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diff --git a/39236.txt b/39236.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b311735 --- /dev/null +++ b/39236.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6101 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Saddle, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: In the Saddle + A Collection of Poems on Horseback-Riding + +Author: Various + +Release Date: March 24, 2012 [EBook #39236] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE SADDLE *** + + + + +Produced by Julia Miller, Josephine Paolucci and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + + +IN THE SADDLE + +A COLLECTION OF POEMS ON HORSEBACK-RIDING + + "_A good rider on a good horse is as much above himself and + others as the world can make him_" + + Lord Herbert of Cherbury + +BOSTON +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY +New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street +The Riverside Press, Cambridge +1882 + + +Copyright, 1882, +BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. + +_All rights reserved._ + +_The Riverside Press, Cambridge:_ +Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + Page + +DESCRIPTION OF A HORSE. _Venus and Adonis_ 1 + +A DAY'S RIDE: A LIFE'S ANALOGY. _The Spectator_ 2 + +ON HORSEBACK. _E. Paxton Hood_ 3 + +THE HORSEBACK RIDE. _Sara Jane Lippincott_ (_Grace Greenwood_) 4 + +AN EVENING RIDE. _Owen Innsly_ 7 + +THE QUEEN'S RIDE. _T. B. Aldrich_ 8 + +THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. _Robert Browning_ 9 + +RIDING TOGETHER. _William Morris_ 13 + +SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE. _Alfred Tennyson_ 15 + +THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. _Hon. Caroline Norton_ 17 + +RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 19 + +IRMINGARD'S ESCAPE. _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 37 + +WILLIAM AND HELEN. _Buerger's "Leonore." + Translated by Sir Walter Scott_ 42 + +THE GREETING ON KYNAST. _Rueckert. Translated by C. T. Brooks_ 52 + +HARRAS, THE BOLD LEAPER. _Karl Theodor Koerner. + Translated by G. F. Richardson_ 57 + +THE KNIGHT'S LEAP. _Charles Kingsley_ 60 + +THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG. _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 61 + +ANNAN WATER 64 + +THOMAS THE RHYMER 66 + +THE GREEK GNOME. _Robert Buchanan_ 70 + +FRIAR PEDRO'S RIDE. _Bret Harte_ 73 + +TAM O'SHANTER. _Robert Burns_ 79 + +THE WILD HUNTSMAN. _Buerger's Wilde Jaeger. Tr. by Walter Scott_ 86 + +LUeTZOW'S WILD CHASE. _Theodor Koerner_ 94 + +THE ERL-KING. _Walter Scott_ 96 + +MAZEPPA'S RIDE. _Byron_ 98 + +THE GIAOUR'S RIDE. _Byron_ 110 + +THE NORSEMAN'S RIDE. _Bayard Taylor_ 113 + +BOOT AND SADDLE. _Robert Browning_ 116 + +THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE. _Walter Thornbury_ 116 + +KING JAMES'S RIDE. _Walter Scott_ 118 + +DELORAINE'S RIDE. _Walter Scott_ 119 + +GODIVA. _Alfred Tennyson_ 124 + +HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. _Robert Browning_ 127 + +THE LANDLORD'S TALE. _H. W. Longfellow_ 130 + +SHERIDAN'S RIDE. _Thomas Buchanan Read_ 135 + +KEARNY AT SEVEN PINES. _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 138 + +THE RIDE OF COLLINS GRAVES. _John Boyle O'Reilly_ 140 + +A TALE OF PROVIDENCE. _Isaac R. Pennybacker_ 143 + +KIT CARSON'S RIDE. _Joaquin Miller_ 149 + +TAMING THE WILD HORSE. _W. G. Simms_ 155 + +CHIQUITA. _Bret Harte_ 157 + +BAY BILLY. _Frank H. Gassaway_ 160 + +WIDDERIN'S RACE. _Paul Hamilton Hayne_ 164 + +THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. _William Cowper_ 174 + +REFLECTIONS OF A PROUD PEDESTRIAN. _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 184 + + + + +IN THE SADDLE. + + +DESCRIPTION OF A HORSE. + + +Look, when a painter would surpass the life, + In limning out a well-proportioned steed, +His art with nature's workmanship at strife, + As if the dead the living should exceed; +So did this horse excel a common one, +In shape, in courage, color, pace, and bone. + +Round-hoofed, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, + Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide, +High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong, + Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: +Look, what a horse should have, he did not lack, +Save a proud rider on so proud a back. + + _Venus and Adonis._ + + + + +A DAY'S RIDE: A LIFE'S ANALOGY. + + + 'Mid tangled forest and o'er grass plains wide, + By many a devious path and bridle-way, + Through the short brightness of an Indian day, + In middle winter 'twas my lot to ride, + Skirting the round-topped, pine-clad mountain side, + While far away upon the steely blue + Horizon, half concealed, half in view, + Himalay's peaks upreared their snow-crowned pride, + In utter purity and vast repose. + I, ere the first faint flush of morning glowed + Within her eastern chamber, took the road, + And, slowly riding between day and night, + I marked how, through the wan, imperfect light, + Ghost-like and gray loomed the eternal snows. + + So near they seemed, each crack and crevice small + Like bas-relief work showed, while in the light + Of ruddy morn, gray changed through pink to white. + But soon the sun, up-climbing, flooded all + The heavens, and then a thin and misty pall + Of exhalations rose, and pale of hue + And fainter ever those far summits grew, + Until the day waned low, and shadows tall + Sloped eastward. Then once more, in radiance clear, + Of setting sunlight, beautiful as brief, + Each peak and crag stood out in bold relief, + Till, slowly, pink faded to ghostly gray. + So through life's morning, noontide, evening, may + Ideal hopes dawn, fade, and reappear. + + _The Spectator._ + + + + +ON HORSEBACK. + + + Hurrah! for a ride in the morning gray, + On the back of a bounding steed. + What pleasure to list how the wild winds play; + Hark! Hark! to their music,--away! away! + Gallop away with speed. + 'Neath the leaf and the cloud in spring-time's pride + There is health in a morning's joyous ride. + + And hurrah! for a ride in the sultry noon, + When the summer has mounted high, + 'Neath the shady wood in the glowing June, + When the rivulet chanteth its lullaby tune + To the breeze as it wanders by, + Quietly down by the brooklet's side;-- + Sweet is the summer's joyous ride. + + And do you not love at evening's hour, + By the light of the sinking sun, + To wend your way o'er the widening moor, + Where the silvery mists their mystery pour, + While the stars come one by one? + Over the heath by the mountain's side, + Pensive and sweet is the evening's ride. + + I tell thee, O stranger, that unto me + The plunge of a fiery steed + Is a noble thought,--to the brave and free + It is music, and breath, and majesty,-- + 'Tis the life of a noble deed; + And the heart and the mind are in spirit allied + In the charm of a morning's glorious ride. + + Then hurrah! for the ring of the bridle rein,-- + Away, brave horse, away! + The preacher or poet may chant their strain, + The bookman his wine of the past may drain,-- + We bide not with them to-day; + And yet it is true, we may look with pride + On the mental spoils of a morning's ride. + + _E. Paxton Hood._ + + + + +THE HORSEBACK RIDE. + + + When troubled in spirit, when weary of life, + When I faint 'neath its burdens, and shrink from its strife, + When its fruits, turned to ashes, are mocking my taste, + And its fairest scene seems but a desolate waste, + Then come ye not near me, my sad heart to cheer + With friendship's soft accents or sympathy's tear. + No pity I ask, and no counsel I need, + But bring me, oh, bring me my gallant young steed, + With his high arched neck, and his nostril spread wide, + His eye full of fire, and his step full of pride! + As I spring to his back, as I seize the strong rein, + The strength to my spirit returneth again! + The bonds are all broken that fettered my mind, + And my cares borne away on the wings of the wind; + My pride lifts its head, for a season bowed down, + And the queen in my nature now puts on her crown! + + Now we're off--like the winds to the plains whence they came; + And the rapture of motion is thrilling my frame! + On, on speeds my courser, scarce printing the sod, + Scarce crushing a daisy to mark where he trod! + On, on like a deer, when the hound's early bay + Awakes the wild echoes, away, and away! + Still faster, still farther, he leaps at my cheer, + Till the rush of the startled air whirs in my ear! + Now 'long a clear rivulet lieth his track,-- + See his glancing hoofs tossing the white pebbles back! + Now a glen dark as midnight--what matter?--we'll down + Though shadows are round us, and rocks o'er us frown; + The thick branches shake as we're hurrying through, + And deck us with spangles of silvery dew! + + What a wild thought of triumph, that this girlish hand + Such a steed in the might of his strength may command! + What a glorious creature! Ah! glance at him now, + As I check him a while on this green hillock's brow; + How he tosses his mane, with a shrill joyous neigh, + And paws the firm earth in his proud, stately play! + Hurrah! off again, dashing on as in ire, + Till the long, flinty pathway is flashing with fire! + Ho! a ditch!--Shall we pause? No; the bold leap we dare, + Like a swift-winged arrow we rush through the air! + Oh, not all the pleasures that poets may praise, + Not the 'wildering waltz in the ball-room's blaze, + Nor the chivalrous joust, nor the daring race, + Nor the swift regatta, nor merry chase, + Nor the sail, high heaving waters o'er, + Nor the rural dance on the moonlight shore, + Can the wild and thrilling joy exceed + Of a fearless leap on a fiery steed! + + _Sara Jane Lippincott_ (_Grace Greenwood_). + + + + +AN EVENING RIDE. + +FROM GLASHUeTTE TO MUeGELN IN SAXONY. + + + We ride and ride. High on the hills + The fir-trees stretch into the sky; + The birches, which the deep calm stills, + Quiver again as we speed by. + + Beside the road a shallow stream + Goes leaping o'er its rocky bed: + Here lie the corn-fields with a gleam + Of daisies white and poppies red. + + A faint star trembles in the west; + A fire-fly sparkles, fluttering bright + Against the mountain's sombre breast; + And yonder shines a village light. + + Oh! could I creep into thine arms + Beloved! and upon thy face + Read the arrest of dire alarms + That press me close; from thy embrace + + View the sweet earth as on we ride. + Alas! how vain our longings are! + Already night is spreading wide + Her sable wing, and thou art far. + + _Owen Innsly._ + + + + +THE QUEEN'S RIDE. + +AN INVITATION. + + + 'Tis that fair time of year, + Lady mine, + When stately Guinevere, + In her sea-green robe and hood, + Went a-riding through the wood, + Lady mine. + + And as the Queen did ride, + Lady mine, + Sir Launcelot at her side + Laughed and chatted, bending over, + Half her friend and all her lover, + Lady mine. + + And as they rode along, + Lady mine, + The throstle gave them song, + And the buds peeped through the grass + To see youth and beauty pass, + Lady mine. + + And on, through deathless time, + Lady mine, + These lovers in their prime, + (Two fairy ghosts together!) + Ride, with sea-green robe, and feather! + Lady mine. + + And so we two will ride, + Lady mine, + At your pleasure, side by side, + Laugh and chat; I bending over, + Half your friend and all your lover! + Lady mine. + + But if you like not this, + Lady mine, + And take my love amiss, + Then I'll ride unto the end, + Half your lover, all your friend! + Lady mine. + + So, come which way you will, + Lady mine, + Vale, upland, plain, and hill + Wait your coming. For one day + Loose the bridle, and away! + Lady mine. + + _T. B. Aldrich._ + + + + +THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. + + + I said--Then, dearest, since 'tis so, + Since now at length my fate I know, + Since nothing all my love avails, + Since all my life seemed meant for, fails, + Since this was written and needs must be-- + My whole heart rises up to bless + Your name in pride and thankfulness! + Take back the hope you gave,--I claim + Only a memory of the same, + --And this beside, if you will not blame, + Your leave for one more last ride with me. + + My mistress bent that brow of hers, + Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs + When pity would be softening through, + Fixed me a breathing-while or two + With life or death in the balance--Right! + The blood replenished me again: + My last thought was at least not vain. + I and my mistress, side by side + Shall be together, breathe and ride, + So one day more am I deified. + Who knows but the world may end to-night? + + Hush! if you saw some western cloud + All billowy-bosomed, over-bowed + By many benedictions--sun's + And moon's and evening-star's at once-- + And so, you, looking and loving best, + Conscious grew, your passion drew + Cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too + Down on you, near and yet more near, + Till flesh must fade for heaven was here!-- + Thus leant she and lingered--joy and fear! + Thus lay she a moment on my breast. + + Then we began to ride. My soul + Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll + Freshening and fluttering in the wind. + Past hopes already lay behind. + What need to strive with a life awry? + Had I said that, had I done this, + So might I gain, so might I miss. + Might she have loved me? just as well + She might have hated,--who can tell? + Where had I been now if the worst befell? + And here we are riding, she and I. + + Fail I alone, in words and deeds? + Why, all men strive and who succeeds? + We rode; it seemed my spirit flew, + Saw other regions, cities new, + As the world rushed by on either side. + I thought, All labor, yet no less + Bear up beneath their unsuccess. + Look at the end of work, contrast + The petty Done the Undone vast, + This present of theirs with the hopeful past! + I hoped she would love me. Here we ride. + + What hand and brain went ever paired? + What heart alike conceived and dared? + What act proved all its thought had been? + What will but felt the fleshly screen? + We ride and I see her bosom heave. + There's many a crown for who can reach + Ten lines, a statesman's life in each! + The flag stuck on a heap of bones, + A soldier's doing! what atones? + They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones. + My riding is better, by their leave. + + What does it all mean, poet? well, + Your brain's beat into rhythm--you tell + What we felt only; you expressed + You hold things beautiful the best, + And pace them in rhyme so, side by side. + 'Tis something, nay 'tis much--but then, + Have you yourself what's best for men? + Are you--poor, sick, old ere your time-- + Nearer one whit your own sublime + Than we who never have turned a rhyme? + Sing, riding's a joy! For me, I ride. + + And you, great sculptor--so you gave + A score of years to art, her slave, + And that's your Venus--whence we turn + To yonder girl that fords the burn! + You acquiesce and shall I repine? + What, man of music, you grown gray + With notes and nothing else to say, + Is this your sole praise from a friend, + "Greatly his opera's strains intend, + But in music we know how fashions end!" + I gave my youth--but we ride, in fine. + + Who knows what's fit for us? Had fate + Proposed bliss here should sublimate + My being; had I signed the bond-- + Still one must lead some life beyond, + --Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. + This foot once planted on the goal, + This glory-garland round my soul, + Could I descry such? Try and test! + I sink back shuddering from the quest-- + Earth being so good, would heaven seem best? + Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride. + + And yet--she has not spoke so long! + What if heaven be, that, fair and strong + At life's best, with our eyes upturned + Whither life's flower if first discerned, + We, fixed so, ever should so abide? + What if we still ride on, we two, + With life forever old yet new, + Changed not in kind but in degree, + The instant made eternity,-- + And heaven just prove that I and she + Ride, ride together, forever ride? + + _Robert Browning._ + + + + +RIDING TOGETHER. + + + For many, many days together + The wind blew steady from the east; + For many days hot grew the weather, + About the time of our Lady's Feast. + + For many days we rode together, + Yet met we neither friend nor foe; + Hotter and clearer grew the weather, + Steadily did the east-wind blow. + + We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather, + Clear-cut, with shadows very black, + As freely we rode on together + With helms unlaced and bridles slack. + + And often as we rode together, + We, looking down the green-banked stream, + Saw flowers in the sunny weather, + And saw the bubble-making bream. + + And in the night lay down together, + And hung above our heads the rood, + Or watched night-long in the dewy weather, + The while the moon did watch the wood. + + Our spears stood bright and thick together, + Straight out the banners streamed behind, + As we galloped on in the sunny weather, + With faces turned towards the wind. + + Down sank our threescore spears together, + As thick we saw the pagans ride; + His eager face in the clear fresh weather + Shone out that last time by my side. + + Up the sweep of the bridge we dashed together, + It rocked to the crash of the meeting spears; + Down rained the buds of the dear spring weather, + The elm-tree flowers fell like tears. + + There, as we rolled and writhed together, + I threw my arms above my head, + For close by my side, in the lovely weather, + I saw him reel and fall back dead. + + I and the slayer met together, + He waited the death-stroke there in his place, + With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather + Gapingly mazed at my maddened face. + + Madly I fought as we fought together; + In vain: the little Christian band + The pagans drowned, as in stormy weather + The river drowns low-lying land. + + They bound my blood-stained hands together, + They bound his corpse to nod by my side: + Then on we rode, in the bright March weather, + With clash of cymbals did we ride. + + We ride no more, no more together; + My prison-bars are thick and strong, + I take no heed of any weather, + The sweet Saints grant I live not long. + + _William Morris._ + + + + +SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE. + +A FRAGMENT. + + + Like souls that balance joy and pain, + With tears and smiles from heaven again + The maiden Spring upon the plain + Came in a sunlit fall of rain. + In crystal vapor everywhere + Blue isles of heaven laughed between, + And far, in forest-deeps unseen, + The topmost elm-tree gathered green + From draughts of balmy air. + + Sometimes the linnet piped his song: + Sometimes the throstle whistled strong: + Sometimes the sparhawk, wheeled along, + Hushed all the groves from fear of wrong: + By grassy capes with fuller sound + In curves the yellowing river ran, + And drooping chestnut-buds began + To spread into the perfect fan, + Above the teeming ground. + + Then, in the boyhood of the year, + Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere + Rode through the coverts of the deer, + With blissful treble ringing clear. + She seemed a part of joyous Spring: + A gown of grass-green silk she wore, + Buckled with golden clasps before; + A light-green tuft of plumes she bore + Closed in a golden ring. + + Now on some twisted ivy-net, + Now by some tinkling rivulet, + In mosses mixt with violet + Her cream-white mule his pastern set: + And fleeter now she skimmed the plains + Than she whose elfin prancer springs + By night to eery warblings, + When all the glimmering moorland rings + With jingling bridle-reins. + + As she fled fast through sun and shade, + The happy winds upon her played, + Blowing the ringlet from the braid: + She looked so lovely, as she swayed + The rein with dainty finger-tips, + A man had given all other bliss, + And all his worldly worth for this, + To waste his whole heart in one kiss + Upon her perfect lips. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + + + +THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. + + + Word was brought to the Danish king, + Hurry! + That the love of his heart lay suffering, + And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; + O, ride as though you were flying! + Better he loves each golden curl + On the brow of that Scandinavian girl + Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl; + And his rose of the isles is dying! + + Thirty nobles saddled with speed; + Hurry! + Each one mounting a gallant steed + Which he kept for battle and days of need; + O, ride as though you were flying! + Spurs were struck in the foaming flank; + Worn-out chargers staggered and sank; + Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst; + But ride as they would, the king rode first, + For his rose of the isles lay dying! + + His nobles are beaten, one by one; + Hurry! + They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; + His little fair page now follows alone, + For strength and for courage trying! + The king looked back at that faithful child; + Wan was the face that answering smiled; + They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, + Then he dropped; and only the king rode in + Where his rose of the isles lay dying! + + The king blew a blast on his bugle-horn; + Silence! + No answer came; but faint and forlorn + An echo returned on the cold gray morn, + Like the breath of a spirit sighing. + The castle portal stood grimly wide; + None welcomed the king from that weary ride; + For dead, in the light of the dawning day, + The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, + Who had yearned for his voice while dying! + + The panting steed, with a drooping crest, + Stood weary. + The king returned from her chamber of rest, + The thick sobs choking in his breast; + And, that dumb companion eying, + The tears gushed forth which he strove to check; + He bowed his head on his charger's neck; + "O steed, that every nerve didst strain, + Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain + To the halls where my love lay dying!" + + _Hon. Caroline Norton._ + + + + +RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. + + + Broad the forests stood (I read) on the hills of Linteged-- + _Toll slowly._ + And three hundred years had stood mute adown each hoary wood, + Like a full heart having prayed. + + And the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,-- + _Toll slowly._ + And but little thought was theirs of the silent antique years, + In the building of their nest. + + Down the sun dropt large and red, on the towers of Linteged,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Lance and spear upon the height, bristling strange in fiery light, + While the castle stood in shade. + + There, the castle stood up black, with the red sun at its back,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Like a sullen smouldering pyre, with a top that flickers fire, + When the wind is on its track. + + And five hundred archers tall did besiege the castle wall,-- + _Toll slowly._ + And the castle seethed in blood, fourteen days and nights had stood, + And to-night, was near its fall. + + Yet thereunto, blind to doom, three months since, a bride did come,-- + _Toll slowly._ + One who proudly trod the floors, and softly whispered in the doors, + "May good angels bless our home." + + Oh, a bride of queenly eyes, with a front of constancies,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Oh, a bride of cordial mouth,--where the untired smile of youth + Did light outward its own sighs. + + 'Twas a Duke's fair orphan-girl, and her uncle's ward, the Earl, + _Toll slowly._ + Who betrothed her, twelve years old, for the sake of dowry gold, + To his son Lord Leigh, the churl. + + But what time she had made good all her years of womanhood, + _Toll slowly._ + Unto both those Lords of Leigh, spake she out right sovranly, + "My will runneth as my blood. + + "And while this same blood makes red this same right hand's + veins," she said,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "'Tis my will as lady free, not to wed a Lord of Leigh, + But Sir Guy of Linteged." + + The old Earl he smiled smooth, then he sighed for willful youth,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Good my niece, that hand withal looketh somewhat soft and small + For so large a will, in sooth." + + She, too, smiled by that same sign,--but her smile was cold and fine,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Little hand clasps muckle gold, or it were not worth the hold + Of thy son, good uncle mine!" + + Then the young lord jerked his breath, and sware thickly in his teeth,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "He would wed his own betrothed, an she loved him an she loathed, + Let the life come or the death." + + Up she rose with scornful eyes, as her father's child might rise,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Thy hound's blood, my Lord of Leigh, stains thy knightly heel," quoth she, + "And he moans not where he lies. + + "But a woman's will dies hard, in the hall or on the sward!"