And with their sleepless eyes have wit to sever
Man's lawful joy in power from pride of power,
And hover round the loyal soul forever;

But the hot insolent head they hold one hour
High over the ranks of men, then dash it down,
And laugh to see it kiss the dust and cower.

Let others leap straight to the forest-crown!
Slow growth, cool saps and temperate airs for me,
And strength to stand when all the woods are brown.

Drike D. Grincų

A BALLAD OF METZ.

Léon went to the wars, true soul without a stain;
First at the trumpet-call; thy son, Lorraine !

Never a mighty host thrilled so with one desire;
Never a past crusade lit nobler fire.

And he, among the rest, marched gaily in the van :
No braver blood than his since time began.

And mild and fond was he, and sensitive as a leaf.
Just Heaven! that he was this is half my grief.

We followed where the last detachment led away,
At Metz, an evil-starred and bitter day;

Some of us had been hurt in the first hot assault,

Yet will was shaken not, nor zeal at fault;

We hurried on to the front; our banners were soiled and rent ; Grim riflemen, gallants all, our captain sent.

A Prussian lay by a tree, rigid as ice, and pale;
Crawled thither, out of the reach of battle-hail.

His cheek was hollow and white; parched was his swollen lip; Tho' bullets had fastened on their leaden grip,

Tho' ever he gasped and called, called faintly from the rear, What of it? And all in scorn I closed mine ear.

The very colors he wore, they burnt and bruised my sight; The greater his anguish, so was my delight.

We laughed a savage laugh, who loved our land too well! Giving its enemies hate unspeakable.

But Léon, kind heart, poor heart, clutched me around the arm: "He faints for water!" he said; "it were no harm

"To soothe a wounded man, already on death's rack." He seized his brimming gourd, and hurried back.

The foeman grasped it fiercely. 'Neath his wild eye's lid
Something coiled like a snake glittered and hid.

He raised his shattered frame up from the grassy ground,
And drank with the loud, mad haste of a thirsty hound.

Léon knelt by his side, one hand beneath his head;
Scarce kinder the water than the words he said.

He rose and left him, stretched at length on the grassy plot,

The viper-like flame in his eyes remembered not.

Léon with easy gait strode on; he bared his hair,
Swinging his army cap, humming an air.

Just as he neared the troops, there by the purpled stream-
Good God! a sudden snap, and a lurid gleam.

I wrenched my bandaged arm, with the horror of the start: Léon was low at my feet, shot thro' the heart.

Do you think an angel told whose hands the deed had done? To the Prussian we dashed back, mute, every one.

Do you think we stopped to curse, or wailing feebly, stood? Do you think we spared who shed his friend's sweet blood?

Ha! vengeance on the fiend! We smote him as if hired,
I most of them, and more, when they grew tired.

I saw the deep eye lose its dastard, steely blue;
I saw the trait'rous breast pierced thro' and thro'.

His musket, smoking yet, unhanded lay beside.
Three times three thousand deaths that Prussian died.

And he, our lad, our dearest, lies too upon the plain :
O teach no more Christ's mercy thy sons, Lorraine !

GLOUCESTER HARBOR.

North from the beautiful islands,

North from the headlands and highlands,

The long sea wall,

The white ships flee with the swallow;
The day-beams follow and follow,

Glitter and fall.

The brown ruddy children that fear not,
Lean over the quay, and they hear not

Warning of lips;

For their hearts go a-sailing, a-sailing,
Out from the wharves and the wailing

After the ships.

Nothing to them is the golden
Curve of the sands, or the olden
Haunt of the town;

Little they reck of the peaceful
Chiming of bells, or the easeful
Sport of the down.

The orchards no longer are cherished; The charm of the meadow has perished: Dearer, ay me!

The solitude vast, unbefriended

The magical voice and the splendid
Fierce will of the sea.

Beyond them, by ridges and narrows
The silver prows speed like the arrows

Sudden and fair;

Like the hoofs of Al Borak the wondrous,
Lost in the blue and the thund'rous
Depth of the air;

On to the central Atlantic,

Where passionate, hurrying, frantic

Elements meet;

To the play and the calm and commotion
Of the treacherous, glorious ocean,
Cruel and sweet.

In the hearts of the children forever
She fashions their growing endeavor,

The pitiless sea;

Their sires in her caverns she stayeth,

The spirits that love her slayeth,

And laughs in her glee.