Pied horses prancing fiercely north, When to Ammoria he did win, He smote and drove the dogs of Roum, And rode his spotted stallion in, Crying, "Labbayki! I am come!" She kiss'd his feet, she laugh'd and wept. She pointed where that lord was laid : While Mohtasim at peace did drink?" Flash'd the fierce sword-roll'd the lord's head; The wicked blood smok'd in the sand. "Now bring my cup!" the Caliph said. Lightly he took it in his hand, As down his throat the sweet drink ran By God! delicious is this draught! AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA HE who died at Azan sends This to comfort all his friends: Faithful friends! It lies, I know, -- I can hear your sighs and prayers; Sweet friends! What the women lave The wearer, not the garb, — the plume Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell; Be ye certain all seems love, ye stout of heart, and come Bravely onward to your home! La Allah illa Allah! yea! Thou love divine! Thou love alway! He that died at Azan gave This to those who made his grave. His nobleness he had of none, War's Master taught him war, And prouder praise that Master gave than meaner lips can mar; Gone to his grave, his duty done; if farther any seek, He left his life to answer them,― a soldier's, let it speak! 'T was his to sway a blunted sword, - to fight a fated field, While idle tongues talk'd victory, to struggle not to yield; Light task for placeman's ready pen to plan a field for fight, Hard work and hot with steel and shot to win that field aright. Stopford Augustus Brooke VERSAILLES (1784) IN Carnival we were, and supp'd that night In a long room that overlook'd the Square, When that strange matter happ'd of which you ask. We rang all pleasure's carillon that week; Feasts and rich shows, and hunting in the woods, Light love that liv'd on change, deep drinking, mirth As mad as Nero's on the Palatine ; The women were as wild as we, and, like The King's, our money flew about in showers. They said, "The people starv'd"; it could not be ; We spent a million on the Carnival. And now for fifty years gone by I have heard "The people starve" useless beasts Why then do the Gender so fast? Less mouths, more bread! For me, I do not care whether they live or die, Canaille the dunghill breeds, The mond car'd, but Drum High o'er his head, and, crying "Horror, horror," Fell like a stabb'd man prone upon the floor. We laid him on a couch and cried, "Speak speak, young Scotch musketeer whose waking | What is it, what have you seen?" You wish to hear from me, who only live then It was a glorious fire, and on that night Struck three in the still air and a hush'd sound Like coming wind pass'd by, and in its breath I thought I heard, far off, a wail and roar up And muttering troops are nigh," Strode to the window. seem'd, Half asleep he "I have seen Death," he said, "And Doom,” — and truly with his matted hair, - And eyes which as he rose upon his hands fire, He look'd like a gaunt, shaggy mountain wolf Caught in a pit, and mad with rage and fear. "You heard," he said, "that sighing rush And then the awful cry, far off, as if and trance Fell on my brain, and in the trance I saw The King and Queen, not ours, but those Hereafter, and I heard soft speech of love And laughter please the night - when momently The moon went out, and from the darkness stream'd A hissing flood of rain that where it fell Changed into blood, and 'twixt the courtyard stones Blood well'd as water from a mountain moss; And the gay crowd, unwitting, walk'd in it: Bubbling it rose past ankle, knee, and waist, From waist to throat; and still they walk'd as if They knew it not, until a fierce wind lash'd The crimson sea, and beat it into waves, And when its waves smote on their faces, then They knew and shriek'd, but all in vain; the blood, Storming upon them, whelm'd and drown'd them all; At which a blinding lightning like a knife Gash'd the cloud's breast, and dooming thunder peal'd. I woke, and crying 'Horror' knew no A place in d'Artois' stable!" These are the scum That Drummond fear'd — Artois shall flog the man. THE JUNGFRAU'S CRY I, VIRGIN of the Snows, have liv'd Mated with Sunlight, Stars and Heaven, High mates! Ye teach me purity, I have eternal youth. Blow, tropic winds, and warm rains, fall, And melt my snowy crest; Let soft woods clothe my shoulders fair, Deep grass lie on my breast. And let me feed a thousand herds, So may I hear the sweep of scythes, And beating of the flails, |