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "By that grave, my lords, which made me orphaned girl and dowered lady, + I deny you wife and ward." + + Unto each she bowed her head, and swept past with lofty tread. + _Toll slowly._ + Ere the midnight-bell had ceased, in the chapel had the priest + Blessed her, bride of Linteged. + + Fast and fain the bridal train along the night-storm rode amain:-- + _Toll slowly._ + Hard the steeds of lord and serf struck their hoofs out on the turf, + In the pauses of the rain. + + Fast and fain the kinsmen's train along the storm pursued amain-- + _Toll slowly._ + Steed on steed-track, dashing off--thickening, doubling, hoof on hoof, + In the pauses of the rain. + + And the bridegroom led the flight on his red-roan steed of might,-- + _Toll slowly._ + And the bride lay on his arm, still, as if she feared no harm, + Smiling out into the night. + + "Dost thou fear?" he said at last;--"Nay!" she answered him in haste,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Not such death as we could find--only life with one behind-- + Ride on fast as fear--ride fast!" + + Up the mountain wheeled the steed--girth to ground, and fetlocks spread,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Headlong bounds, and rocking flanks,--down he staggered--down the banks, + To the towers of Linteged. + + High and low the serfs looked out, red the flambeaus tossed about,-- + _Toll slowly._ + In the courtyard rose the cry--"Live the Duchess and Sir Guy!" + But she never heard them shout. + + On the steed she dropt her cheek, kissed his mane and kissed his neck,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "I had happier died by thee, than lived on a Lady Leigh," + Were the first words she did speak. + + But a three months' joyaunce lay 'twixt that moment and to-day,-- + _Toll slowly._ + When five hundred archers tall stand beside the castle wall, + To recapture Duchess May. + + And the castle standeth black, with the red sun at its back,-- + _Toll slowly._ + And a fortnight's siege is done--and, except the Duchess, none + Can misdoubt the coming wrack. + + *....*....*....* + + Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,-- + _Toll slowly._ + On the tower the castle's lord leant in silence on his sword, + With an anguish in his breast. + + With a spirit-laden weight, did he lean down passionate.-- + _Toll slowly._ + They have almost sapped the wall,--they will enter therewithal, + With no knocking at the gate. + + Then the sword he leant upon, shivered--snapped upon the stone,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Sword," he thought, with inward laugh, "ill thou servest for a staff + When thy nobler use is done! + + "Sword, thy nobler use is done!--tower is lost, and shame begun"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "If we met them in the breach, hilt to hilt or speech to speech, + We should die there, each for one. + + "If we met them at the wall, we should singly, vainly fall,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "But if _I_ die here alone,--then I die, who am but one, + And die nobly for them all. + + "Five true friends lie for my sake,--in the moat and in the brake,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Thirteen warriors lie at rest, with a black wound in the breast, + And not one of these will wake. + + "And no more of this shall be!--heart-blood weighs too heavily,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "And I could not sleep in grave, with the faithful and the brave + Heaped around and over me. + + "Since young Clare a mother hath, and young Ralph a plighted faith,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Since my pale young sister's cheeks blush like rose when Ronald speaks, + Albeit never a word she saith-- + + "These shall never die for me--life-blood falls too heavily."-- + _Toll slowly._ + "And if _I_ die here apart,--o'er my dead and silent heart + They shall pass out safe and free. + + "When the foe hath heard it said--'Death holds Guy of Linteged,'"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "That new corse new peace shall bring, and a blessed, blessed thing + Shall the stone be at its head. + + "Then my friends shall pass out free, and shall bear my memory,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Then my foes shall sleek their pride, soothing fair my widowed bride + Whose sole sin was love of me. + + "With their words all smooth and sweet, they will front her and entreat,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "And their purple pall will spread underneath her fainting head + While her tears drop over it. + + "She will weep her woman's tears, she will pray her woman's prayers,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "But her heart is young in pain, and her hopes will spring again + By the suntime of her years. + + "Ah, sweet May--ah, sweetest grief!--once I vowed thee my belief,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "That thy name expressed thy sweetness,--May of poets, in completeness! + Now my May-day seemeth brief." + + All these silent thoughts did swim o'er his eyes grown strange and dim,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Till his true men in the place wished they stood there face to face + With the foe instead of him. + + "One last oath, my friends that wear faithful hearts to do and dare!" + _Toll slowly._ + "Tower must fall, and bride be lost!--swear me service worth the cost!" + --Bold they stood around to swear. + + "Each man clasp my hand and swear, by the deed we failed in there,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Not for vengeance, not for right, will ye strike one blow to-night!"-- + Pale they stood around--to swear. + + "One last boon, young Ralph and Clare! faithful hearts to do and dare!"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Bring that steed up from his stall, which she kissed before you all,-- + Guide him up the turret-stair. + + "Ye shall harness him aright, and lead upward to this height!"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Once in love and twice in war, hath he borne me strong and far, + He shall bear me far to-night." + + Then his men looked to and fro, when they heard him speaking so.-- + _Toll slowly._ + --"'Las! the noble heart," they thought,--"he in sooth is grief-distraught. + Would, we stood here with the foe!" + + But a fire flashed from his eye, 'twixt their thought and their reply,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Have ye so much time to waste? We who ride here, must ride fast, + As we wish our foes to fly." + + They have fetched the steed with care, in the harness he did wear,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Past the court and through the doors, across the rushes of the floors, + But they goad him up the stair. + + Then from out her bower chambere, did the Duchess May repair.-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Tell me now what is your need," said the lady, "of this steed, + That ye goad him up the stair?" + + Calm she stood; unbodkined through, fell her dark hair to her shoe,-- + _Toll slowly._ + And the smile upon her face, ere she left the tiring-glass, + Had not time enough to go. + + "Get thee back, sweet Duchess May! hope is gone like yesterday,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "One half-hour completes the breach; and thy lord grows wild of speech,-- + Get thee in, sweet lady, and pray. + + "In the east tower, high'st of all,--loud he cries for steed from stall."-- + _Toll slowly._ + "He would ride as far," quoth he, "as for love and victory, + Though he rides the castle-wall. + + "And we fetch the steed from stall, up where never a hoof did fall."-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Wifely prayer meets deathly need! may the sweet Heavens hear thee plead + If he rides the castle-wall." + + Low she dropt her head, and lower, till her hair coiled on the floor,-- + _Toll slowly._ + And tear after tear you heard, fall distinct as any word + Which you might be listening for. + + "Get thee in, thou soft ladye!--here, is never a place for thee!"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Braid thine hair and clasp thy gown, that thy beauty in its moan + May find grace with Leigh of Leigh." + + She stood up in bitter case, with a pale yet steady face, + _Toll slowly._ + Like a statue thunderstruck, which, though quivering, seems to look + Right against the thunder-place. + + And her foot trod in, with pride, her own tears i' the stone beside,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Go to, faithful friends, go to!--Judge no more what ladies do,-- + No, nor how their lords may ride!" + + Then the good steed's rein she took, and his neck did kiss and stroke:-- + _Toll slowly._ + Soft he neighed to answer her, and then followed up the stair, + For the love of her sweet look. + + Oh, and steeply, steeply wound up the narrow stair around,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Oh, and closely, closely speeding, step by step beside her treading,-- + Did he follow, meek as hound. + + On the east tower, high'st of all,--there, where never a hoof did fall,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Out they swept, a vision steady,--noble steed and lovely lady, + Calm as if in bower or stall. + + Down she knelt at her lord's knee, and she looked up silently,-- + _Toll slowly._ + And he kissed her twice and thrice, for that look within her eyes + Which he could not bear to see. + + Quoth he, "Get thee from this strife,--and the sweet saints bless thy life!"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "In this hour, I stand in need of my noble red-roan steed-- + But no more of my noble wife." + + Quoth she, "Meekly have I done all thy biddings under sun:"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "But by all my womanhood, which is proved so true and good, + I will never do this one. + + "Now by womanhood's degree, and by wifehood's verity,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "In this hour if thou hast need of thy noble red-roan steed, + Thou hast also need of _me_. + + "By this golden ring ye see on this lifted hand pardie,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "If, this hour, on castle-wall, can be room for steed from stall, + Shall be also room for _me_. + + "So the sweet saints with me be" (did she utter solemnly),-- + _Toll slowly._ + "If a man, this eventide, on this castle wall will ride, + He shall ride the same with _me_." + + Oh, he sprang up in the selle, and he laughed out bitter-well,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Wouldst thou ride among the leaves, as we used on other eves, + To hear chime a vesper-bell?" + + She clang closer to his knee--"Ay, beneath the cypress-tree!"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Mock me not, for otherwhere than along the greenwood fair, + Have I ridden fast with thee! + + "Fast I rode with new-made vows, from my angry kinsman's house!" + _Toll slowly._ + "What! and would you men should reck that I dared more for love's sake + As a bride than as a spouse? + + "What, and would you it should fall, as a proverb, before all,"-- + _Toll slowly._ + "That a bride may keep your side while through castle-gate you ride, + Yet eschew the castle-wall?" + + Ho! the breach yawns into ruin, and roars up against her suing,-- + _Toll slowly._ + With the inarticulate din, and the dreadful falling in-- + Shrieks of doing and undoing! + + Twice he wrung her hands in twain, but the small hands closed again,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Back he reined the steed--back, back! but she trailed along his track + With a frantic clasp and strain. + + Evermore the foemen pour through the crash of window and door,-- + _Toll slowly._ + And the shouts of Leigh and Leigh, and the shrieks of "kill!" and "flee!" + Strike up clear amid the roar. + + Thrice he wrung her hands in twain,--but they closed and clung again,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Wild she clung, as one, withstood, clasps a Christ upon the rood, + In a spasm of deathly pain. + + She clung wild and she clung mute,--with her shuddering lips half-shut,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Her head fallen as half in swound,--hair and knee swept on the ground,-- + She clung wild to stirrup and foot. + + Back he reined his steed back-thrown on the slippery coping-stone,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Back the iron hoofs did grind on the battlement behind, + Whence a hundred feet went down. + + And his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank bestrode, + _Toll slowly._ + "Friends, and brothers! save my wife!--Pardon, sweet, in change for life,-- + But I ride alone to God." + + Straight as if the Holy name had upbreathed her like a flame,-- + _Toll slowly._ + She upsprang, she rose upright,--in his selle she sate in sight, + By her love she overcame. + + And her head was on his breast, where she smiled as one at rest,-- + _Toll slowly._ + "Ring," she cried, "O vesper-bell, in the beechwood's old chapelle! + But the passing-bell rings best." + + They have caught out at the rein, which Sir Guy threw loose--in vain,-- + _Toll slowly._ + For the horse in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised in air, + On the last verge rears amain. + + Now he hangs, the rocks between--and his nostrils curdle in,-- + _Toll slowly._ + Now he shivers head and hoof--and the flakes of foam fall off; + And his face grows fierce and thin! + + And a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go,-- + _Toll slowly_. + And a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agony + Of the headlong death below,---- + + And, "Ring, ring, thou passing-bell," still she cried, + "i' the old chapelle!"-- + _Toll slowly_. + Then back-toppling, crashing back,--a dead weight flung out to wrack, + Horse and riders overfell. + + _Elizabeth Barrett Browning._ + + + + +IRMINGARD'S ESCAPE. + + + I am the Lady Irmingard, + Born of a noble race and name! + Many a wandering Suabian bard, + Whose life was dreary and bleak and hard, + Has found through me the way to fame. + Brief and bright were those days, and the night + Which followed was full of a lurid light. + Love, that of every woman's heart + Will have the whole, and not a part, + That is to her, in Nature's plan, + More than ambition is to man, + Her light, her life, her very breath, + With no alternative but death, + Found me a maiden soft and young, + Just from the convent's cloistered school, + And seated on my lowly stool, + Attentive while the minstrels sung. + + Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, + Fairest, noblest, best of all, + Was Walter of the Vogelweid; + And, whatsoever may betide, + Still I think of him with pride! + His song was of the summer-time, + The very birds sang in his rhyme; + The sunshine, the delicious air, + The fragrance of the flowers, were there; + And I grew restless as I heard, + Restless and buoyant as a bird, + Down soft, aerial currents sailing, + O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom, + And through the momentary gloom + Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing, + Yielding and borne I knew not where, + But feeling resistance unavailing. + + And thus, unnoticed and apart, + And more by accident than choice, + I listened to that single voice + Until the chambers of my heart + Were filled with it by night and day. + One night--it was a night in May,-- + Within the garden, unawares, + Under the blossoms in the gloom, + I heard it utter my own name + With protestations and wild prayers; + And it rang through me, and became + Like the archangel's trump of doom, + Which the soul hears, and must obey; + And mine arose as from a tomb. + My former life now seemed to me + Such as hereafter death may be, + When in the great Eternity + We shall awake and find it day. + + It was a dream, and would not stay; + A dream, that in a single night + Faded and vanished out of sight. + My father's anger followed fast + This passion, as a freshening blast + Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage + It may increase, but not assuage. + And he exclaimed: "No wandering bard + Shall win thy hand, O Irmingard! + For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck + By messenger and letter sues." + + Gently, but firmly, I replied: + "Henry of Hoheneck I discard! + Never the hand of Irmingard + Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride!" + This said I, Walter, for thy sake; + This said I, for I could not choose. + After a pause, my father spake + In that cold and deliberate tone + Which turns the hearer into stone, + And seems itself the act to be + That follows with such dread certainty; + "This, or the cloister and the veil!" + No other words than these he said, + But they were like a funeral wail; + My life was ended, my heart was dead. + + That night from the castle-gate went down, + With silent, slow, and stealthy pace, + Two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds, + Taking the narrow path that leads + Into the forest dense and brown. + In the leafy darkness of the place, + One could not distinguish form nor face, + Only a bulk without a shape, + A darker shadow in the shade; + One scarce could say it moved or stayed. + Thus it was we made our escape! + A foaming brook, with many a bound, + Followed us like a playful hound; + Then leaped before us, and in the hollow + Paused, and waited for us to follow, + And seemed impatient, and afraid + That our tardy flight should be betrayed + By the sound our horses' hoof-beats made. + And when we reached the plain below, + We paused a moment and drew rein + To look back at the castle again; + And we saw the windows all aglow + With lights, that were passing to and fro; + Our hearts with terror ceased to beat; + The brook crept silent to our feet; + We knew what most we feared to know. + + Then suddenly horns began to blow; + And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp, + And our horses snorted in the damp + Night-air of the meadows green and wide, + And in a moment, side by side, + So close, they must have seemed but one, + The shadows across the moonlight run, + And another came, and swept behind, + Like the shadow of clouds before the wind! + + How I remember that breathless flight + Across the moors, in the summer night! + How under our feet the long, white road + Backward like a river flowed, + Sweeping with it fences and hedges, + Whilst farther away, and overhead, + Paler than I, with fear and dread, + The moon fled with us, as we fled + Along the forest's jagged edges! + + All this I can remember well; + But of what afterwards befell + I nothing further can recall + Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall; + The rest is a blank and darkness all. + When I awoke out of this swoon, + The sun was shining, not the moon, + Making a cross upon the wall + With the bars of my windows narrow and tall; + And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray, + From early childhood, day by day, + Each morning, as in bed I lay! + I was lying again in my own room! + And I thanked God, in my fever and pain, + That those shadows on the midnight plain + Were gone, and could not come again! + I struggled no longer with my doom! + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + + + +WILLIAM AND HELEN. + + + From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, + And eyed the dawning red: + "Alas, my love, thou tarriest long! + O art thou false or dead?"-- + + With gallant Fred'rick's princely power + He sought the bold Crusade; + But not a word from Judah's wars + Told Helen how he sped. + + With Paynim and with Saracen + At length a truce was made, + And every knight returned to dry + The tears his love had shed. + + Our gallant host was homeward bound + With many a song of joy; + Green waved the laurel in each plume, + The badge of victory. + + And old and young, and sire and son, + To meet them crowd the way, + With shouts and mirth and melody, + The debt of love to pay. + + Full many a maid her true-love met, + And sobbed in his embrace, + And fluttering joy in tears and smiles + Arrayed full many a face. + + Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad; + She sought the host in vain; + For none could tell her William's fate, + If faithless, or if slain. + + The martial band is past and gone; + She rends her raven hair, + And in distraction's bitter mood + She weeps with wild despair. + + "O rise, my child," her mother said, + "Nor sorrow thus in vain; + A perjured lover's fleeting heart + No tears recall again."-- + + "O mother, what is gone, is gone, + What's lost forever lorn; + Death, death alone can comfort me; + O had I ne'er been born! + + "O break, my heart,--O break at once! + Drink my life-blood, Despair! + No joy remains on earth for me, + For me in heaven no share."-- + + "O enter not in judgment, Lord!" + The pious mother prays; + "Impute not guilt to thy frail child! + She knows not what she says. + + "O say thy pater noster, child! + O turn to God and grace! + His will, that turned thy bliss to bale, + Can change thy bale to bliss."-- + + "O mother, mother, what is bliss? + O mother, what is bale? + My William's love was heaven on earth, + Without it earth is hell. + + "Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven, + Since my loved William's slain? + I only prayed for William's sake, + And all my prayers were vain."-- + + "O take the sacrament, my child, + And check these tears that flow; + By resignation's humble prayer, + O hallowed be thy woe!"