THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.

On! that last day in Lucknow fort!
We knew that it was the last;

That the enemy's mines had crept surely in,
And the end was coming fast.

To yield to that foe meant worse than death;
And the men and we all worked on:
It was one day more, of smoke and roar,
And then it would all be done.

There was one of us, a Corporal's wife,
A fair, young, gentle thing,
Wasted with fever in the siege,
And her mind was wandering.

She lay on the ground in her Scottish plaid,
And I took her head on my knee;
"When my father comes hame frae the pleugh,"
she said,

"Oh! please then waken me."

She slept like a child on her father's floor,
In the flecking of woodbine-shade,

When the house-dog sprawls by the half open door,

And the mother's wheel is stayed.

It was smoke and roar and powder-stench,
And hopeless waiting for death;

But the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child,
Seemed scarce to draw her breath.

I sank to sleep, and I had my dream
Of an English village-lane,

And wall and garden;-a sudden scream
Brought me back to the roar again.

There Jessie Brown stood listening,
And then a broad gladness broke
All over her face, and she took my hand
And drew me near and spoke :

"The Highlanders! Oh! dinna ye hear? The slogan far awa?

The McGregor's? Ah! I ken it weel; It's the grandest o' them a'.

"God bless thac bonny Highlanders! We're saved! We're saved!" she cried; And fell on her knees, and thanks to God Poured forth, like a full flood-tide.

Along the battery-line her cry
Had fallen among the men:

And they started; for they were there to die;
Was life so near them then?

They listened, for life; and the rattling fire Far off, and the far-off roar

Were all ;-and the Colonel shook his head,
And they turned to their guns once more.

Then Jessie said, "That slogan's dune;
But can ye no hear them, noo,

The Campbells are comin'? It's no a dream' Our succors hae broken through!"

We heard the roar and the rattle afar,
But the pipes we could not hear;

So the men plied their work of hopeless war,
And knew that the end was near.

It was not long ere it must be heard;
A shrilling, ceaseless sound;
It was no noise of the strife afar,
Or the sappers underground.

It was the pipes of the Highlanders,
And now they played " Auld Lang Syne:
It came to our men like the voice of God,
And they shouted along the line.

And they wept and shook one another's hands,
And the women sobbed in a crowd;
And every one knelt down where we stood,
And we all thanked God aloud.

That happy day, when we welcomed them,
Our men put Jessie first;

And the General took her hand, and cheers
From the men, like a volley, burst.

And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed,
Marching round and round our line;
And our joyful cheers were broken with tears,
For the pipes played "Auld Lang Syne."

THE BARREN FIELD.

HERE I labor, weak and lone,
Ever, ever sowing seed;
Ever tending what is sown:
Little is my gain, indeed.

Weary day and restless night
Follow in an endless round;
Wastes my little human might:
Soon my place will not be found.

Why so stubborn is my field ?
Why does little fruit appear?
What an hundred-fold should yield,

Now goes barren all the year

After all the sun and rain,
Weak and yellow drooping things,
From the lean earth, turned in vain,
These are all my labor wrings!

Oh, my Lord, the field is Thine:
Why do I, with empty pride,
Call the little garden mine,
When my work is Thine, beside?

If I claim it for my own,
Thou wilt give me its poor gain;
And, at harvest, I, alone,
May bring fruits to Thee in vain.

If I give myself to Thee
For Thy work, all poor and mean,
As Thou pleasest it shall be,
If I much or little glean:

Yet Thou wilt not spurn my toil,
Or my offering, at the last,
If, from off this meagre soil,
At Thy feet my all is cast.

Other work for man is none,
But to do the Master's will;

Wet with rain, or parched with sun,
Meekly I Thy garden till.

LOVE DISPOSED OF.

HERE goes Love! Now cut him clear,
A weight about his neck:
If he linger longer here,
Our ship will be a wreck.
Overboard! Overboard !
Down let him go!
In the deep he may sleep,
Where the corals grow.

He said he'd woo the gentle breeze,
A bright tear in her eye;

But she was false or hard to please,
Or he has told a lie.

Overboard! Overboard!
Down in the sea

He may find a truer mind,
Where the mermaids be.

