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From tree-tops where tired winds are fain,
And strew faint sweetness from some old
Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud Which breaks to dust when once unrolled ;
Or shredded perfume, like a cloud
From closet long to quiet vowed, With mothed and dropping arras hung, Mouldering her lute and books among, As when a queen, long dead, was young.
THROUGH THE METIDJA TO
Through the desert waste and wide
As I ride, as I ride,
IV As I ride, as I ride, Ne'er has spur my swift horse plied, Yet his hide, streaked and pied, As I ride, as I ride, Shows where sweat has sprung and dried,
-Zebra-footed, ostrich-thighed How has vied stride with stride As I ride, as I ride !
As I ride, as I ride,
INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon :
A mile or so away
Stood on our storming-day;
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
“ That soar, to earth may fall,
“Waver at yonder wall,—”
A rider, bound on bound
Until he reached the mound.
Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
You hardly could suspect-
Scarce any blood came through)
Was all but shot in two.
IV “Well,” cried he, “Emperor, by God's grace
“We've got you Ratisbon !
“ The Marshal's in the market-place,
“And you 'll be there anon
“Where I, to heart's desire,
Soared up again like fire.
Softened itself, as sheathes
When her bruised eaglet breathes.
Touched to the quick, he said :
Smiling the boy fell dead.
THE LOST LEADER.
Just for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a riband to stick in his coat-
Lost all the others, she lets us devote ;
So much was theirs who so little allowed :
Rags—were they purple, his heart had been proud ! We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him,
Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,
Made him our pattern to live and to die !
He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,
Songs may inspirit us,—not from his lyre;
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire.
One task more declined, one more footpath untrod, One more devil's-triumph and sorrow for angels,
One wrong more to man, one more insult to God ! Life's night begins : let him never come back to us !
There would be doubt, hesitation and pain, Forced praise on our part—the glimmer of twilight,
Never glad confident morning again ! Best fight on well, for we taught him-strike gallantly,
Menace our heart ere we master his own; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,
Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne !
IN A GONDOLA.
In this my singing.
The very night is clinging
Above me, whence thy face