-- + + "No sacrament can quench this fire, + Or slake this scorching pain; + No sacrament can bid the dead + Arise and live again. + + "O break, my heart,--O break at once! + Be thou my god, Despair! + Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me, + And vain each fruitless prayer."-- + + "O enter not in judgment, Lord, + With thy frail child of clay! + She knows not what her tongue has spoke; + Impute it not, I pray! + + "Forbear, my child, this desperate woe, + And turn to God and grace; + Well can devotion's heavenly glow + Convert thy bale to bliss."-- + + "O mother, mother, what is bliss? + O mother, what is bale? + Without my William what were heaven, + Or with him what were hell?"-- + + Wild she arraigns the eternal doom, + Upbraids each sacred power, + Till, spent, she sought her silent room, + All in the lonely tower. + + She beat her breast, she wrung her hands, + Till sun and day were o'er, + And through the glimmering lattice shone + The twinkling of the star. + + Then, crash! the heavy drawbridge fell + That o'er the moat was hung; + And, clatter! clatter! on its boards + The hoof of courser rung. + + The clank of echoing steel was heard + As off the rider bounded; + And slowly on the winding stair + A heavy footstep sounded. + + And hark! and hark! a knock--Tap! tap! + A rustling stifled noise;-- + Door-latch and tinkling staples ring;-- + At length a whispering voice. + + "Awake, awake, arise, my love! + How, Helen, dost thou fare? + Wakest thou, or sleepest? laughest thou, or weepest? + Hast thought on me, my fair?"-- + + "My love! my love!--so late by night!-- + I waked, I wept for thee: + Much have I borne since dawn of morn; + Where, William, couldst thou be!"-- + + "We saddle late--from Hungary + I rode since darkness fell; + And to its bourne we both return + Before the matin-bell."-- + + "O rest this night within my arms, + And warm thee in their fold! + Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind:-- + My love is deadly cold."-- + + "Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush! + This night we must away; + The steed is wight, the spur is bright; + I cannot stay till day. + + "Busk, busk, and boune![1] Thou mount'st behind + Upon my black barb steed: + O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles, + We haste to bridal bed."-- + + "To-night--to-night a hundred miles!-- + O dearest William, stay! + The bell strikes twelve--dark, dismal hour? + O wait, my love, till day!"-- + + "Look here, look here--the moon shines clear-- + Full fast I ween we ride; + Mount and away! for ere the day + We reach our bridal bed. + + "The black barb snorts, the bridle rings; + Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee! + The feast is made, the chamber spread, + The bridal guests await thee."-- + + Strong love prevailed: she busks, she bounes, + She mounts the barb behind, + And round her darling William's waist + Her lily arms she twines. + + And, hurry! hurry! off they rode, + As fast as fast might be; + Spurned from the courser's thundering heels + The flashing pebbles flee. + + And on the right, and on the left, + Ere they could snatch a view, + Fast, fast each mountain, mead, and plain, + And cot, and castle, flew. + + "Sit fast--dost fear?--The moon shines clear-- + Fleet goes my barb--keep hold! + Fearest thou?"--"O no!" she faintly said; + "But why so stern and cold? + + "What yonder rings? what yonder sings? + Why shrieks the owlet gray?"-- + "'Tis death-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song, + The body to the clay. + + "With song and clang, at morrow's dawn. + Ye may inter the dead: + To-night I ride, with my young bride, + To deck our bridal bed. + + "Come with thy choir, thou coffined guest, + To swell our nuptial song! + Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast! + Come all, come all along!"-- + + Ceased clang and song; down sunk the bier; + The shrouded corpse arose: + And, hurry, hurry! all the train + The thundering steed pursues. + + And, forward! forward! on they go; + High snorts the straining steed; + Thick pants the rider's laboring breath, + As headlong on they speed. + + "O William, why this savage haste? + And where thy bridal bed?"-- + "'Tis distant far, low, damp, and chill, + And narrow, trustless maid."-- + + "No room for me?"--"Enough for both;-- + Speed, speed, my barb, thy course!" + O'er thundering bridge, through boiling surge, + He drove the furious horse. + + Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, + Splash! splash! along the sea; + The scourge is wight, the spur is bright, + The flashing pebbles flee. + + Fled past on right and left how fast + Each forest, grove, and bower! + On right and left fled past how fast + Each city, town, and tower! + + "Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear, + Dost fear to ride with me?-- + Hurrah! hurrah! the dead can ride!" + "O William, let them be!-- + + "See there, see there! What yonder swings + And creaks 'mid whistling rain?"-- + "Gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel; + A murderer in his chain.-- + + "Hollo! thou felon, follow here: + To bridal bed we ride; + And thou shalt prance a fetter dance + Before me and my bride."-- + + And, hurry! hurry! clash, clash, clash! + The wasted form descends; + And fleet as wind through hazel bush + The wild career attends. + + Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, + Splash! splash! along the sea; + The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, + The flashing pebbles flee. + + How fled what moonshine faintly showed! + How fled what darkness hid! + How fled the earth beneath their feet, + The heaven above their head! + + "Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear. + And well the dead can ride; + Does faithful Helen fear for them?"-- + "O leave in peace the dead!"-- + + "Barb! Barb! methinks I hear the cock; + The sand will soon be run: + Barb! Barb! I smell the morning air; + The race is well-nigh done."-- + + Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode; + Splash! splash! along the sea; + The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, + The flashing pebbles flee. + + "Hurrah! hurrah! well ride the dead; + The bride, the bride is come; + And soon we reach the bridal bed, + For, Helen, here's my home."-- + + Reluctant on its rusty hinge + Revolved an iron door, + And by the pale moon's setting beam + Were seen a church and tower. + + With many a shriek and cry whiz round + The birds of midnight, scared; + And rustling like autumnal leaves + Unhallowed ghosts were heard. + + O'er many a tomb and tombstone pale + He spurred the fiery horse, + Till sudden at an open grave + He checked the wondrous course. + + The falling gauntlet quits the rein, + Down drops the casque of steel, + The cuirass leaves his shrinking side, + The spur his gory heel. + + The eyes desert the naked skull, + The mouldering flesh the bone, + Till Helen's lily arms entwine + A ghastly skeleton. + + The furious barb snorts fire and foam, + And, with a fearful bound, + Dissolves at once in empty air, + And leaves her on the ground. + + Half seen by fits, by fits half heard, + Pale spectres flit along, + Wheel round the maid in dismal dance, + And howl the funeral song: + + "E'en when the heart's with anguish cleft, + Revere the doom of Heaven. + Her soul is from her body reft; + Her spirit be forgiven!" + + _Buerger's "Leonore"--Translated by Sir Walter Scott._ + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] _Busk_--to dress. _Boune_--to prepare one's self for a journey. + + + + +THE GREETING ON KYNAST. + + + She said: This narrow chamber is not for me the place, + Said the lady Kunigunde of Kynast! + 'Tis pleasanter on horseback, I'll hie me to the chase, + Said the lady Kunigunde! + + She said: The knight who weds me, I do require of him, + Said the lady Kunigunde of Kynast! + To gallop round the Kynast and break not neck nor limb. + + A noble knight came forward and galloped round the wall; + The lady Kunigunde of Kynast, + The lady, without lifting a finger, saw him fall. + + And yet another galloped around the battlement; + The lady Kunigunde, + The lady saw him tumble, yet did she not relent. + + And rider after rider spurred round his snorting horse; + The lady Kunigunde + Saw him vanish o'er the rampart, and never felt remorse. + + Long time the folly lasted, then came no rider more; + The lady Kunigunde, + They would not ride to win her, the trial was too sore. + + She stood upon her towers, she looked upon the land, + The lady Kunigunde of Kynast: + I'm all alone at home here, will no one seek my hand? + + Is there none will ride to win me, to win me for his bride, + The lady Kunigunde of Kynast? + O fie, the paltry rider who dreads the bridal ride! + + Then out and spake from Thueringen the Landgrave Adelbert: + The lady Kunigunde of Kynast! + Well may the haughty damsel her worthiness assert. + + He trains his horse to gallop on narrow walls of stone; + The lady Kunigunde of Kynast! + The lady shall not see us break neck or limb or bone. + + See here, O noble lady, I'm he that dares the ride! + The lady Kunigunde, + She looks in thoughtful silence, to see him sit in pride. + + She saw him now make ready, then trembled she and sighed, + The lady Kunigunde: + Woe's me that I so fearful have made the bridal ride! + + Then rode he round the Kynast; her face she turned away, + The lady Kunigunde: + Woe 's me, the knight is riding down to his grave to-day! + + He rides around the Kynast, right round the narrow wall; + The lady Kunigunde! + She cannot stir for terror her lily hand at all. + + He rides around the Kynast, clear round the battlement; + The lady Kunigunde! + As if a breath might kill him, she held her breath suspent. + + He rode around the Kynast and straight to her rode he; + Said the lady Kunigunde of Kynast: + Thanks be to God in heaven, who gave thy life to thee! + + Thanks be to God that into thy grave thou didst not ride! + Said the lady Kunigunde: + Come down from off thy horse now, O knight, unto thy bride! + + Then spake the noble rider, and greeted, as he sate, + The lady Kunigunde: + O trust a knight for horsemanship! well have I taught thee that. + + Now wait till comes another who can the same thing do, + O lady Kunigunde of Kynast! + I've wife and child already, can be no spouse for you. + + He gave his steed the spur, now; rode back the way he came; + The lady Kunigunde! + The lady saw him vanish, she swooned with scorn and shame. + + And she remains a virgin, her pride had such a fall, + The lady Kunigunde! + Changed to a wooden image she stands in sight of all. + + An image, like a hedgehog, with spines for hair, is now + The lady Kunigunde of Kynast! + The stranger has to kiss it, who climbs the Kynast's brow. + + We bring it him to kiss it: and if it shocks his pride, + The lady Kunigunde of Kynast! + He must pay down his forfeit, who will not kiss the bride, + The lady Kunigunde! + + _Rueckert. Tr. C. T. Brooks._ + + + + +HARRAS, THE BOLD LEAPER. + + + The world yet waited in shadowy light + The dawn of the rising day; + And scarcely yet had waked the night + From the slumber in which it lay. + But, hark! along the forest way + Unwonted echoes rung, + And all accoutred for the fray + A band of warriors sprung! + + And forth they rushed along the plain, + In thunder, to the fight; + And foremost of that martial train + Was Harras, the gallant knight. + They ride upon their secret way, + O'er forest and vale and down, + To reach their foe while yet 'tis day, + And storm his castled town. + + So sally they forth from the forest gloom; + But as they leave its shade + They rush, alas! to meet their doom, + And their progress is betrayed: + For suddenly bursts upon their rear + The foe, with twice their force; + Then out at once rush shield and spear, + And the charger flies on his course. + + And the wood in unwonted echoes rang + With the sounds of that deadly fray, + And the sabre's clash and the helmet's clang + Is mixed with the courser's neigh. + A thousand wounds have dyed the field + Unheeded in the strife; + But not a man will ask to yield, + For freedom is dearer than life! + + But their stronger foes must win the day, + And the knights begin to fail; + For the sword hath swept their best array, + And superior powers prevail. + Unconquered alone, to a rocky height + Bold Harras fought his way; + And his brave steed carried him through the fight, + And bore him safe away. + + And he left the rein to that trusty steed, + And rode from the fatal fray; + But he gave to his erring path no heed, + And he missed the well-known way. + And when he heard the foemen near, + He sprang from the forest gloom; + But as soon as he reached the daylight clear, + He saw at once his doom! + + He had reached a frightful precipice, + Where he heard the deep waves roll; + For he stood on Zschopauthal's dread abyss, + And horror chilled his soul! + For on yonder bank he could espy + The remnant of his band; + And his heart impatient panted high, + As they waved the friendly hand. + + And he longed, as he looked o'er that dreadful steep, + For wings to aid his flight; + For that cliff is full fifty fathoms deep, + And his horse drew back with fright. + And he saw, as he looked behind and below, + On either side his grave: + Behind him, from the coming foe; + Before him, in the wave! + + And he chooses 'twixt death from the foemen's hand, + Or death where the deep waves roll; + Then he boldly rides up to that rocky strand, + And commends to the Lord his soul! + And as nearer he hears the foemen ride, + He seeks the utmost steep; + And he plunges his spurs in his courser's side, + And dares the dreadful leap! + + And swiftly he sank through the yielding air, + And into the flood he fell; + His steed is dashed to atoms there, + But the knight lives safe and well! + And mid the plaudits of his band, + He stemmed the parting wave, + And soon in safety reached the land, + For Heaven will never forsake the brave! + + _Karl Theodor Koerner. Tr. G. F. Richardson._ + + + + +THE KNIGHT'S LEAP. + + + "So the foeman has fired the gate, men of mine, + And the water is spent and done; + Then bring me a cup of the red Ahr-wine; + I never shall drink but this one. + + "And fetch me my harness, and saddle my horse, + And lead him me round to the door: + He must take such a leap to-night perforce + As horse never took before. + + "I have lived by the saddle for years two score, + And if I must die on tree, + The old saddle-tree, which has borne me of yore, + Is the properest timber for me. + + "I have lived my life, I have fought my fight, + I have drunk my share of wine; + From Trier to Coeln there was never a knight + Led a merrier life than mine. + + "So now to show bishop and burgher and priest + How the Altenahr hawk can die, + If they smoke the old falcon out of his nest, + He must take to his wings and fly." + + He harnessed himself by the clear moonshine, + And he mounted his horse at the door, + And he drained such a cup of the red Ahr-wine + As never man drained before. + + He spurred the old horse, and he held him tight, + And he leapt him out over the wall; + Out over the cliff, out into the night, + Three hundred feet of fall. + + They found him next morning below in the glen, + And never a bone in him whole; + But Heaven may yet have more mercy than men + On such a bold rider's soul. + + _Charles Kingsley._ + + + + +THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG. + + + Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, + His chestnut steed with four white feet, + Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, + Son of the road and bandit chief, + Seeking refuge and relief, + Up the mountain pathway flew. + + Such was Kyrat's wondrous speed, + Never yet could any steed + Reach the dust-cloud in his course. + More than maiden, more than wife, + More than gold and next to life + Roushan the Robber loved his horse. + + In the land that lies beyond + Erzeroum and Trebizond, + Garden-girt his fortress stood; + Plundered khan, or caravan + Journeying north from Koordistan, + Gave him wealth and wine and food. + + Seven hundred and fourscore + Men at arms his livery wore, + Did his bidding night and day. + Now, through regions all unknown, + He was wandering, lost, alone, + Seeking without guide his way. + + Suddenly the pathway ends, + Sheer the precipice descends, + Loud the torrent roars unseen; + Thirty feet from side to side + Yawns the chasm; on air must ride + He who crosses this ravine. + + Following close in his pursuit, + At the precipice's foot, + Reyhan the Arab of Orfah + Halted with his hundred men, + Shouting upward from the glen, + "La Illah illa Allah!" + + Gently Roushan Beg caressed + Kyrat's forehead, neck, and breast; + Kissed him upon both his eyes; + Sang to him in his wild way, + As upon the topmost spray + Sings a bird before it flies. + + "O my Kyrat, O my steed, + Round and slender as a reed, + Carry me this peril through! + Satin housings shall be thine. + Shoes of gold, O Kyrat mine, + O thou soul of Kurroglou! + + "Soft thy skin as silken skein, + Soft as woman's hair thy mane, + Tender are thine eyes and true; + All thy hoofs like ivory shine, + Polished bright; O, life of mine, + Leap, and rescue Kurroglou!" + + Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet, + Drew together his four white feet, + Paused a moment on the verge, + Measured with his eye the space, + And into the air's embrace + Leaped as leaps the ocean surge. + + As the ocean surge o'er sand + Bears a swimmer safe to land, + Kyrat safe his rider bore; + Rattling down the deep abyss + Fragments of the precipice + Rolled like pebbles on a shore. + + Roushan's tasselled cap of red + Trembled not upon his head, + Careless sat he and upright; + Neither hand nor bridle shook, + Nor his head he turned to look, + As he galloped out of sight. + + Flash of harness in the air, + Seen a moment like the glare + Of a sword drawn from its sheath; + Thus the phantom horseman passed, + And the shadow that he cast + Leaped the cataract underneath. + + Reyhan the Arab held his breath + While this vision of life and death + Passed above him. "Allahu!" + Cried he. "In all Koordistan + Lives there not so brave a man + As this Robber Kurroglou!" + + _H. W. Longfellow._ + + + + +ANNAN WATER. + + + "Annan water's wading deep, + And my love Annie's wondrous bonny; + And I am laith she suld weet her feet, + Because I love her best of ony. + + "Gar saddle me the bonny black, + Gar saddle sune, and make him ready; + For I will down the Gatehope-Slack, + And all to see my bonny ladye."-- + + He has loupen on the bonny black, + He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly; + But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack, + I think the steed was wae and weary. + + He has loupen on the bonny grey, + He rade the right gate and the ready; + I trow he would neither stint nor stay, + For he was seeking his bonny ladye. + + O he has ridden o'er field and fell, + Through muir and moss, and mony a mire: + His spurs o' steel were sair to bide, + And fra her fore-feet flew the fire. + + "Now, bonny grey, now play your part! + Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary, + Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye, + And never spur sall make you wearie."-- + + The grey was a mare, and a right good mare; + But when she wan the Annan water, + She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair, + Had a thousand merks been wadded at her. + + "O boatman, boatman, put off your boat! + Put off your boat for gowden money! + I cross the drumly stream the night, + Or never mair I see my honey."-- + + "O I was sworn sae late yestreen, + And not by ae aith, but by many; + And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland, + I dare na take ye through to Annie." + + The side was stey, and the bottom deep, + Frae bank to brae the water pouring; + And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear, + For she heard the water-kelpy roaring. + + O he has pou'd aff his dapperpy coat, + The silver buttons glanced bonny; + The waistcoat bursted aff his breast, + He was sae full of melancholy. + + He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail; + I wot he swam both strong and steady; + But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail, + And he never saw his bonny ladye! + + "O wae betide the frush saugh wand! + And wae betide the bush of brier! + It brake into my true love's hand, + When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire. + + "And wae betide ye, Annan Water, + This night that ye are a drumlie river! + For over thee I'll build a bridge, + That ye never more true love may sever." + + + + +THOMAS THE RHYMER. + + + True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;[2] + A ferlie[3] he spied wi' his ee; + And there he saw a ladye bright, + Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. + + Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, + Her mantle o' the velvet fyne; + At ilka[4] tett of her horse's mane, + Hung fifty siller bells and nine. + + True Thomas, he pulled aff his cap, + And louted[5] low down to his knee, + "All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven! + For thy peer on earth I never did see." + + "O no, O no, Thomas," she said, + "That name does not belang to me; + I am but the Queen of fair Elfland, + That am hither come to visit thee. + + "Harp and carp, Thomas," she said; + "Harp and carp along wi' me; + And if ye dare to kiss my lips, + Sure of your bodie I will be." + + "Betide me weal, betide me woe, + That weird[6] shall never daunton me."-- + Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips, + All underneath the Eildon Tree. + + "Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said; + "True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me; + And ye maun serve me seven years, + Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." + + She mounted on her milk-white steed; + She's ta'en true Thomas up behind: + And aye, whene'er her bridle rung, + The steed flew swifter than the wind. + + O they rade on, and farther on; + The steed gaed swifter than the wind; + Until they reached a desert wide, + And living land was left behind. + + "Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, + And lean your head upon my knee; + Abide and rest a little space, + And I will show you ferlies[7] three. + + "O see ye not yon narrow road, + So thick beset with thorns and briers? + That is the path of righteousness, + Though after it but few inquires. + + "And see ye not that braid braid road, + That lies across that lily leven? + That is the path of wickedness, + Though some call it the road to heaven. + + "And see not ye that bonny road, + That winds about the fernie brae? + That is the road to fair Elfland, + Where thou and I this night maun gae. + + "But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, + Whatever ye may hear or see; + For, if ye speak word in Elfyn land, + Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie." + + O they rade on, and farther on, + And they waded through rivers aboon the knee, + And they saw neither sun nor moon, + But they heard the roaring of the sea. + + It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light, + And they waded through red blude to the knee, + For a' the blude that's shed on earth + Rins through the springs o' that countrie. + + Syne they came on to a garden green, + And she pu'd an apple frae a tree-- + "Take this for thy wages, true Thomas; + It will give thee the tongue that can never lie." + + "My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said; + "A gudely gift ye wad gie to me! + I neither dought to buy nor sell, + At fair or tryst where I may be. + + "I dought neither speak to prince or peer, + Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." + "Now hold thy peace!" the lady said, + "For as I say, so must it be." + + He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, + And a pair of shoes of velvet green; + And till seven years were gane and past, + True Thomas on earth was never seen. + + _Walter Scott._ + +FOOTNOTES: + +[2] A spot afterwards included in the domain of Abbotsford. + +[3] Wonder. + +[4] Each. + +[5] Bowed. + +[6] Destiny shall not alarm me. + +[7] Wonders. + + + + +THE GREEN GNOME. + +A MELODY. + + + Ring, sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! + Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells! + Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! + Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells! + + And I galloped and I galloped on my palfrey white as milk, + My robe was of the sea-green woof, my serk was of the silk; + My hair was golden-yellow, and it floated to my shoe; + My eyes were like two harebells bathed in little drops of dew; + My palfrey, never stopping, made a music sweetly blent + With the leaves of autumn dropping all around me as I went; + And I heard the bells, grown fainter, far behind me peal and play, + Fainter, fainter, fainter, till they seemed to die away; + And beside a silver runnel, on a little heap of sand, + I saw the green gnome sitting, with his cheek upon his hand. + Then he started up to see me, and he ran with a cry and bound, + And drew me from my palfrey white and set me on the ground. + O crimson, crimson were his locks, his face was green to see, + But he cried, "O light-haired lassie, you are bound to marry me!" + He clasped me round the middle small, he kissed me on the cheek, + He kissed me once, he kissed me twice, I could not stir or speak; + He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice; but when he kissed again, + I called aloud upon the name of Him who died for men. + + Sing, sing! ring, ring! pleasant Sabbath bells! + Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells! + Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! + Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells! + + O faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and maids to pray, + So faintly, faintly, faintly rang the bells far away; + And as I named the Blessed Name, as in our need we can, + The ugly green gnome became a tall and comely man: + His hands were white, his beard was gold, his eyes were black as sloes, + His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were his hose; + A pensive light from faeryland still lingered on his cheek, + His voice was like the running brook when he began to speak: + "O, you have cast away the charm my step-dame put on me, + Seven years have I dwelt in Faeryland, and you have set me free. + O, I will mount thy palfrey white, and ride to kirk with thee, + And, by those dewy little eyes, we twain will wedded be!" + + Back we galloped, never stopping, he before and I behind, + And the autumn leaves were dropping, red and yellow in the wind; + And the sun was shining clearer, and my heart was high and proud, + As nearer, nearer, nearer rang the kirk bells sweet and loud, + And we saw the kirk, before us, as we trotted down the fells, + And nearer, clearer, o'er us, rang the welcome of the bells. + + Ring, sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! + Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells! + Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! + Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells! + + _Robert Buchanan._ + + + + +FRIAR PEDRO'S RIDE. + + + It was the morning season of the year; + It was the morning era of the land; + The watercourses rang full loud and clear; + Portala's cross stood where Portala's hand + Had planted it when Faith was taught by Fear, + When monks and missions held the sole command + Of all that shore beside the peaceful sea, + Where spring-tides beat their long-drawn reveille. + + Out of the Mission of San Luis Rey, + All in that brisk, tumultuous spring weather, + Rode Friar Pedro, in a pious way, + With six dragoons in cuirasses of leather, + Each armed alike for either prayer or fray, + Handcuffs and missals they had slung together; + And as in aid the gospel truth to scatter + Each swung a lasso--_alias_ a "riata." + + In sooth, that year the harvest had been slack, + The crop of converts scarce worth computation; + Some souls were lost, whose owners had turned back + To save their bodies frequent flagellation; + And some preferred the songs of birds, alack! + To Latin matins and their soul's salvation, + And thought their own wild whoopings were less dreary + Than Father Pedro's droning _miserere_. + + To bring them back to matins and to prime, + To pious works and secular submission, + To prove to them that liberty was crime,-- + This was, in fact, the Padre's present mission; + To get new souls perchance at the same time, + And bring them to a "sense of their condition"-- + That easy phrase, which, in the past and present, + Means making that condition most unpleasant. + + He saw the glebe land guiltless of a furrow; + He saw the wild oats wrestle on the hill; + He saw the gopher working in his burrow; + He saw the squirrel scampering at his will;-- + He saw all this and felt no doubt a thorough + And deep conviction of God's goodness; still + He failed to see that in His glory He + Yet left the humblest of His creatures free. + + He saw the flapping crow, whose frequent note + Voiced the monotony of land and sky, + Mocking with graceless wing and rusty coat + His priestly presence as he trotted by. + He would have cursed the bird by bell and rote, + But other game just then was in his eye-- + A savage camp, whose occupants preferred + Their heathen darkness to the living Word. + + He rang his bell, and at the martial sound + Twelve silver spurs their jingling rowels clashed; + Six horses sprang across the level ground + As six dragoons in open order dashed; + Above their heads the lassos circled round, + In every eye a pious fervor flashed; + They charged the camp, and in one moment more + They lassoed six and reconverted four. + + The Friar saw the conflict from a knoll, + And sang _Laus Deo_ and cheered on his men: + "Well thrown, Bautista--that's another soul; + After him, Gomez--try it once again; + This way, Felipe--there the heathen stole; + Bones of St. Francis!--surely that makes _ten_; + _Te deum laudamus_--but they're very wild; + _Non nobis dominus_--all right, my child!" + + When at that moment--as the story goes-- + A certain squaw, who had her foes eluded, + Ran past the Friar--just before his nose. + He stared a moment, and in silence brooded, + Then in his breast a pious frenzy rose + And every other prudent thought excluded; + He caught a lasso, and dashed in a canter + After that Occidental Atalanta. + + High o'er his head he swirled the dreadful noose, + But, as the practice was quite unfamiliar, + His first cast tore Felipe's captive loose + And almost choked Tiburcio Camilla, + And might have interfered with that brave youth's + Ability to gorge the tough _tortilla_; + But all things come by practice, and at last + His flying slip-knot caught the maiden fast. + + Then rose above the plain a mingled yell + Of rage and triumph--a demoniac whoop; + The Padre heard it like a passing knell, + And would have loosened his unchristian loop; + But the tough raw-hide held the captive well, + And held, alas! too well the captor-dupe; + For with one bound the savage fled amain, + Dragging horse, Friar, down the lonely plain. + + Down the _arroyo_, out across the mead, + By heath and hollow, sped the flying maid, + Dragging behind her still the panting steed + And helpless Friar, who in vain essayed + To cut the lasso or to check his speed. + He felt himself beyond all human aid, + And trusted to the saints--and, for that matter, + To some weak spot in Felipe's _riata_. + + Alas! the lasso had been duly blessed, + And, like baptism, held the flying wretch-- + A doctrine that the priest had oft expressed-- + Which, like the lasso, might be made to stretch + But would not break; so neither could divest + Themselves of it, but, like some awful _fetch_, + The holy Friar had to recognize + The image of his fate in heathen guise. + + He saw the glebe land guiltless of a furrow; + He saw the wild oats wrestle on the hill; + He saw the gopher standing in his burrow; + He saw the squirrel scampering at his will;-- + He saw all this, and felt no doubt how thorough + The contrast was to his condition; still + The squaw kept onward to the sea, till night + And the cold sea-fog hid them both from sight. + + The morning came above the serried coast, + Lighting the snow-peaks with its beacon fires, + Driving before it all the fleet-winged host + Of chattering birds above the Mission spires, + Filling the land with light and joy--but most + The savage woods with all their leafy lyres; + In pearly tints and opal flame and fire + The morning came, but not the holy Friar. + + Weeks passed away. In vain the Fathers sought + Some trace or token that might tell his story; + Some thought him dead, or, like Elijah, caught + Up to the heavens in a blaze of glory. + In this surmise some miracles were wrought + On his account, and souls in purgatory + Were thought to profit from his intercession; + In brief, his absence made a "deep impression." + + A twelvemonth passed; the welcome Spring once more + Made green the hills beside the white-faced Mission, + Spread her bright dais by the western shore, + And sat enthroned--a most resplendent vision. + The heathen converts thronged the chapel door + At morning mass, when, says the old tradition, + A frightful whoop throughout the church resounded, + And to their feet the congregation bounded. + + A tramp of hoofs upon the beaten course, + Then came a sight that made the bravest quail: + A phantom Friar on a spectre horse, + Dragged by a creature decked with horns and tail. + By the lone Mission, with the whirlwind's force, + They madly swept, and left a sulphurous trail-- + And that was all--enough to tell the story + And leave unblessed those souls in purgatory. + + And ever after, on that fatal day + That Friar Pedro rode abroad lassoing, + A ghostly couple came and went away + With savage whoop and heathenish hallooing, + Which brought discredit on San Luis Rey, + And proved the Mission's ruin and undoing; + For ere ten years had passed, the squaw and Friar + Performed to empty walls and fallen spire. + + The Mission is no more; upon its walls + The golden lizards slip, or breathless pause + Still as the sunshine brokenly that falls + Through crannied roof and spider-webs of gauze; + No more the bell its solemn warning calls-- + A holier silence thrills and overawes; + And the sharp lights and shadows of to-day + Outline the Mission of San Luis Rey. + + _Bret Harte._ + + + + +TAM O' SHANTER. + + + When chapman billies leave the street, + And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, + As market-days are wearing late, + An' folk begin to tak the gate; + While we sit bousing at the nappy, + An' getting fou and unco happy, + We thinkna on the lang Scots miles, + The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, + That lie between us and our hame, + Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, + Gathering her brows like gathering storm, + Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. + This truth fand honest Tam O' Shanter, + As he frae Ayr ae night did canter + (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, + For honest men and bonnie lasses). + O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise, + As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! + She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, + A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; + That frae November till October, + Ae market-day thou was nae sober; + That ilka melder, wi' the miller, + Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; + That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, + The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; + That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, + Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. + She prophesied that, late or soon, + Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon; + Or catched wi' warlocks i' the mirk, + By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. + Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, + To think how mony counsels sweet, + How mony lengthened, sage advices, + The husband frae the wife despises! + But to our tale: Ae market-night, + Tam had got planted unco right; + Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, + Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; + And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, + His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; + Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; + They had been fou for weeks thegither. + The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; + And ay the ale was growing better: + The landlady and Tam grew gracious, + Wi' favors, secret, sweet, and precious: + The souter tauld his queerest stories; + The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: + The storm without might rair and rustle, + Tam didna mind the storm a whistle. + Care, mad to see a man sae happy, + E'en drowned himself amang the nappy! + As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, + The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure: + Kings may be blessed, but Tam was glorious, + O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! + But pleasures are like poppies spread, + You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; + Or like the snow falls in the river, + A moment white, then melts forever; + Or like the borealis race, + That flit ere you can point their place; + Or like the rainbow's lovely form + Evanishing amid the storm. + Nae man can tether time or tide;-- + The hour approaches Tam maun ride; + That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, + That dreary hour he mounts his beast on; + And sic a night he taks the road in, + As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. + The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; + The rattling showers rose on the blast; + The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed; + Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed: + That night, a child might understand, + The Deil had business on his hand. + Well mounted on his gray mare, Meg,-- + A better never lifted leg,-- + Tam skelpit on through dub and mire, + Despising wind and rain and fire; + Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet; + Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; + Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares, + Lest bogles catch him unawares; + Kirk Alloway was drawing nigh, + Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. + By this time he was cross the ford, + Whare in the snaw the chapman smoored; + And past the birks and meikle-stane, + Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; + And through the whins, and by the cairn, + Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn: + And near the thorn aboon the well, + Whare Mungo's mither hanged hersel. + Before him Doon pours all his floods; + The doubling storm roars through the woods; + The lightnings flash from pole to pole; + Near and more near the thunders roll: + When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, + Kirk Alloway seemed in a bleeze; + Through ilka bore the beams were glancing; + And loud resounded mirth and dancing. + Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! + What dangers thou canst make us scorn! + Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; + Wi' usquebae, we'll face the Devil! + The swats sae reamed in Tammie's noddle, + Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle, + But Maggie stood right sair astonished, + Till by the heel and hand admonished, + She ventured forward on the light; + And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight! + Warlocks and witches in a dance; + Nae cotillon brent new frae France, + But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, + Put life and mettle in their heels. + At winnock-bunker in the east, + There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; + A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, + To gie them music was his charge: + He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl, + Till roof and rafters a' did dirl,-- + Coffins stood round, like open presses, + That shawed the dead in their last dresses; + And by some devilish cantrip sleight, + Each in its cauld hand held a light,-- + By which heroic Tam was able + To note upon the haly table, + A murderers's banes in gibbet airns; + Two span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns; + A thief, new cutted fra a rape, + Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; + Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red rusted; + Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted; + A garter which a babe had strangled; + A knife a father's throat had mangled, + Whom his ain son o' life bereft-- + The gray hairs yet stack to the heft; + Three lawyers' tongues turned inside out, + Wi' lies seamed like a beggar's clout; + And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, + Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk: + Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', + Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. + As Tammie glowered, amazed, and curious, + The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; + The piper loud and louder blew; + The dancers quick and quicker flew; + They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleckit, + Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, + And coost her duddies to the wark, + And linket at it in her sark. + Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans + A' plump and strapping in their teens: + Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, + Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen; + Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, + That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, + I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies, + For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies! + But withered beldams, auld and droll, + Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, + Lowping an' flinging on a crummock-- + I wonder did na turn thy stomach. + But Tam kenned what was what fu' brawlie. + There was ae winsome wench and walie, + That night inlisted in the core + (Lang after kenned on Carrick shore! + For monie a beast to dead she shot, + And perished monie a bonnie boat, + And shook baith meikle corn and bear + And kept the country-side in fear), + Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn, + That while a lassie she had worn, + In longitude tho' sorely scanty, + It was her best, and she was vauntie. + Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie + That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, + Wi' twa pund Scots (twas a' her riches), + Wad ever graced a dance o' witches! + But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r; + Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; + To sing how Nannie lap and flang, + (A souple jad she was and strang!) + And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched, + And thought his very een enriched. + Ev'n Satan glowered, and fidged fu' fain, + And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main; + Till first ae caper, syne anither, + Tam tint his reason a' thegither, + And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" + And in an instant a' was dark; + And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, + When out the hellish legion sallied. + As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, + When plundering herds assail their byke; + As open pussie's mortal foes, + When pop! she starts before their nose; + As eager runs the market-crowd, + When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; + So Maggie runs,--the witches follow, + Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow. + Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'lt get thy fairin'! + In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! + In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'-- + Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! + Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, + And win the key-stane of the brig; + There at them thou thy tail may toss,-- + A running stream they dare na cross. + But ere the key-stane she could make, + The fient a tail she had to shake; + For Nannie, far before the rest, + Hard upon noble Maggie prest, + And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; + But little wist she Maggie's mettle-- + Ae spring brought off her master hale, + But left behind her ain gray tail: + The carlin claught her by the rump, + And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. + Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, + Ilk man and mother's son take heed; + Whene'er to drink you are inclined, + Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, + Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, + Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. + + _Robert Burns._ + + + + +THE WILD HUNTSMAN. + + + The Wildgrave winds his bugle horn, + To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo! + His fiery courser snuffs the morn, + And thronging serfs their lord pursue. + + The eager pack, from couples freed, + Dash through the brush, the brier, the brake; + While answering hound, and horn, and steed, + The mountain echoes startling wake. + + The beams of God's own hallowed day + Had painted yonder spire with gold, + And, calling sinful man to pray, + Loud, long, and deep the bell had tolled. + + But still the Wildgrave onward rides; + Halloo, halloo! and hark again! + When spurring from opposing sides, + Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. + + Who was each Stranger, left and right, + Well may I guess, but dare not tell; + The right-hand steed was silver white, + The left, the swarthy hue of hell. + + The right-hand Horseman young and fair, + His smile was like the morn of May; + The left, from eye of tawny glare, + Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. + + He waved his huntsman's cap on high, + Cried, "Welcome, welcome, noble lord! + What sport can earth, or sea, or sky, + To match the princely chase, afford?" + + "Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell," + Cried the fair youth, with silver voice; + "And for devotion's choral swell, + Exchange the rude unhallowed noise. + + "To-day, the ill-omened chase forbear, + Yon bell yet summons to the fane; + To-day the Warning Spirit hear, + To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain."-- + + "Away, and sweep the glades along!" + The Sable Hunter hoarse replies; + "To muttering monks leave matin-song, + And bell, and books, and mysteries." + + The Wildgrave spurred his ardent steed, + And, launching forward with a bound, + "Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede, + Would leave the jovial horn and hound?" + + "Hence, if our manly sport offend! + With pious fools go chant and pray: + Well hast thou spoke, my dark-browed friend; + Halloo, halloo! and, hark away!" + + The Wildgrave spurred his courser light, + O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill; + And on the left and on the right, + Each Stranger Horseman followed still. + + Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn, + A stag more white than mountain snow; + And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn, + "Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" + + A heedless wretch has crossed the way; + He gasps, the thundering hoofs below;-- + But, live who can, or die who may, + Still, "Forward, forward!" on they go. + + See, where yon simple fences meet, + A field with autumn's blessings crowned; + See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, + A husbandman, with toil embrowned; + + "O mercy, mercy, noble lord! + Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, + "Earned by the sweat these brows have poured, + In scorching hour of fierce July." + + Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, + The left still cheering to the prey, + The impetuous Earl no warning heeds, + But furious holds the onward way. + + "Away, thou hound! so basely born, + Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!"-- + Then loudly rung his bugle-horn, + "Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" + + So said, so done:--A single bound + Clears the poor laborer's humble pale; + Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, + Like dark December's stormy gale. + + And man and horse, and hound and horn, + Destructive sweep the field along; + While, joying o'er the wasted corn, + Fell Famine marks the maddening throng. + + Again uproused, the timorous prey + Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill; + Hard run, he feels his strength decay, + And trusts for life his simple skill. + + Too dangerous solitude appeared; + He seeks the shelter of the crowd; + Amid the flock's domestic herd + His harmless head he hopes to shroud. + + O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill, + His track the steady blood-hounds trace; + O'er moss and moor, unwearied still, + The furious Earl pursues the chase. + + Full lowly did the herdsman fall;-- + "O spare, thou noble Baron, spare + These herds, a widow's little all; + These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care!"-- + + Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, + The left still cheering to the prey; + The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds, + But furious keeps the onward way. + + "Unmannered dog! To stop my sport + Vain were thy cant and beggar whine, + Though human spirits, of thy sort, + Were tenants of these carrion kine!"-- + + Again he winds his bugle-horn, + "Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" + And through the herd, in ruthless scorn, + He cheers his furious hounds to go. + + In heaps the throttled victims fall; + Down sinks their mangled herdsman near; + The murderous cries the stag appall,-- + Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. + + With blood besmeared, and white with foam, + While big the tears of anguish pour, + He seeks, amid the forest's gloom, + The humble hermit's hallowed bower. + + But man and horse, and horn and hound, + Fast rattling on his traces go; + The sacred chapel rung around + With, "Hark away! and, holla, ho!" + + All mild, amid the route profane, + The holy hermit poured his prayer; + "Forbear with blood God's house to stain; + Revere his altar, and forbear!" + + "The meanest brute has rights to plead, + Which, wronged by cruelty, or pride, + Draw vengeance on the ruthless head:-- + Be warned at length, and turn aside." + + Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads; + The Black, wild whooping, points the prey:-- + Alas! the Earl no warning heeds, + But frantic keeps the forward way. + + "Holy or not, or right or wrong, + Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn; + Not sainted martyrs' sacred song, + Not God himself, shall make me turn!" + + He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, + "Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!"-- + But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne, + The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. + + And horse and man, and horn and hound, + And clamor of the chase, was gone; + For hoofs, and howls, and bugle-sound, + A deadly silence reigned alone. + + Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around; + He strove in vain to wake his horn, + In vain to call: for not a sound + Could from his anxious lips be borne. + + He listens for his trusty hounds; + No distant baying reached his ears: + His courser rooted to the ground, + The quickening spur unmindful bears. + + Still dark and darker frown the shades, + Dark as the darkness of the grave; + And not a sound the still invades, + Save what a distant torrent gave. + + High o'er the sinner's humbled head + At length the solemn silence broke; + And, from a cloud of swarthy red, + The awful voice of thunder spoke. + + "Oppressor of creation fair! + Apostate Spirits' hardened tool! + Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor! + The measure of thy cup is full. + + "Be chased forever through the wood; + Forever roam the affrighted wild; + And let thy fate instruct the proud, + God's meanest creature is his child." + + 'Twas hushed:--One flash, of sombre glare, + With yellow tinged the forests brown; + Uprose the Wildgrave's bristling hair, + And horror chilled each nerve and bone. + + Cold poured the sweat in freezing rill; + A rising wind began to sing; + And louder, louder, louder still, + Brought storm and tempest on its wing. + + Earth heard the call;--her entrails rend; + From yawning rifts, with many a yell, + Mixed with sulphureous flames, ascend + The misbegotten dogs of hell. + + What ghastly Huntsman next arose, + Well may I guess, but dare not tell; + His eye like midnight lightning glows, + His steed the swarthy hue of hell. + + The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn, + With many a shriek of helpless woe; + Behind him hound, and horse, and horn, + And, "Hark away, and holla, ho!" + + With wild despair's reverted eye, + Close, close behind, he marks the throng, + With bloody fangs and eager cry; + In frantic fear he scours along. + + Still, still shall last the dreadful chase, + Till time itself shall have an end; + By day, they scour earth's caverned space, + At midnight's witching hour, ascend. + + This is the horn, and hound, and horse, + That oft the lated peasant hears; + Appalled, he signs the frequent cross, + When the wild din invades his ears. + + The wakeful priest oft drops a tear + For human pride, for human woe, + When, at his midnight mass, he hears + The infernal cry of "Holla, ho!" + + _Buerger's Wilde Jaeger. Tr. Walter Scott._ + + + + +LUeTZOW'S WILD CHASE. + + + What is it that beams in the bright sunshine, + And echoes yet nearer and nearer? + And see! how it spreads in a long dark line, + And hark! how its horns in the distance combine + To impress with affright the hearer! + And ask ye what means the daring race? + This is--Luetzow's wild and desperate chase! + + See, they leave the dark wood in silence all, + And from hill to hill are seen flying; + In ambush they'll lie till the deep nightfall, + Then ye'll hear the hurrah! and the rifle ball! + And the French will be falling and dying! + And ask ye what means their daring race? + This is--Luetzow's wild and desperate chase! + + Where the vine-boughs twine, the Rhine waves roar, + And the foe thinks its waters shall hide him; + But see, they fearless approach the shore, + And they leap in the stream, and swim proudly o'er, + And stand on the bank beside him! + And ask ye what means the daring race? + This is--Luetzow's wild and desperate chase! + + Why roars in the valley the raging fight, + Where swords clash red and gory? + O fierce is the strife of that deadly fight, + For the spark of young Freedom is newly alight, + And it breaks into flames of glory! + And ask ye what means the daring race? + This is--Luetzow's wild and desperate chase! + + See yon warrior who lies on a gory spot, + From life compelled to sever; + Yet he never is heard to lament his lot, + And his soul at its parting shall tremble not, + Since his country is saved forever! + And if ye will ask at the end of his race, + Still 'tis--Luetzow's wild and desperate chase! + + The wild chase, and the German chase + Against tyranny and oppression! + Therefore weep not, loved friends, at this last embrace, + For freedom has dawned on our loved birth-place, + And our deaths shall insure its possession! + And 'twill ever be said from race to race, + This was--Luetzow's wild and desperate chase! + + _Theodor Koerner._ + + + + +THE ERL-KING. + +FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. + + + O, who rides by night thro' the woodland so wild? + It is the fond father embracing his child; + And close the boy nestles within his loved arm, + To hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm. + + "O father, see yonder! see yonder!" he says; + "My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?"-- + "O, 'tis the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud"-- + "No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud." + +(THE ERL-KING SPEAKS.) + + "O come and go with me, thou loveliest child; + By many a gay sport shall thy time be beguiled; + My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy, + And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy." + + "O father, my father, and did you not hear + The Erl-King whisper so loud in my ear?"-- + "Be still, my heart's darling--my child, be at ease; + It was but the wild blast as it sung thro' the trees." + +ERL-KING. + + "O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy? + My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy; + She shall bear thee so lightly thro' wet and thro' wild, + And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child." + + "O father, my father, and saw you not plain, + The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past thro' the rain?"-- + "O yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon; + It was the gray willow that danced to the moon." + +ERL-KING. + + "O come and go with me, no longer delay, + Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away."-- + "O father! O father! now, now keep your hold, + The Erl-King has seized me, his grasp is so cold!"-- + + Sore trembled the father; he spurred thro' the wild, + Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child; + He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread, + But, clasped to his bosom, the infant was _dead_! + + _Walter Scott._ + + + + +MAZEPPA'S RIDE. + + + "'Bring forth the horse!'--the horse was brought, + In truth, he was a noble steed, + A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, + Who looked as though the speed of thought + Were in his limbs: but he was wild, + Wild as the wild deer, and untaught, + With spur and bridle undefiled,-- + 'Twas but a day he had been caught; + And snorting, with erected mane, + And struggling fiercely, but in vain, + In the full foam of wrath and dread, + To me the desert-born was led; + They bound me on, that menial throng, + Upon his back with many a thong; + Then loosed him with a sudden lash,-- + Away!--away!--and on we dash! + Torrents less rapid and less rash. + Away!--away! My breath was gone,-- + I saw not where he hurried on: + 'Twas scarcely yet the break of day, + And on he foamed,--away!--away!-- + The last of human sounds which rose, + As I was darted from my foes, + Was the wild shout of savage laughter, + Which on the wind came roaring after + A moment from that rabble rout: + With sudden wrath I wrenched my head, + And snapped the cord, which to the mane + Had bound my neck in lieu of rein, + And writhing half my form about, + Howled back my curse; but midst the tread, + The thunder of my courser's speed, + Perchance they did not hear nor heed: + It vexes me,--for I would fain + Have paid their insult back again. + I paid it well in after days: + There is not of that castle gate, + Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight, + Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left; + Nor of its fields a blade of grass, + Save what grows on a ridge of wall, + Where stood the hearthstone of the hall; + And many a time ye there might pass, + Nor dream that e'er that fortress was: + I saw its turrets in a blaze, + Their crackling battlements all cleft, + And the hot lead pour down like rain + From off the scorched and blackening roof, + Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof. + They little thought that day of pain, + When launched, as on the lightning's flash, + They bade me to destruction dash, + That one day I should come again, + With twice five thousand horse, to thank + The count for his uncourteous ride. + They played me then a bitter prank, + When, with the wild horse for my guide, + They bound me to his foaming flank: + At length I played them one as frank,-- + For time at last sets all things even,-- + And if we do but watch the hour, + There never yet was human power + Which could evade, if unforgiven, + The patient search and vigil long + Of him who treasures up a wrong. + + "Away, away, my steed and I, + Upon the pinions of the wind, + All human dwellings left behind; + We sped like meteors through the sky, + When with its crackling sound the night + Is checkered with the northern light: + Town,--village,--none were on our track, + But a wild plain of far extent, + And bounded by a forest black: + And, save the scarce-seen battlement + On distant heights of some strong hold, + Against the Tartars built of old, + No trace of man. The year before + A Turkish army had marched o'er; + And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod, + The verdure flies the bloody sod: + The sky was dull, and dim, and gray, + And a low breeze crept moaning by,-- + I could have answered with a sigh,-- + But fast we fled, away, away,-- + And I could neither sigh nor pray; + And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain + Upon the courser's bristling mane: + But, snorting still with rage and fear, + He flew upon his far career: + At times I almost thought, indeed, + He must have slackened in his speed: + But no,--my bound and slender frame + Was nothing to his angry might, + And merely like a spur became: + Each motion which I made to free + My swoln limbs from their agony + Increased his fury and affright: + I tried my voice,--'twas faint and low, + But yet he swerved as from a blow; + And, starting to each accent, sprang + As from a sudden trumpet's clang: + Meantime my chords were wet with gore, + Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er; + And in my tongue the thirst became + A something fierier far than flame. + + "We neared the wild wood,--'twas so wide, + I saw no bounds on either side; + 'Twas studded with old sturdy trees, + That bent not to the roughest breeze + Which howls down from Siberia's waste, + And strips the forest in its haste,-- + But these were few, and far between, + Set thick with shrubs more young and green, + Luxuriant with their annual leaves, + Ere strown by those autumnal eves + That nip the forest's foliage dead, + Discolored with a lifeless red, + Which stands thereon like stiffened gore + Upon the slain when battle's o'er, + And some long winter's night hath shed + Its frost o'er every tombless head, + So cold and stark the raven's beak + May peck unpierced each frozen cheek: + 'Twas a wild waste of underwood, + And here and there a chestnut stood, + The strong oak, and the hardy pine; + But far apart,--and well it were, + Or else a different lot were mine,-- + The boughs gave way, and did not tear + My limbs; and I found strength to bear + My wounds, already scarred with cold,-- + My bonds forbade to loose my hold. + We rustled through the leaves like wind, + Left shrubs and trees and wolves behind; + By night I heard them on the track, + Their troop came hard upon our back, + With their long gallop, which can tire + The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire: + Where'er we flew they followed on, + Nor left us with the morning sun; + Behind I saw them, scarce a rood, + At daybreak winding through the wood, + And through the night had heard their feet + Their stealing, rustling step repeat. + O, how I wished for spear or sword, + At least to die amidst the horde, + And perish--if it must be so-- + At bay, destroying many a foe. + When first my courser's race begun, + I wished the goal already won; + But now I doubted strength and speed. + Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed + Had nerved him like the mountain-roe; + Nor faster falls the blinding snow + Which whelms the peasant near the door + Whose threshold he shall cross no more, + Bewildered with the dazzling blast, + Than through the forest-paths he past,-- + Untired, untamed, and worse than wild; + All furious as a favored child + Balked of its wish; or, fiercer still, + A woman piqued, who has her will. + + "The wood was past; 'twas more than noon; + But chill the air, although in June; + Or it might be my veins ran cold,-- + Prolonged endurance tames the bold: + And I was then not what I seem, + But headlong as a wintry stream, + And wore my feelings out before + I well could count their causes o'er: + And what with fury, fear, and wrath, + The tortures which beset my path, + Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress, + Thus bound in nature's nakedness; + Sprung from a race whose rising blood + When stirred beyond its calmer mood, + And trodden hard upon, is like + The rattlesnake's, in act to strike, + What marvel if this worn-out trunk + Beneath its woes a moment sunk? + The earth gave way, the skies rolled round, + I seemed to sink upon the ground; + But erred, for I was fastly bound. + My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore, + And throbbed awhile, then beat no more: + The skies spun like a mighty wheel; + I saw the trees like drunkards reel, + And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes, + Which saw no farther: he who dies + Can die no more than then I died. + O'ertortured by that ghastly ride, + I felt the blackness come and go, + And strove to wake; but could not make + My senses climb up from below: + I felt as on a plank at sea, + When all the waves that dash o'er thee, + At the same time upheave and whelm, + And hurl thee towards a desert realm. + My undulating life was as + The fancied lights that flitting pass + Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when + Fever begins upon the brain; + But soon it passed, with little pain, + But a confusion worse than such: + I own that I should deem it much, + Dying, to feel the same again; + And yet I do suppose we must + Feel far more ere we turn to dust: + No matter; I have bared my brow + Full in Death's face--before--and now. + + "My thoughts came back; where was I? Cold, + And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse + Life reassumed its lingering hold, + And throb by throb; till grown a pang + Which for a moment would convulse, + My blood reflowed, though thick and chill; + My ear with uncouth noises rang, + My heart began once more to thrill; + My sight returned, though dim, alas! + And thickened, as it were, with glass. + Methought the dash of waves was nigh; + There was a gleam too of the sky, + Studded with stars;--it is no dream: + The wild horse swims the wilder stream! + The bright broad river's gushing tide + Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide, + And we are half-way struggling o'er + To yon unknown and silent shore. + The waters broke my hollow trance. + And with a temporary strength + My stiffened limbs were rebaptized, + My courser's broad breast proudly braves, + And dashes off the ascending waves, + And onward we advance! + We reach the slippery shore at length, + A haven I but little prized, + For all behind was dark and drear, + And all before was night and fear. + How many hours of night or day + In those suspended pangs I lay, + I could not tell; I scarcely knew + If this were human breath I drew. + + "With glossy skin, and dripping mane, + And reeling limbs, and reeking flank, + The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain + Up the repelling bank. + We gain the top: a boundless plain + Spreads through the shadow of the night, + And onward, onward, onward, seems + Like precipices in our dreams, + To stretch beyond the sight; + And here and there a speck of white, + Or scattered spot of dusky green, + In masses broke into the light, + As rose the moon upon my right. + But naught distinctly seen + In the dim waste, would indicate + The omen of a cottage gate; + No twinkling taper from afar + Stood like a hospitable star; + Not even an ignis-fatuus rose + To make him merry with my woes: + That very cheat had cheered me then! + Although detected, welcome still, + Reminding me, through every ill, + Of the abodes of men. + + "Onward we went,--but slack and slow; + His savage force at length o'erspent, + The drooping courser, faint and low, + All feebly foaming went. + A sickly infant had had power + To guide him forward in that hour; + But useless all to me. + His new-born tameness naught availed, + My limbs were bound; my force had failed, + Perchance, had they been free. + With feeble effort still I tried + To rend the bonds so starkly tied,-- + But still it was in vain; + My limbs were only wrung the more, + And soon the idle strife gave o'er, + Which but prolonged their pain: + The dizzy race seemed almost done, + Although no goal was nearly won: + Some streaks announced the coming sun.