He sang us many a merry song
While the breeze was kind:
But he has been lamenting long
The falseness of the wind.
Overboard! Overboard!
Under the wave

Let him sing where smooth shells ring
In the ocean's cave.

He may struggle; he may weep;
We'll be stern and cold;

His grief will find, within the deep,
More tears than can be told.

A BURIAL-HYMN.

TO BE SUNG ON THE WAY TO THE GRAVE

WE bring Thee, Lord, this little dust
To lay in earth away:

In thy sure watch we meekly trust
To keep it for the Day.

Thy will be done! This dust, all dead,
Must lose its fairer form,

And graces in the deep grave shed,
That almost yet are warm.

We thank Thee for the little while
Our child lived here in love,
To glad a narrow place with smile
As from Thy house above.

And more, oh! we must thank Thee more, That dew of upper day

Baptized his earthly being o'er,

And spirit hallowed clay.

AN ANTHEM-CAROL FOR CHRIST

MAS.

OUT of highest heaven dropping, Like tinkling rain upon the sea Came sweet music, swelling, stopping, 'Twas the angels' symphony. "Glory be to God on high !” Ran like lightning round the sky: Then, like rain-drops, fell agen,

"Peace on earth, good-will to men!"

THE WARNED ONE.

SILENT watcher, seest thou aught
On the far-off ocean's brim?
Has thine eve a meaning caught
In the mist-world's changeful whim?
Gaze full long, and gaze full deep:
There is that which chaseth sleep
In the spirit-forms that rise
Far before thy fated eyes:
Be thou, watcher, timely wise.

Blessed are those sons of men
For whose sake a light is set
Out beside things far-off, yet,
So to bring them within ken;
Showing them in ghastly white,
While beyond is depth of night:
Blessed are they, if they know
What these things far-moving are,
Coming, coming, sure if slow,
They give warning thus, afar.

HERE, Charmian, take my bracelets,
They bar with purple stain
My arms; turn over my pillows-
They are hot where I have lain :
Open the lattice wider,

A gauze o'er my bosom throw,
And let me inhale the odours

That over the garden blow.

I dreamed I was with my Anthony,
And in his arms I lay:

Ah, me! the vision has vanished

The music has died away.

The flame and the perfume have perished—
As this spiced aromatic pastille

That wound the blue smoke of its odour
Is now but an ashy hill.

How he trembles, with crest uplifted,
And shrieks as he madly swings!
Oh, cockatoo, shriek for Anthony!
Cry, "Come, my love, come home!"
Shriek, "Anthony! Anthony! Anthony!"
Till he hears you even in Rome.

There-leave me, and take from my chamber
That stupid little gazelle,

With its bright black eyes so meaningless,

And its silly tinkling bell!

Take him,-my nerves he vexes

The thing without blood or brain

Or, by the body of Isis,

I'll snap his thin neck in twain !

Leave me to gaze at the landscape
Mistily stretching away,
Where the afternoon's opaline tremors
O'er the mountains quivering play;
Till the fiercer splendor of sunset
Pours from the west its fire,
And melted, as in a crucible,

Their earthly forms expire;

And the bald blear skull of the desert
With glowing mountains is crowned,
That burning like molten jewels
Circle its temples round.

I will lie and dream of the past time
Eons of thought away,

And through the jungle of memory
Loosen my fancy to play;
When a smooth and velvety tiger,
Ribbed with yellow and black,
Supple and cushion-footed,

I wandered, where never the track
Of a human creature had rustled

The silence of mighty woods, And, fierce in a tyrannous freedom, I knew but the law of my moods. The elephant, trumpeting, started,

When he heard my footsteps near,
And the spotted giraffes fled wildly
In a yellow cloud of fear.

I sucked in the noontide splendour,
Quivering along the glade,
Or yawning, panting, and dreaming,
Basked in the tamarisk shade,
Till I heard my wild mate roaring,

As the shadows of night came on,
To brood in the trees' thick branches,
And the shadow of sleep was gone;
Then I roused, and roared in anger,
And unsheathed from my cushioned feet

My curving claws, and stretched me,
And wandered my mate to greet.
We toyed in the amber moonlight,
Upon the warm flat sand,

And struck at each other our massive arms-
How powerful he was and grand!
His yellow eyes flashed fiercely

As he crouched and gazed at me,
And his quivering tail, like a serpent,
Twitched curving nervously.
Then like a storm he seized me,

With a wild triumphant cry,
And we met, as two clouds in heaven,
When the thunders before them fly.
We grappled and struggled together,

For his love like his rage was rude;

And his teeth in the swelling folds of my neck At times, in our play, drew blood.

