In a daisy's blossoming,
Or in long dark grasses wave
Plume-like o'er your favorite's grave?
Can they live in us, and fade
In all else that God has made!
Is there aught of harm believing
That, some newer form receiving,
They may find a wider sphere,
Live a larger life than here?
That the meek, appealing eyes,
Haunted by strange mysteries,
Find a more extended field,
To new destinies unsealed;
Or that in the ripened prime
Of some far-off summer time,
Ranging that unknown domain,
find our pets again?
THE BEDOUIN'S REBUKE.
A Bedouin of true honor, good Nebar,
Possessed a horse whose fame was spread afar
No other horse was half so proud and strong;
His feet were like the north wind swept along ;
In his curved neck, and in his flashing eye,
You saw the harbingers of victory.
So, many came to Nebar day by day,
And longed to take his noble horse away;
Large sums they offered, and with grace besought. But, all in vain; the horse could not be bought.
With these came Daher, of another tribe,
To see if he might not the owner bribe;
Yet purposeless, no money, skill, nor breath
Could part the owner from his horse till death.
Then Daher, who was subtle, mean, and sly,
Concluded, next, some stratagem to try;
So, clothed in rags, and masked in form and face,
He as a beggar walked with limping pace,
And, meeting Nebar with the horse one day,
He fell, and prostrate on the desert lay.
The ruse succeeded; for, when Nebar found
A helpless man in sorrow on the ground,
He took him up, and on the noble steed
Gave him a place; but what a thankless deed!
For Daher shouted, laughed, and, giving rein,
Said, "You will never see your horse again!
“Take him,” said Nebar, “but, for Mercy's sake,
Tell no man in what way you choose to take,
Lest others, seeing what has happened me,
Omit to do some needed charity."
Pierced by these words, the robber's keen remorse
Thwarted his plan, and he returned the horse,
Shame-faced and sorrowful; then slunk away
As if he feared the very light of day!
FROM "THE LORD OF BUTRAGO.”
Your horse is faint, my King, my lord! your gallant horse is sick,
His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the
Mount, mount on mine, O mount apace, I pray thee,
My King, my King! you 're wounded sore, the blood runs from your feet;
But only lay a hand before, and I'll lift you to your seat; Mount, Juan, for they gather fast! I hear their com
Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy, — I'll save you, though I die!
Stand, noble steed! this hour of need, be gentle as a
I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth, thy master dear I am,
Mount, Juan, mount; whate'er betide, away the bridle
Drive on, drive on with utmost speed,— My horse shall
LOCKART'S Spanish Ballads.
At last from out the centre fight
Spurred up a general's aid.
"That battery must silenced be!"
He cried, as past he sped.
Our colonel simply touched his cap,
And then, with measured tread,
To lead the crouching line once more
The grand old fellow came.
No wounded man but raised his head
And strove to gasp his name,
And those who could not speak nor stir,
"God blessed him" just the same.
This time we were not half-way up,
When, midst the storm of shell,
Our leader, with his sword upraised,
Beneath our bayonets fell.
And, as we bore him back, the foe
Set up a joyous yell.
Just then before the laggard line
The colonel's horse we spied,
Bay Billy with his trappings on,
His nostrils swelling wide,
As though still on his gallant back
The master sat astride.
Right royally he took the place
That was of old his wont,
And with a neigh that seemed to say,
Above the battle's brunt,
"How can the Twenty-second charge If I am not in front?
No bugle-call could rouse us all
As that brave sight had done.
Down all the battered line we felt
A lightning impulse run.
Up! up! the hill we followed Bill,
And we captured every gun!
And then the dusk and dew of night
Fell softly o'er the plain,
As though o'er man's dread work of death
The angels wept again,
And drew night's curtain gently round
A thousand beds of pain.
At last the morning broke. The lark
Sang in the merry skies
As if to e'en the sleepers there
It bade awake, and rise!
Though naught but that last trump of all
Could ope their heavy eyes.
And as in faltering tone and slow,
The last few names were said,
Across the field some missing horse
Toiled up with weary tread,
It caught the sergeant's eye, and quick
Bay Billy's name he read.
Not all the shoulder-straps on earth
Could still our mighty cheer;
And ever from that famous day,
When rang the roll-call clear,
Bay Billy's name was read, and then
The whole line answered, “Here!
We cannot kindle when we will,
The fire that in the heart resides;
But tasks in hours of insight willed,
Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled.
|