-- + How slow, alas! he came! + Methought that mist of dawning gray + Would never dapple into day; + How heavily it rolled away,-- + Before the eastern flame + Rose crimson, and deposed the stars, + And called the radiance from their cars, + And filled the earth, from his deep throne, + With lonely lustre, all his own. + + "Up rose the sun; the mists were curled + Back from the solitary world + Which lay around--behind--before: + What booted it to traverse o'er + Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute, + Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, + Lay in the wild luxuriant soil; + No sign of travel,--none of toil; + The very air was mute; + And not an insect's shrill small horn, + Nor matin bird's new voice was borne + From herb nor thicket. Many a werst, + Panting as if his heart would burst, + The weary brute still staggered on; + And still we were--or seemed--alone: + At length, while reeling on our way, + Methought I heard a courser neigh, + From out yon tuft of blackening firs. + Is it the wind those branches stirs? + No, no! from out the forest prance + A trampling troop; I see them come! + In one vast squadron they advance! + I strove to cry,--my lips were dumb. + The steeds rush on in plunging pride; + But where are they the reins to guide? + A thousand horse,--and none to ride! + With flowing tail, and flying main, + Wide nostrils,--never stretched by pain,-- + Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, + And feet that iron never shod, + And flanks unscarred by spur or rod, + A thousand horse, the wild, the free, + Like waves that follow o'er the sea, + Came thickly thundering on, + As if our faint approach to meet; + The sight renerved my courser's feet, + A moment staggering, feebly fleet, + A moment, with a faint low neigh, + He answered, and then fell; + With gasps and glazing eyes he lay, + And reeking limbs immovable, + His first and last career is done! + On came the troop,--they saw him stoop, + They saw me strangely bound along + His back with many a bloody thong: + They stop--they start--they snuff the air, + Gallop a moment here and there, + Approach, retire, wheel round and round, + Then plunging back with sudden bound, + Headed by one black mighty steed, + Who seemed the patriarch of his breed, + Without a single speck or hair + Of white upon his shaggy hide; + They snort--they foam--neigh--swerve aside, + And backward to the forest fly, + By instinct from a human eye,-- + They left me there, to my despair, + Linked to the dead and stiffening wretch, + Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, + Relieved from that unwonted weight, + From whence I could not extricate + Nor him nor me,--and there we lay, + The dying on the dead! + + _Byron._ + + + + +THE GIAOUR'S RIDE. + + + Who thundering comes on blackest steed, + With slackened bit and hoof of speed? + Beneath the clattering iron's sound + The caverned echoes wake around + In lash for lash, and bound for bound; + The foam that streaks the courser's side + Seems gathered from the ocean-tide: + Though weary waves are sunk to rest, + There's none within his rider's breast; + And though to-morrow's tempest lower, + 'Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour! + I know thee not, I loathe thy race, + But in thy lineaments I trace + What time shall strengthen, not efface: + Though young and pale, that sallow front + Is scathed by fiery passion's brunt; + Though bent on earth thine evil eye, + As meteor-like thou glidest by, + Right well I view and deem thee one + Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun. + + On--on he hastened, and he drew + My gaze of wonder as he flew: + Though like a demon of the night + He passed, and vanished from my sight, + His aspect and his air impressed + A troubled memory on my breast, + And long upon my startled ear + Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear. + He spurs his steed; he nears the steep, + That, jutting, shadows o'er the deep; + He winds around; he hurries by; + The rock relieves him from mine eye; + For well I ween unwelcome he + Whose glance is fixed on those that flee; + And not a star but shines too bright + On him who takes such timeless flight. + He wound along; but ere he passed + One glance he snatched, as if his last, + A moment checked his wheeling steed, + A moment breathed him from his speed, + A moment on his stirrup stood-- + Why looks he o'er the olive wood? + The crescent glimmers on the hill, + The Mosque's high lamps are quivering still: + Though too remote for sound to wake + In echoes of the far tophaike, + The flashes of each joyous peal + Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal, + To-night, set Rhamazani's sun; + To-night, the Bairam feast's begun; + To-night--but who and what art thou + Of foreign garb and fearful brow? + And what are these to thine, or thee, + That thou should'st either pause or flee? + + He stood--some dread was on his face, + Soon Hatred settled in its place: + It rose not with the reddening flush + Of transient Anger's hasty blush, + But pale as marble o'er the tomb, + Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom. + His brow was bent, his eye was glazed; + He raised his arm, and fiercely raised, + And sternly shook his hand on high, + As doubting to return or fly: + Impatient of his flight delayed, + Here loud his raven charger neighed-- + Down glanced that hand, and grasped his blade; + That sound had burst his waking dream, + As Slumber starts at owlet's scream. + The spur hath lanced his courser's sides; + Away, away, for life he rides: + Swift as the hurled on high jerreed + Springs to the touch his startled steed; + The rock is doubled, and the shore + Shakes with the clattering tramp no more; + The crag is won, no more is seen + His Christian crest and haughty mien. + 'Twas but an instant he restrained + That fiery barb so sternly reined; + 'Twas but a moment that he stood, + Then sped as if by death pursued: + But in that instant o'er his soul + Winters of Memory seemed to roll, + And gather in that drop of time + A life of pain, an age of crime. + O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears, + Such moment pours the grief of years: + What felt _he_ then, at once opprest + By all that most distracts the breast? + That pause, which pondered o'er his fate, + Oh, who its dreary length shall date! + Though in Time's record nearly nought, + It was Eternity to Thought! + For infinite as boundless space + The thought that Conscience must embrace, + Which in itself can comprehend + Woe without name, or hope, or end. + + The hour is past, the Giaour is gone; + And did he fly or fall alone? + Woe to that hour he came or went! + The curse of Hassan's sin was sent + To turn a palace to a tomb; + He came, he went, like the Simoom, + That harbinger of fate and gloom, + Beneath whose widely-wasting breath + The very cypress droops to death-- + Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled, + The only constant mourner o'er the dead! + + _Byron._ + + + + +THE NORSEMAN'S RIDE. + + + The frosty fires of Northern starlight + Gleamed on the glittering snow, + And through the forest's frozen branches + The shrieking winds did blow; + A floor of blue, translucent marble + Kept ocean's pulses still, + When, in the depth of dreary midnight, + Opened the burial hill. + + Then while a low and creeping shudder + Thrilled upward through the ground, + The Norseman came, as armed for battle, + In silence from his mound: + He, who was mourned in solemn sorrow + By many a swordsman bold, + And harps that wailed along the ocean, + Struck by the Skalds of old. + + Sudden, a swift and silver shadow + Rushed up from out the gloom,-- + A horse that stamped with hoof impatient, + Yet noiseless, on the tomb. + "Ha, Surtur! let me hear thy tramping, + Thou noblest Northern steed, + Whose neigh along the stormy headlands + Bade the bold Viking heed!" + + He mounted: like a north-light streaking + The sky with flaming bars, + They, on the winds so wildly shrieking, + Shot up before the stars. + "Is this thy mane, my fearless Surtur, + That streams against my breast? + Is this thy neck, that curve of moonlight, + Which Helva's hand caressed? + + "No misty breathing strains thy nostril, + Thine eye shines blue and cold, + Yet, mounting up our airy pathway, + I see thy hoofs of gold! + Not lighter o'er the springing rainbow + Walhalla's gods repair, + Than we, in sweeping journey over + The bending bridge of air. + + "Far, far around, star-gleams are sparkling + Amid the twilight space; + And Earth, that lay so cold and darkling, + Has veiled her dusky face. + Are those the Nornes that beckon onward + To seats at Odin's board, + Where nightly by the hands of heroes + The foaming mead is poured? + + "'Tis Skuld! her star-eye speaks the glory + That waits the warrior's soul, + When on its hinge of music opens + The gateway of the Pole,-- + When Odin's warder leads the hero + To banquets never done, + And Freya's eyes outshine in summer + The ever-risen sun. + + "On! on! the Northern lights are streaming + In brightness like the morn, + And pealing far amid the vastness, + I hear the Gjallarhorn: + The heart of starry space is throbbing + With songs of minstrels old, + And now, on high Walhalla's portal, + Gleam Surtur's hoofs of gold!" + + _Bayard Taylor._ + + + + +BOOT AND SADDLE. + + + "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + Rescue my Castle, before the hot day + Brightens to blue from its silvery gray, + (_Cho._) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; + Many's the friend there will listen and pray + "God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay, + (_Cho._) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, + Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array: + Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, + (_Cho._) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, + Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay! + I've better counsellors; what counsel they? + (_Cho._) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + _Robert Browning._ + + + + +THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE. + + + Trample! trample! went the roan, + Trap! trap! went the gray; + But pad! pad! pad! like a thing that was mad, + My chestnut broke away.-- + It was just five miles from Salisbury town, + And but one hour to day. + + Thud! thud! came on the heavy roan, + Rap! rap! the mettled gray; + But my chestnut mare was of blood so rare, + That she showed them all the way. + Spur on! spur on!--I doffed my hat, + And wished them all good day. + + They splashed through miry rut and pool,-- + Splintered through fence and rail; + But chestnut Kate switched over the gate,-- + I saw them droop and tail. + To Salisbury town--but a mile of down, + Once over this brook and rail. + + Trap! trap! I heard their echoing hoofs + Past the walls of mossy stone; + The roan flew on at a staggering pace, + But blood is better than bone. + I patted old Kate, and gave her the spur, + For I knew it was all my own. + + But trample! trample! came their steeds, + And I saw their wolfs' eyes burn; + I felt like a royal hart at bay, + And made me ready to turn. + I looked where highest grew the may, + And deepest arched the fern. + + I flew at the first knave's sallow throat; + One blow, and he was down. + The second rogue fired twice, and missed; + I sliced the villain's crown. + Clove through the rest, and flogged brave Kate, + Fast, fast to Salisbury town! + + Pad! pad! they came on the level sward, + Thud! thud! upon the sand; + With a gleam of swords, and a burning match, + And a shaking of flag and hand: + But one long bound, and I passed the gate, + Safe from the canting band. + + _Walter Thornbury._ + + + + +KING JAMES'S RIDE. + + + "Stand, Bayard, stand!"--the steed obeyed, + With arching neck and bending head, + And glancing eye and quivering ear + As if he loved his lord to hear. + No foot Fitz-James in stirrup staid, + No grasp upon the saddle laid, + But wreathed his left hand in the mane, + And lightly bounded from the plain, + Turned on the horse his armed heel, + And stirred his courage with the steel. + Bounded the fiery steed in air, + The rider sate erect and fair, + Then like a bolt from steel crossbow + Forth launched, along the plain they go. + They dashed that rapid torrent through, + And up Carhonie's hill they flew; + Still at the gallop pricked the Knight, + His merry-men followed as they might. + Along thy banks, swift Teith! they ride, + And in the race they mocked thy tide; + Torry and Lendrick now are past, + And Deanstown lies behind them cast; + They rise, the bannered towers of Doune, + They sink in distant woodland soon; + Blair-Drummond sees the hoof strike fire, + They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre; + They mark just glance and disappear + The lofty brow of ancient Kier; + They bathe their courser's sweltering sides, + Dark Forth! amid thy sluggish tides, + And on the opposing shore take ground, + With plash, with scramble, and with bound. + Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth! + And soon the bulwark of the North, + Grey Stirling, with her towers and town, + Upon their fleet career looked down. + + _Walter Scott._ + + + + +DELORAINE'S RIDE. + + + *....*....*....* + + The Ladye forgot her purpose high, + One moment, and no more; + One moment gazed with a mother's eye, + As she paused at the arched door: + Then from amid the armed train, + She called to her William of Deloraine. + + A stark moss-trooping Scott was he, + As e'er couched Border lance by knee; + Through Solway sands, through Tarras moss, + Blindfold, he knew the paths to cross; + By wily turns, by desperate bounds, + Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds; + In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none, + But he would ride them, one by one; + Alike to him was time or tide, + December's snow, or July's pride; + Alike to him was tide or time, + Moonless midnight, or matin prime: + Steady of heart, and stout of hand, + As ever drove prey from Cumberland; + Five times outlawed had he been + By England's King, and Scotland's Queen. + + "Sir William of Deloraine, good at need, + Mount thee on the wightest steed; + Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride, + Until thou come to fair Tweedside; + And in Melrose's holy pile + Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. + Greet the Father well from me; + Say that the fated hour is come, + And to-night he shall watch with thee, + To win the treasure of the tomb. + For this will be St. Michael's night, + And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright; + And the Cross, of bloody red, + Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. + + "What he gives thee, see thou keep; + Stay not thou for food or sleep: + Be it scroll, or be it book, + Into it, Knight, thou must not look; + If thou readest, thou art lorn! + Better hadst thou ne'er been born."-- + + "O swiftly can speed my dapple-grey steed, + Which drinks of the Teviot clear; + Ere break of day," the Warrior 'gan say, + "Again will I be here: + And safer by none may thy errand be done, + Than, noble dame, by me; + Letter nor line know I never a one, + Wer't my neck-verse at Hairibee." + + Soon in his saddle sate he fast, + And soon the steep descent he past, + Soon crossed the sounding barbican, + And soon the Teviot side he won. + Eastward the wooded path he rode, + Green hazels o'er his basnet nod; + He passed the Peel of Goldiland, + And crossed old Borthwick's roaring strand; + Dimly he viewed the Moat-hill's mound, + Where Druid shades still flitted round; + In Hawick twinkled many a light; + Behind him soon they set in night; + And soon he spurred his courser keen + Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. + + The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark;-- + "Stand, ho! thou courier of the dark."-- + "For Branksome, ho!" the knight rejoined, + And left the friendly tower behind. + He turned him now from Teviotside, + And, guided by the tinkling rill, + Northward the dark ascent did ride, + And gained the moor at Horsliehill; + Broad on the left before him lay, + For many a mile, the Roman way. + + A moment now he slacked his speed, + A moment breathed his panting steed; + Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band. + And loosened in the sheath his brand. + On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint, + Where Barnhill hewed his bed of flint; + Who flung his outlawed limbs to rest, + Where falcons hang their giddy nest, + Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye + For many a league his prey could spy; + Cliffs, doubling, on their echoes borne, + The terrors of the robber's horn? + Cliffs, which, for many a later year, + The warbling Doric reed shall hear, + When some sad swain shall teach the grove, + Ambition is no cure for love! + + Unchallenged, thence passed Deloraine, + To ancient Riddel's fair domain. + Where Aill, from mountains freed. + Down from the lakes did raving come; + Each wave was crested with tawny foam, + Like the mane of a chestnut steed. + In vain! no torrent, deep or broad, + Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. + At the first plunge the horse sunk low, + And the water broke o'er the saddlebow; + Above the foaming tide, I ween, + Scarce half the charger's neck was seen; + For he was barded from counter to tail, + And the rider was armed complete in mail; + Never heavier man and horse + Stemmed a midnight torrent's force. + The warrior's very plume, I say + Was daggled by the dashing spray: + Yet, through good heart, and Our Ladye's grace, + At length he gained the landing place. + + Now Bowden Moor the march-man won, + And sternly shook his plumed head, + As glanced his eye o'er Halidon; + For on his soul the slaughter red + Of that unhallowed morn arose, + When first the Scott and Carr were foes; + When royal James beheld the fray, + Prize to the victor of the day; + When Home and Douglas, in the van, + Bore down Buccleuch's retiring clan, + Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear + Reeked on dark Elliot's Border spear. + + In bitter mood he spurred fast, + And soon the hated heath was past; + And far beneath, in lustre wan, + Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran: + Like some tall rock with lichens gray, + Seemed dimly huge, the dark Abbaye. + When Hawick he passed, had curfew rung, + Now midnight lauds were in Melrose sung. + The sound, upon the fitful gale, + In solemn wise did rise and fail, + Like that wild harp, whose magic tone + Is wakened by the winds alone. + But when Melrose he reached, 'twas silence all; + He meetly stabled his steed in stall, + And sought the convent's lonely wall. + + _Sir Walter Scott._ + + + + +GODIVA. + + + _I waited for the train at Coventry; + I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, + To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped + The city's ancient legend into this_:-- + Not only we, the latest seed of Time, + New men, that in the flying of a wheel + Cry down the past, not only we, that prate + Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well, + And loathed to see them overtaxed; but she + Did more, and underwent, and overcame, + The woman of a thousand summers back, + Godiva, wife to that grim Earl, who ruled + In Coventry: for when he laid a tax + Upon his town, and all the mothers brought + Their children, clamoring, "If we pay, we starve!" + She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode + About the hall, among his dogs, alone, + His beard a foot before him, and his hair + A yard behind. She told him of their tears, + And prayed him, "If they pay this tax, they starve." + Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed, + "You would not let your little finger ache + For such as _these_?"--"But I would die," said she. + He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul: + Then filliped at the diamond in her ear; + "O ay, ay, ay, you talk!"--"Alas!" she said, + "But prove me what it is I would not do." + And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand, + He answered, "Ride you naked through the town, + And I repeal it;" and nodding, as in scorn, + He parted, with great strides among his dogs. + So left alone, the passions of her mind, + As winds from all the compass shift and blow, + Made war upon each other for an hour, + Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, + And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all + The hard condition; but that she would loose + The people: therefore, as they loved her well, + From then till noon no foot should pace the street, + No eye look down, she passing; but that all + Should keep within, door shut, and window barred. + Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there + Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt, + The grim Earl's gift; but ever at a breath + She lingered, looking like a summer moon + Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head, + And showered the rippled ringlets to her knee; + Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair + Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid + From pillar unto pillar, until she reached + The gateway; there she found her palfrey trapt + In purple blazoned with armorial gold. + Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity: + The deep air listened round her as she rode, + And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. + The little wide-mouthed heads upon the spout + Had cunning eyes to see: the barking cur + Made her cheek flame: her palfrey's footfall shot + Light horrors through her pulses: the blind walls + Were full of chinks and holes; and overhead + Fantastic gables, crowding, stared: but she + Not less through all bore up, till, last, she saw + The white-flowered elder-thicket from the field + Gleam through the Gothic archways in the wall. + Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity: + And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, + The fatal byword of all years to come, + Boring a little auger-hole in fear, + Peeped--but his eyes, before they had their will, + Were shrivelled into darkness in his head, + And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait + On noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused; + And she, that knew not, passed: and all at once, + With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon + Was clashed and hammered from a hundred towers, + One after one: but even then she gained + Her bower; whence reissuing, robed and crowned, + To meet her lord, she took the tax away, + And built herself an everlasting name. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + + + +"HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX." + + + I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; + I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; + "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; + "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; + Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, + And into the midnight we galloped abreast. + + Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace + Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; + I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, + Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, + Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, + Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. + + 'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near + Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; + At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; + At Dueffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be; + And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime, + So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!" + + At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, + And against him the cattle stood black every one, + To stare through the mist at us galloping past, + And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, + With resolute shoulders, each butting away + The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray. + + And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back + For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; + And one eye's black intelligence,--ever that glance + O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! + And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon + His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. + + By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! + Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, + We'll remember at Aix,"--for one heard the quick wheeze + Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, + And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, + As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. + + So we were left galloping, Joris and I, + Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; + The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, + 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; + Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, + And "Gallop," gasped Joris, for "Aix is in sight!" + + "How they'll greet us!"