wounded by a cannon ball, under the walls of Corunna, a town on the north-west coast of Spain. January 16, 1809.
No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ;
With his martial cloak * around him.
Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow ;
15 But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.*
We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed
That the foe* and the stranger would tread o'er The foe, the French
And we far away on the billow.*
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid * him ;
25 But half of our heavy task was done
When the clock struck the hour for retiring;
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory;
under Marshal Soult
Billow, the sea.
Upbraid, to reproach Reck, to care for, or regard.
Random, at hazard.
Raised not a stone,
erected, nor inscrip
We carved not a line and we raised not a stone,* tion made to mark
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.*-Southey.
It was a summer's evening,
And by him sported on the green
She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet
In playing there had found;
Rivulet, a stream, a small river.
* Battle of Blenheim, a victory gained at Blenheim in Bavaria, over the French and Bavarians, by the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene in 1704.
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.-Campbell.
OUR bugles sang truce,* for the night-cloud
And the sentinel* stars set their watch in the
And thousands had sunk on the ground over-
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
5 When reposing that night on my pallet* of
By the wolf-scaring faggot* that guarded the
At the dead of the night a sweet vision* I saw,
Methought from the battle-field's dreadful
Io Far, far, I had roamed on a desolate* track;
I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed * so oft
our bugles sang
truce, the signal to
Pallet, a small bed. Wolf-scaring faggot, fires lighted to
frighten away the
wolves and other beasts of prey from
the camp, and from the slain on the
Vision, something seen in a dream. Array, sight, appearance, order of battle. Desolate, dreary, lonely.
Life's morning march, days of child
15 I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,
Pledged we the wine- Then pledged we the wine-cup,* and fondly I
cup, we drank to each
Fain, glad and willing.
From my home and my weeping friends never
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
"Stay, stay with us! rest! thou art weary and
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;
FROM INDIA.*-W. C. Bennett.
WILLIAM COX BENNETT (1820- ) was born at Greenwich. His writings are very spirited, and marked by an earnest love of country. He is the author of Queen Eleanor's Vengeance, Our Glory Roll, Ballad History of England and the States that have sprung from her, besides many other poems.
Indies, India, or Hin- "OH, come you from the Indies?* and, soldier,
dostan, where the
great mutiny of 1857 occurred.
Ninetieth, the number of the regiment.
can you tell
Aught of the gallant 90th,* and who are safe and
O soldier! say my son is safe,—for nothing else
you shall have a mother's thanks, shall have
"Oh, I've come from the Indies,-I've just come
from the war;
And well I know the 90th, and gallant lads they
com- From colonel * down to rank and file * I know mander of a regiment my comrades well;
Rank and file, the And news I've brought you, mother, your Robert
common soldiers as
bade me tell."
"And do you know my Robert, now? Oh, tell
O soldier! tell me word for word all that he said
*India, a peninsula in the south of Asia, the greater portion of which is under British rule.