Often another suitor

For I was flexile and fairFought for me in the moonlight,

While I lay crouching there,

Till his blood was drained by the desert; And, ruffled with triumph and power, He licked me and lay beside me

To breathe him a vast half-hour.
Then down to the fountain we loitered,
Where the antelopes came to drink;
Like a bolt we sprang upon them,
Ere they had time to shrink.

We drank their blood and crushed them,
And tore them limb from limb,
And the hungriest lion doubted,
Ere he disputed with him.

That was a life to live for!

Not this weak human life,

With its frivolous bloodless passions, Its poor and petty strife!

Come, to my arms, my hero,

The shadows of twilight grow, And the tiger's ancient fierceness In my veins begins to flow. Come not cringing to sue me! Take me with triumph and power, As a warrior wins a fortress!

I will not shrink nor cower. Come, as you came in the desert,

Ere we were women and men, When the tiger passions were in us, And love as you loved me then!

PRAXITELES AND PHRYNE. [DEDICATED TO R. B.]

A THOUSAND silent years ago,
The twilight faint and pale
Was drawing o'er the sunset glow
Its soft and shadowy veil;

When from his work the Sculptor stayed
His hand, and, turned to one

Who stood beside him, half in shade,
Said, with a sigh, ""Tis done.

"Thus much is saved from chance and change, That waits for me and thee;

Thus much-how little! from the range
Of Death and Destiny.

Phryne, thy human lips shall pale,
Thy rounded limbs decay,-
Nor love nor prayers can aught avail
To bid thy beauty stay;

"But there thy smile for centuries
On marble lips shall live,-
For Art can grant what love denies,
And fix the fugitive.

"Sad thought! nor age nor death shall fade The youth of this cold bust;

. When this quick brain and hand that made, And thou and I are dust!

"When all our hopes and fears are dead,
And both our hearts are cold,
And love is like a tune that's played,
And Life a tale that's told,

"This senseless stone, so coldly fair,
That love nor life can warm,
The same enchanting look shall wear,
The same enchanting form.

Its peace no sorrow shall destroy;
Its beauty age shall spare
The bitterness of vanished joy,
The wearing waste of care.

"And there upon that silent face Shall unborn ages see Perennial youth, perennial grace, And sealed serenity.

"And strangers, when we sleep in peace, Shall say, not quite unmoved,

So smiled upon Praxiteles
The Phryne whom he loved."

SNOWDROP.

WHEN, full of warm and eager love,
I clasp you in my fond embrace,
You gently push me back and say,
"Take care, my dear, you'll spoil my lace."

You kiss me just as you would kiss

Some woman friend you chanced to see; You call me "dearest "-All love's forms Are yours, not its reality.

Oh Annie! cry, and storm, and rave!
Do anything with passion in it!
Hate me one hour, and then turn round
And love me truly, just one minute

I CELEBRATE myself:

And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my Soul;

I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes-the shelves are crowded with perfumes;

I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it;

The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume--it has no taste of the distillation-it is odorless; It is for my mouth forever-I am in love with it; I will go to the bank of the wood, and become undisguised and naked;

I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers;

Darker than the colorless beards of old men ; Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

OI perceive after all so many uttering tongues! And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,

And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young men and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere; The smallest sprout shows there is really no death;

it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child?

I do not know what it is, any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer, designedly dropt,

Bearing the owner's name some way in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say, Whose?

does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceased the moment life appeared.

All goes onward and outward-nothing collapses; And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready;

The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon ;

The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged;

The armfuls are packed to the sagging mow.

I am there I help-I came stretched atop of the load;

I felt its soft jolts-one leg reclined on the other; I jump from the cross-beams, and seize the clover and timothy,

And roll head over heels, and tangle my hair full of wisps.

Alone, far in the wilds and mountains, I hunt, Wandering, amazed at my own lightness and

glee;

In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pasc

the night,

Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-killed game;

Falling asleep on the gathered leaves, with my dog and gun by my side.