--and all in a moment his roan + Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; + And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight + Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, + With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, + And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. + + Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, + Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, + Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, + Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; + Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, + Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. + + And all I remember is, friends flocking round + As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground, + And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, + As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, + Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) + Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. + + _Robert Browning._ + + + + +THE LANDLORD'S TALE. + +PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. + + + Listen, my children, and you shall hear + Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, + On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; + Hardly a man is now alive + Who remembers that famous day and year. + + He said to his friend, "If the British march + By land or sea from the town to-night, + Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch + Of the North Church tower as a signal light,-- + One, if by land, and two, if by sea; + And I on the opposite shore will be, + Ready to ride and spread the alarm + Through every Middlesex village and farm, + For the country folk to be up and to arm." + + Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar + Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, + Just as the moon rose over the bay, + Where swinging wide at her moorings lay + The Somerset, British man-of-war; + A phantom ship, with each mast and spar + Across the moon like a prison bar, + And a huge black hulk, that was magnified + By its own reflection in the tide. + + Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, + Wanders and watches with eager ears, + Till in the silence around him he hears + The muster of men at the barrack door, + The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, + And the measured tread of the grenadiers, + Marching down to their boats on the shore. + + Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, + By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, + To the belfry-chamber overhead, + And startled the pigeons from their perch + On the sombre rafters, that round him made + Masses and moving shapes of shade,-- + By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, + To the highest window in the wall, + Where he paused to listen and look down + A moment on the roofs of the town, + And the moonlight flowing over all. + + Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, + In their night-encampment on the hill, + Wrapped in silence so deep and still + That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, + The watchful night-wind, as it went + Creeping along from tent to tent, + And seeming to whisper, "All is well!" + A moment only he feels the spell + Of the place and hour, and the secret dread + Of the lonely belfry and the dead; + For suddenly all his thoughts are bent + On a shadowy something far away, + Where the river widens to meet the bay,-- + A line of black that bends and floats + On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. + + Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, + Booted and spurred with a heavy stride + On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. + Now he patted his horse's side, + Now gazed at the landscape far and near, + Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, + And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; + But mostly he watched with eager search + The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, + As it rose above the graves on the hill, + Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. + And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height + A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! + He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, + But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight + A second lamp in the belfry burns! + + A hurry of hoofs in a village street, + A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, + And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark + Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: + That was all! and yet, through the gloom and the light, + The fate of a nation was riding that night; + And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, + Kindled the land into flame with its heat. + He has left the village and mounted the steep, + And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, + Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; + And under the alders, that skirt its edge, + Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, + Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. + + It was twelve by the village clock + When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. + He heard the crowing of the cock, + And the barking of the farmer's dog, + And felt the damp of the river fog, + That rises after the sun goes down. + + It was one by the village clock, + When he galloped into Lexington. + He saw the gilded weathercock + Swim in the moonlight as he passed, + And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, + Gaze at him with a spectral glare, + As if they already stood aghast + At the bloody work they would look upon. + + It was two by the village clock, + When he came to the bridge in Concord town. + He heard the bleating of the flock, + And the twitter of birds among the trees, + And felt the breath of the morning breeze + Blowing over the meadows brown. + And one was safe and asleep in his bed + Who at the bridge would be first to fall, + Who that day would be lying dead, + Pierced by a British musket-ball. + + You know the rest. In the books you have read, + How the British Regulars fired and fled,-- + How the farmers gave them ball for ball, + From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, + Chasing the red-coats down the lane, + Then crossing the fields to emerge again + Under the trees at the turn of the road, + And only pausing to fire and load. + + So through the night rode Paul Revere; + And so through the night went his cry of alarm + To every Middlesex village and farm,-- + A cry of defiance and not of fear, + A voice in the darkness a knock at the door, + And a word that shall echo forevermore! + For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, + Through all our history, to the last, + In the hour of darkness and peril and need, + The people will waken and listen to hear + The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, + And the midnight message of Paul Revere. + + _H. W. Longfellow._ + + + + +SHERIDAN'S RIDE. + + + Up from the South at break of day, + Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, + The affrighted air with a shudder bore, + Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, + The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, + Telling the battle was on once more, + And Sheridan twenty miles away. + + And wider still those billows of war + Thundered along the horizon's bar; + And louder yet into Winchester rolled + The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, + Making the blood of the listener cold, + As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, + And Sheridan twenty miles away. + + But there is a road from Winchester town, + A good broad highway leading down; + And there, through the flush of the morning light, + A steed as black as the steeds of night, + Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, + As if he knew the terrible need; + He stretched away with his utmost speed; + Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, + With Sheridan fifteen miles away. + + Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South, + The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth; + Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, + Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. + The heart of the steed and the heart of the master + Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, + Impatient to be where the battle-field calls; + Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, + With Sheridan only ten miles away. + + Under his spurning feet the road + Like an arrowy alpine river flowed, + And the landscape sped away behind + Like an ocean flying before the wind, + And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace fire, + Swept on, with his wild eye full of ire. + But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire; + He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, + With Sheridan only five miles away. + + The first that the general saw were the groups + Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops, + What was done? what to do? a glance told him both, + Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, + He dashed down the line, mid a storm of huzzas, + And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because + The sight of the master compelled it to pause. + With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; + By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, + He seemed to the whole great army to say, + "I have brought you Sheridan all the way + From Winchester down, to save the day!" + + Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! + Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! + And when their statues are placed on high, + Under the dome of the Union sky, + The American soldiers' Temple of Fame; + There with the glorious general's name, + Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, + "Here is the steed that saved the day, + By carrying Sheridan into the fight, + From Winchester, twenty miles away!" + + _Thomas Buchanan Read._ + + + + +KEARNY AT SEVEN PINES. + + + So that soldierly legend is still on its journey,-- + That story of Kearny who knew not to yield! + 'Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry, and Birney, + Against twenty thousand he rallied the field. + Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest, + Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak and pine; + Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest,-- + No charge like Phil Kearny's along the whole line. + + When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, + Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our ground, + He rode down the length of the withering column, + And his heart at our war-cry leapt up with a bound; + He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the powder,-- + His sword waved us on, and we answered the sign: + Loud our cheers as we rushed, but his laugh rang the louder, + "There's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole line!" + + How he strode his brown steed! How we saw his blade brighten + In the one hand still left,--and the reins in his teeth! + He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, + But a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath. + Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, + Asking where to go in,--through the clearing or pine? + "Oh, anywhere! Forward! 'Tis all the same, Colonel: + You'll find lovely fighting along the whole line!" + + Oh, evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly, + That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried! + Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, + The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's pride! + Yet we dream that he still,--in that shadowy region, + Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drummer's sign,-- + Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion, + And the word still is Forward! along the whole line. + + _Edmund Clarence Stedman._ + + + + +THE RIDE OF COLLINS GRAVES. + +AN INCIDENT OF THE FLOOD IN MASSACHUSETTS, ON MAY 16, 1874. + + + No song of a soldier riding down + To the raging fight from Winchester town; + No song of a time that shook the earth + With the nations' throe at a nation's birth; + But the song of a brave man, free from fear + As Sheridan's self, or Paul Revere; + Who risked what they risked, free from strife, + And its promise of glorious pay--his life! + + The peaceful valley has waked and stirred, + And the answering echoes of life are heard: + The dew still clings to the trees and grass, + And the early toilers smiling pass, + As they glance aside at the white-walled homes, + Or up the valley, where merrily comes + The brook that sparkles in diamond rills + As the sun comes over the Hampshire hills. + + What was it, that passed like an ominous breath-- + Like a shiver of fear, or a touch of death? + What was it? The valley is peaceful still, + And the leaves are afire on top of the hill. + It was not a sound--nor a thing of sense-- + But a pain, like the pang of the short suspense + That thrills the being of those who see + At their feet the gulf of Eternity! + + The air of the valley has felt the chill: + The workers pause at the door of the mill; + The housewife, keen to the shivering air, + Arrests her foot on the cottage stair, + Instinctive taught by the mother-love, + And thinks of the sleeping ones above. + Why start the listeners? Why does the course + Of the mill-stream widen? Is it a horse-- + Hark to the sound of his hoofs, they say-- + That gallops so wildly Williamsburg way! + + God! what was that, like a human shriek + From the winding valley? Will nobody speak? + Will nobody answer those women who cry + As the awful warnings thunder by? + + Whence come they? Listen! And now they hear + The sound of the galloping horse-hoofs near; + They watch the trend of the vale, and see + The rider who thunders so menacingly, + With waving arms and warning scream + To the home-filled banks of the valley stream. + He draws no rein, but he shakes the street + With a shout and the ring of the galloping feet; + And this the cry he flings to the wind: + "To the hills for your lives! The flood is behind!" + + He cries and is gone; but they know the worst-- + The breast of the Williamsburg dam has burst! + The basin that nourished their happy homes + Is changed to a demon--It comes! it comes! + + A monster in aspect, with shaggy front + Of shattered dwellings, to take the brunt + Of the homes they shatter--white-maned and hoarse, + The merciless Terror fills the course + Of the narrow valley, and rushing raves, + With Death on the first of its hissing waves, + Till cottage and street and crowded mill + Are crumbled and crushed. + + But onward still, + In front of the roaring flood is heard + The galloping horse and the warning word. + Thank God! the brave man's life is spared! + From Williamsburg town he nobly dared + To race with the flood and take the road + In front of the terrible swath it mowed. + For miles it thundered and crashed behind, + But he looked ahead with a steadfast mind; + "They must be warned!" was all he said, + As away on his terrible ride he sped. + + When heroes are called for, bring the crown + To this Yankee rider: send him down + On the stream of time with the Curtius old; + His deed as the Roman's was brave and bold, + And the tale can as noble a thrill awake, + For he offered his life for the people's sake. + + _John Boyle O'Reilly._ + + + + +A TALE OF PROVIDENCE. + + + The tall green tree its shadow cast + Upon Howe's army that southward passed + From Gordon's Ford to the Quaker town, + Intending in quarters to settle down + Till snows were gone, and spring again + Should easier make a new campaign. + + Beyond the fences that lined the way, + The fields of Captain Richardson lay; + His woodland and meadows reached far and wide, + From the hills behind to the Schuylkill's side, + Across the stream, in the mountain gorge, + He could see the smoke of the valley forge. + + The Captain had fought in the frontier war; + When the fight was done, bearing seam and scar, + He marched back home to tread once more + The same tame round he had trod before, + And turn his thoughts with sighs of regret + To his ploughshares, wishing them sword-blades yet. + + He put the meadow in corn that year, + And swore till his blacks were white with fear. + He plowed, and planted, and married a wife, + But life grew weary with inward strife. + His blood was hot and his throbbing brain + Beat with the surf of some far main. + + Should he sack a town, or rob the mail, + Or on the wide seas a pirate sail? + He pondered it over, concluding instead, + To buy three steeds in Arabia bred, + On Sopus, Fearnaught, or Scipio, + He felt his blood more evenly flow. + + To his daughter Tacey, the coming days + Brought health, and beauty, and graceful ways. + He taught her to ride his fleetest steed + At a five-barred fence, or a ditch at need, + And the Captain's horses, his hounds, and his child + Were famous from sea to forests wild. + + *....*....*....* + + Master and man from home were gone, + And Fearnaught held the stables alone, + And Mistress Tacey her spirit showed + The morning the British came down the road. + She hid the silver, and drove the cows + To the island behind the willow boughs. + + Was time too short? or did she forget + That Fearnaught stood in the stables yet? + Across the fields to the gate she ran, + And followed the path 'neath the grape-arbors' span; + On the doorstep she paused and turned to see + The head of the line beneath the green tree. + + The last straggler passed, the night came on, + And then 'twas discovered that Fearnaught was gone; + Sometime, somehow, from his stall he was led, + Where an old gray horse was left in his stead, + And Tacey must prove to her father that she + Had been prepared for the emergency. + + For the words he scattered on kind soil fell, + And Tacey had learned his maxim well + In the stories he read. She remembered the art + That concealed the fear in Esther's heart; + How the words of the woman Abigail + Appeased the king's wrath, the deed of Jael! + + How Judith went from the city's gate + Across the plain as the day grew late, + To the tent of the great Assyrian; + The leader exalted with horse and man, + And brought back his head, said Tacey: "Of course, + A more difficult feat than to bring back a horse." + + In the English camp the reveille drum + Told the sleeping troops that the dawn had come, + And the shadows abroad that with night were blent + At the drum's tap startled, crept under each tent + As Tacey stole from the sheltering wood + Across the wet grass where the horse pound stood. + + Hark! was it the twitter of frightened bird, + Or was it the challenge of sentry she heard? + She entered unseen, but her footsteps she stayed + When the old gray horse in the wood still, neighed, + Half hid in the mist a shape loomed tall, + A steed that answered her well-known call. + + With freedom beyond for the recompense + She sprang to his back, and leaped the fence; + Too late the alarm; but Tacey heard + As she sped away how the camp was stirred, + The stamping of horses, the shouts of men + And the bugle's impatient call again. + + Loudly and fast on the Ridge Road beat + The regular fall of Fearnaught's feet, + On his broad, bare back his rider's seat + Was as firm as the tread of the steed so fleet; + Small need of saddle, or bridle rein, + He answered as well her touch on his mane. + + On down the hill by the river shore, + Faster and faster she rode than before; + Her bonnet fell back, her head was bare, + And the river breeze that freed her hair + Dispersed the fog, and she heard the shout + Of the troopers behind when the sun came out. + + The wheel at Van Deering's had dripped nearly dry, + In Sabbath-like stillness the morning passed by; + Then the clatter of hoofs came down the hill, + And the white old miller ran out from the mill. + But he only saw through the dust of the road + The last red-coat that faintly showed. + + To Tacey the sky, and the trees, and the wind + Seemed all to rush toward her, and follow behind, + Her lips were set firm, and pale was her cheek + As she plunged down the hill and through the creek, + The tortoise shell comb that she lost that day + The Wissahickon carried away. + + On the other side up the stony hill + The feet of Fearnaught went faster still, + But somewhat backward the troopers fell, + For the hill, and the pace, began to tell + On their horses worn with a long campaign + O'er rugged mountains, and weary plain. + + The road was deserted, for when men fought + A secret path the traveler sought; + Two scared idlers in Levering's Inn + Fled to the woods at the coming din, + The watch dog ran to bark his delight, + But pursued and pursuers were out of sight. + + Surely the distance between them increased, + And the shouts of the troopers had long since ceased, + One after another pulled his rein + And rode with great oaths to the camp again. + Oft a look backward Tacey sent + To the fading red of the regiment. + + She heard the foremost horseman call; + She saw the horse stumble, the rider fall; + She patted her steed and checked his pace + And leisurely rode the rest of the race. + When the Seven-Stars' sign on the horizon showed + Behind not a trooper was on the road. + + In vain had they shouted who followed in chase, + In vain their wild ride; so ended the race. + Though fifty strong voices may clamor and call, + If she hear not the strongest, she hears not them all; + Though fifty fleet horses go galloping fast, + One swifter than all shall be furthest at last. + + Said the well-pleased Captain when he came home: + "The steed shall be thine and a new silver comb. + 'Twas a daring deed and bravely done." + As proud of the praise as the promise won, + The maiden stole from the house to feed + With a generous hand her gallant steed. + + Unavailing the storms of the century beat + With the roar of thunder, or winter's sleet, + The mansion still stands, and is heard as of yore + The wind in the trees on the island's shore; + But the restless river its shore line wears + And no longer the island its old name bears. + + And years that are gone in obscurity + Have enveloped the rider's memory, + But in Providence still abide her race, + Brave youths with her spirit, fair maids with her grace, + Undaunted they stand when fainter hearts flee, + Prepared whatsoever the emergency. + + _Isaac R. Pennypacker._ + + + + +KIT CARSON'S RIDE. + + + We lay low in the grass on the broad plain levels, + Old Revels and I, and my stolen brown bride; + And the heavens of blue and the harvest of brown + And beautiful clover were welded as one, + To the right and the left, in the light of the sun. + "Forty full miles if a