And with their sleepless eyes have wit to sever But the hot insolent head they hold one hour Let others leap straight to the forest-crown! Drike D. Grincų A BALLAD OF METZ. Léon went to the wars, true soul without a stain; Never a mighty host thrilled so with one desire; And he, among the rest, marched gaily in the van : And mild and fond was he, and sensitive as a leaf. We followed where the last detachment led away, 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; 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 He raised his shattered frame up from the grassy ground, Léon knelt by his side, one hand beneath his head; 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, Just as he neared the troops, there by the purpled stream- 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 saw the deep eye lose its dastard, steely blue; His musket, smoking yet, unhanded lay beside. And he, our lad, our dearest, lies too upon the plain : GLOUCESTER HARBOR. North from the beautiful islands, North from the headlands and highlands, The long sea wall, The white ships flee with the swallow; Glitter and fall. The brown ruddy children that fear not, Warning of lips; For their hearts go a-sailing, a-sailing, After the ships. Nothing to them is the golden Little they reck of the peaceful 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 Beyond them, by ridges and narrows Sudden and fair; Like the hoofs of Al Borak the wondrous, On to the central Atlantic, Where passionate, hurrying, frantic Elements meet; To the play and the calm and commotion In the hearts of the children forever The pitiless sea; Their sires in her caverns she stayeth, The spirits that love her slayeth, And laughs in her glee. |