foot to ride, + Forty full miles if a foot, and the devils + Of red Camanches are hot on the track + When once they strike it. Let the sun go down + Soon, very soon," muttered bearded old Revels + As he peered at the sun, lying low on his back, + Holding fast to his lasso. Then he jerked at his steed + And he sprang to his feet, and glanced swiftly around, + And then dropped, as if shot, with his ear to the ground; + Then again to his feet, and to me, to my bride, + While his eyes were like fire, his face like a shroud, + His form like a king, and his beard like a cloud, + And his voice loud and shrill, as if blown from a reed,-- + "Pull, pull in your lassos, and bridle to steed, + And speed you if ever for life you would speed, + And ride for your lives, for your lives you must ride! + For the plain is aflame, the prairie on fire, + And feet of wild horses hard flying before + I hear like a sea breaking high on the shore, + While the buffalo come like a surge of the sea, + Driven far by the flame, driving fast on us three + As a hurricane comes, crushing palms in his ire." + + We drew in the lassos, seized saddle and rein, + Threw them on, sinched them on, sinched them over again, + And again drew the girth, cast aside the macheers, + Cut away tapidaros, loosed the sash from its fold, + Cast aside the catenas red-spangled with gold, + And gold mounted Colt's, the companions of years, + Cast the silken serapes to the wind in a breath, + And so bared to the skin sprang all haste to the horse,-- + As bare as when born, as when new from the hand + Of God,--without word, or one word of command. + Turned head to the Brazos in a red race with death, + Turned head to the Brazos with a breath in the hair + Blowing hot from a king leaving death in his course; + Turned head to the Brazos with a sound in the air + Like the rush of an army, and a flash in the eye + Of a red wall of fire reaching up to the sky, + Stretching fierce in pursuit of a black rolling sea + Rushing fast upon us, as the wind sweeping free + And afar from the desert blew hollow and hoarse. + + Not a word, not a wail from a lip was let fall, + Not a kiss from my bride, not a look nor low call + Of love-note or courage; but on o'er the plain + So steady and still, leaning low to the mane, + With the heel to the flank and the hand to the rein, + Rode we on, rode we three, rode we nose and gray nose, + Reaching long, breathing loud, as a creviced wind blows: + Yet we broke not a whisper, we breathed not a prayer, + There was work to be done, there was death in the air, + And the chance was as one to a thousand for all. + + Gray nose to gray nose, and each steady mustang + Stretched neck and stretched nerve till the arid earth rang, + And the foam from the flank and the croup and the neck + Flew around like the spray on a storm-driven deck. + Twenty miles!... thirty miles!... a dim distant speck ... + Then a long reaching line, and the Brazos in sight, + And I rose in my seat with a shout of delight. + I stood in my stirrup and looked to my right-- + But Revels was gone; I glanced by my shoulder + And saw his horse stagger; I saw his head drooping + Hard down on his breast, and his naked breast stooping + Low down to the mane, as so swifter and bolder + Ran reaching out for us the red-footed fire. + To right and to left the black buffalo came, + A terrible surf on a red sea of flame + Rushing on in the rear, reaching high, reaching higher. + And he rode neck to neck to a buffalo bull, + The monarch of millions, with shaggy mane full + Of smoke and of dust, and it shook with desire + Of battle, with rage and with bellowings loud + And unearthly, and up through its lowering cloud + Came the flash of his eyes like a half-hidden fire, + While his keen crooked horns, through the storm of his mane, + Like black lances lifted and lifted again; + And I looked but this once, for the fire licked through, + And he fell and was lost, as we rode two and two. + + I looked to my left then,--and nose, neck, and shoulder + Sank slowly, sank surely, till back to my thighs; + And up through the black blowing veil of her hair + Did beam full in mine her two marvelous eyes, + With a longing and love, yet a look of despair + And of pity for me, as she felt the smoke fold her, + And flames reaching far for her glorious hair. + Her sinking steed faltered, his eager ears fell + To and fro and unsteady, and all the neck's swell + Did subside and recede, and the nerves fall as dead. + Then she saw sturdy Pache still lorded his head, + With a look of delight; for nor courage nor bribe, + Nor naught but my bride, could have brought him to me. + For he was her father's, and at South Santafee + Had once won a whole herd, sweeping everything down + In a race where the world came to run for the crown. + And so when I won the true heart of my bride,-- + My neighbor's and deadliest enemy's child, + And child of the kingly war-chief of his tribe,-- + She brought me this steed to the border the night + She met Revels and me in her perilous flight + From the lodge of the chief to the North Brazos side; + And said, so half guessing of ill as she smiled, + As if jesting, that I, and I only, should ride + The fleet-footed Pache, so if kin should pursue + I should surely escape without other ado + Than to ride, without blood, to the North Brazos side, + And await her,--and wait till the next hollow moon + Hung her horn in the palms, when surely and soon + And swift she would join me, and all would be well + Without bloodshed or word. And now as she fell + From the front, and went down in the ocean of fire, + The last that I saw was a look of delight + That I should escape--a love--a desire-- + Yet never a word, not one look of appeal, + Lest I should reach hand, should stay hand or stay heel + One instant for her in my terrible flight. + + Then the rushing of fire around me and under, + And the howling of beasts and a sound as of thunder,-- + Beasts burning and blind and forced onward and over, + As the passionate flame reached around them, and wove her + Red hands in their hair, and kissed hot till they died,-- + Till they died with a wild and a desolate moan, + As a sea heart-broken on the hard brown stone ... + And into the Brazos ... I rode all alone,-- + All alone, save only a horse long-limbed, + And blind and bare and burnt to the skin. + Then just as the terrible sea came in + And tumbled its thousands hot into the tide + Till the tide blocked up and the swift stream brimmed + In eddies, we struck on the opposite side. + + _Joaquin Miller._ + + + + +TAMING THE WILD HORSE. + + + Last night he trampled with a thousand steeds + The trembling desert. Now, he stands alone-- + His speed hath baffled theirs. His fellows lurk, + Behind, on heavy sands, with weary limbs + That cannot reach him. From the highest hill, + He gazes o'er the wild whose plains he spurned, + And his eye kindles, and his breast expands, + With an upheaving consciousness of might. + He stands an instant, then he breaks away, + As revelling in his freedom. What if art, + That strikes soul into marble, could but seize + That agony of action,--could impress + Its muscular fulness, with its winged haste, + Upon the resisting rock, while wonder stares, + And admiration worships? There,--away-- + As glorying in that mighty wilderness, + And conscious of the gazing skies o'erhead, + Quiver for flight, his sleek and slender limbs, + Elastic, springing into headlong force-- + While his smooth neck, curved loftily to arch, + Dignifies flight, and to his speed imparts + The majesty, not else its attribute. + And, circling, now he sweeps, the flowery plain, + As if 'twere his--imperious, gathering up + His limbs, unwearied by their sportive play, + Until he stands, an idol of the sight. + + He stands and trembles! The warm life is gone + That gave him action. Wherefore is it thus? + His eye hath lost its lustre, though it still + Sends forth a glance of consciousness and care, + To a deep agony of acuteness wrought, + And straining at a point--a narrow point-- + That rises, but a speck upon the verge + Of the horizon. Sure, the humblest life, + Hath, in God's providence, some gracious guides, + That warn it of its foe. The danger there, + His instinct teaches, and with growing dread, + No more solicitous of graceful flight, + He bounds across the plain--he speeds away, + Into the tameless wilderness afar, + To 'scape his bondage. Yet, in vain his flight-- + Vain his fleet limbs, his desperate aim, his leap + Through the close thicket, through the festering swamp, + And rushing waters. His proud neck must bend + Beneath a halter, and the iron parts + And tears his delicate mouth. The brave steed, + Late bounding in his freedom's consciousness, + The leader of the wild, unreached of all, + Wears gaudy trappings, and becomes a slave. + + He bears a master on his shrinking back, + He feels a rowel in his bleeding flanks, + And his arched neck, beneath the biting thong, + Burns, while he bounds away--all desperate-- + Across the desert, mad with the vain hope + To shake his burden off. He writhes, he turns + On his oppressor. He would rend the foe, + Who subtle, with less strength, had taken him thus, + At foul advantage--but he strives in vain. + A sudden pang--a newer form of pain, + Baffles, and bears him on--he feels his fate, + And with a shriek of agony, which tells, + Loudly, the terrors of his new estate, + He makes the desert--his own desert--ring + With the wild clamors of his new born grief. + One fruitless effort more--one desperate bound, + For the old freedom of his natural life, + And then he humbles to his cruel lot, + Submits, and finds his conqueror in man! + + _W. G. Simms._ + + + + +CHIQUITA. + + + Beautiful! Sir, you may say so. Thar isn't her match in the county. + Is thar, old gal,--Chiquita, my darling, my beauty? + Feel of that neck, sir,--thar's velvet! Whoa! Steady,--ah, + will you, you vixen! + Whoa! I say. Jack, trot her out; let the gentleman look at her paces. + + Morgan!--She ain't nothin' else, and I've got the papers to prove it. + Sired by Chippewa Chief, and twelve hundred dollars won't buy her. + Briggs of Tuolumne owned her. Did you know Briggs of Tuolumne?-- + Busted hisself in White Pine, and blew out his brains down in 'Frisco? + + Hedn't no savey--hed Briggs. Thar, Jack! that'll do,--quit that foolin'! + Nothin' to what she kin do, when she's got her work cut out before her. + Hosses is hosses, you know, and likewise, too, jockeys is jockeys; + And 'tain't ev'ry man as can ride as knows what a hoss has got in him. + + Know the old ford on the Fork, that nearly got Flanigan's leaders? + Nasty in daylight, you bet, and a mighty rough ford in low water! + Well, it ain't six weeks ago that me and the Jedge and his nevey + Struck for that ford in the night, in the rain, and the water all round us; + + Up to our flanks in the gulch, and Rattlesnake Creek just a bilin', + Not a plank left in the dam, and nary a bridge on the river. + I had the grey, and the Jedge had his roan, and his nevey, Chiquita; + And after us trundled the rocks jest loosed from the top of the canyon. + + Lickity, lickity, switch, we came to the ford, and Chiquita + Buckled right down to her work, and afore I could yell to her rider, + Took water jest at the ford, and there was the Jedge and me standing, + And twelve hundred dollars of hoss-flesh afloat and a driftin' to thunder! + + Would ye b'lieve it? that night that hoss, that ar' filly, Chiquita, + Walked herself into her stall, and stood there, all quiet and dripping: + Clean as a beaver or rat, with nary a buckle of harness, + Just as she swam the Fork,--that hoss, that ar' filly, Chiquita. + + That's what I call a hoss! and--What did you say!--Oh, the nevey? + Drownded, I reckon,--leastways, he never kem back to deny it. + Ye see the derned fool had no seat,--ye couldn't have made him a rider; + And then, ye know, boys will be boys, and hosses--well, hosses is hosses! + + _Bret Harte._ + + + + +BAY BILLY. + + + 'Twas the last fight at Fredericksburg,-- + Perhaps the day you reck, + Our boys, the Twenty-Second Maine, + Kept Early's men in check. + Just where Wade Hampton boomed away + The fight went neck and neck. + + All day the weaker wing we held, + And held it with a will. + Five several stubborn times we charged + The battery on the hill, + And five times beaten back, re-formed, + And kept our column still. + + 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. + + For he was all the world to us, + That hero gray and grim. + Right well he knew that fearful slope + We'd climb with none but him, + Though while his white head led the way + We'd charge hell's portals in. + + 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. + + Our hearts went with him. Back we swept, + And when the bugle said + "Up, charge, again!" no man was there + But hung his dogged head. + "We've no one left to lead us now," + The sullen soldiers said. + + 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?" + + Like statues rooted there we stood, + And gazed a little space, + Above that floating mane we missed + The dear familiar face, + But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire, + And it gave us heart of grace. + + 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 when upon the conquered height + Died out the battle's hum. + Vainly mid living and the dead + We sought our leader dumb. + It seemed as if a spectre steed + To win that day had come. + + 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. + + All night the surgeons' torches went, + The ghastly rows between.-- + All night with solemn step I paced + The torn and bloody green. + But who that fought in the big war + Such dread sights have not seen? + + 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 then once more with banners gay, + Stretched out the long Brigade. + Trimly upon the furrowed field + The troops stood on parade, + And bravely mid the ranks were closed + The gaps the fight had made. + + Not half the Twenty-second's men + Were in their place that morn, + And Corporal Dick, who yester-noon + Stood six brave fellows on, + Now touched my elbow in the ranks, + For all between were gone. + + Ah! who forgets that dreary hour + When, as with misty eyes, + To call the old familiar roll + The solemn Sergeant tries,-- + One feels that thumping of the heart + As no prompt voice replies. + + 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. + + Yes! there the old bay hero stood, + All safe from battle's harms, + And ere an order could be heard, + Or the bugle's quick alarms, + Down all the front, from end to end, + The troops presented arms! + + 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!" + + _Frank H. Gassaway._ + + + + +WIDDERIN'S RACE. + + + A horse amongst ten thousand! on the verge, + The extremest verge, of equine life he stands; + Yet mark his action, as those wild young colts + Freed from the stock-yard gallop whinnying up; + See how he trots towards them,--nose in air, + Tail arched, and his still sinewy legs out-thrown + In gallant grace before him! A brave beast + As ever spurned the moorland, ay, and more,-- + He bore me once,--such words but smite the truth + I' the outer ring, while vivid memory wakes, + Recalling now, the passion and the pain,-- + He bore me once from earthly Hell to Heaven! + + The sight of fine old Widderin (that's his name, + Caught from a peak, the topmost rugged peak + Of tall Mount Widderin, towering to the North + Most like a steed's head, with full nostrils blown, + And ears pricked up),--the sight of Widderin brings + That day of days before me, whose strange hours + Of fear and anguish, ere the sunset, changed + To hours of such content and full-veined joy + As Heaven can give our mortal lives but once. + + Well, here's the story: While yon bush-fires sweep + The distant ranges, and the river's voice + Pipes a thin treble through the heart of drouth, + While the red heaven like some hugh caldron's top + Seems with the heat a-simmering, better far + In place of riding tilt 'gainst such a sun, + Here in the safe veranda's flowery gloom, + To play the dwarfish Homer to a song, + Whereof myself am hero: + + Two decades + Have passed since that wild autumn-time when last + The convict hordes from near Van Diemen, freed + By force or fraud, swept, like a blood-red fire, + Inland from beach to mountain, bent on raid + And rapine. + + *....*....*....* + + So, in late autumn,--'twas a marvellous morn, + With breezes from the calm snow-river borne + That touched the air, and stirred it into thrills, + Mysterious and mesmeric, a bright mist + Lapping the landscape like a golden trance, + Swathing the hill-tops with fantastic veils, + And o'er the moorland-ocean quivering light + As gossamer threads drawn down the forest aisles + At dewy dawning,--on this marvellous morn, + I, with four comrades, in this selfsame spot, + Watched the fair scene, and drank the spicy airs, + That held a subtler spirit than our wine, + And talked and laughed, and mused in idleness,-- + Weaving vague fancies, as our pipe-wreaths curled + Fantastic in the sunlight! I, with head + Thrown back, and cushioned snugly, and with eyes + Intent on one grotesque and curious cloud, + Puffed upward, that now seemed to take the shape + Of a Dutch tulip, now a Turk's face topped + By folds on folds of turban limitless,-- + Heard suddenly, just as the clock chimed one, + To melt in musical echoes up the hills, + Quick footsteps on the gravelled path without,-- + Steps of the couriers of calamity,-- + So my heart told me,--ere with blanched regards, + Two stalwart herdsmen on our threshold paused, + Panting, with lips that writhed, and awful eyes;-- + A breath's space in each other's eyes we glared, + Then, swift as interchange of lightning thrusts + In deadly combat, question and reply + Clashed sharply, "What! the Rangers?" "Ay, by Heaven! + And loosed in force,--the hell-hounds!" "Whither bound?" + I stammered, hoarsely. "Bound," the elder said, + "Southward!--four stations had they sacked and burnt, + And now, drunk, furious"--But I stopped to hear + No more: with booming thunder in mine ears, + And blood-flushed eyes, I rushed to Widderin's side, + Drew tight the girths, upgathered curb and rein, + And sprang to horse ere yet our laggard friends-- + Now trooping from the green veranda's shade-- + Could dream of action! + + Love had winged my will, + For to the southward fair Garoopna held + My all of hope, life, passion; she whose hair + (Its tiniest strand of waving, witch-like gold) + Had caught my heart, entwined, and bound it fast, + As 'twere some sweet enchantment's heavenly net! + + I only gave a hand-wave in farewell, + Shot by, and o'er the endless moorland swept + (Endless it seemed, as those weird, measureless plains, + Which, in some nightmare vision, stretch and stretch + Towards infinity!) like some lone ship + O'er wastes of sailless waters: now, a pine, + The beacon pine gigantic, whose grim crown + Signals the far land-mariner from out + Gaunt boulders of the gray-backed Organ hill, + Rose on my sight, a mist-like, wavering orb, + The while, still onward, onward, onward still, + With motion winged, elastic, equable, + Brave Widderin cleaved the air-tides, tossed aside + The winds as waves, their swift, invisible breasts + Hissing with foam-like noise when pressed and pierced + By that keen head and fiery-crested form! + + The lonely shepherd guardian on the plains, + Watching his sheep through languid, half-shut eyes, + Looked up, and marvelled, as we passed him by, + Thinking, perchance, it was a glorious thing, + So dressed, so booted, so caparisoned, + To ride such bright blood-coursers unto death! + Two sun-blacked natives, slumbering in the grass, + Just rose betimes to 'scape the trampling hoofs, + And hurled hot curses at me as I sped; + While here and there the timid kangaroo + Blundered athwart the mole-hills, and in puffs + Of steamy dust-cloud vanished like a mote! + + Onward, still onward, onward, onward still! + And lo! thank Heaven, the mighty Organ hill, + That seemed a dim blue cloudlet at the start, + Hangs in aerial, fluted cliffs aloft,-- + And still as through the long, low glacis borne, + Beneath the gorge borne ever at wild speed, + I saw the mateless mountain eagle wheel + Beyond the stark height's topmost pinnacle; + I heard his shriek of rage and ravin die + Deep down the desolate dells, as far behind + I left the gorge, and far before me swept + Another plain, tree-bordered now, and bound + By the clear river gurgling o'er its bed. + + By this, my panting, but unconquered steed + Had thrown his small head backward, and his breath + Through the red nostrils burst in labored sighs; + I bent above his outstretched neck, I threw + My quivering arms about him, murmuring low, + "Good horse! brave heart! a little longer bear + The strain, the travail; and thenceforth for thee + Free pastures all thy days, till death shall come! + Ah, many and many a time, my noble bay, + Her lily hand hath wandered through thy mane, + Patted thy rainbow neck, and brought thee ears + Of daintiest corn from out the farmhouse loft,-- + Help, help to save her now!" + + I'll vow the brute + Heard me, and comprehended what he heard! + He shook his proud crest madly, and his eye + Turned for a moment sideways, flashed in mine + A lightning gleam, whose fiery language said, + "I know my lineage, will not shame my sire,-- + My sire, who rushed triumphant 'twixt the flags, + And frenzied thousands, when on Epsom downs + Arcturus won the Derby!--no, nor shame + My granddam, whose clean body, half enwrought + Of air, half fire, through swirls of desert sand + Bore Sheik Abdallah headlong on his prey!" + + At last came forest shadows, and the road + Winding through bush and bracken, and at last + The hoarse stream rumbling o'er its quartz-sown crags. + + "No, no! stanch Widderin! pause not now to drink; + An hour hence, and thy dainty nose shall dip + In richest wine, poured jubilantly forth + To quench thy thirst, my Beauty! but press on, + Nor heed these sparkling waters." God! my brain's + On fire once more! an instant tells me all; + All! life or death,--salvation or despair! + For yonder, o'er the wild grass-matted slope + The house stands, or it stood but yesterday. + + A Titan cry of inarticulate joy + I raised, as, calm and peaceful in the sun, + Shone the fair cottage, and the garden-close, + Wherein, white-robed, unconscious, sat my Love + Lilting a low song to the birds and flowers. + She heard the hoof-strokes, saw me, started up, + And with her blue eyes wider than their wont, + And rosy lips half tremulous, rushed to meet + And greet me swiftly. "Up, dear Love!" I cried, + "The Convicts, the Bush-rangers! let us fly!" + Ah, then and there you should have seen her, friend, + My noble, beauteous Helen! not a tear, + Nor sob, and scarce a transient pulse-quiver, + As, clasping hand in hand, her fairy foot + Lit like a small bird on my horseman's boot, + And up into the saddle, lithe and light, + Vaulting she perched, her bright curls round my face! + + We crossed the river, and, dismounting, led + O'er the steep slope of blended rock and turf + The wearied horse, and there behind a Tor + Of castellated bluestone, paused to sweep + With young keen eyes the broad plain stretched afar, + Serene and autumn-tinted at our feet: + "Either," said I, "these devils have gone east, + To meet with bloodhound Desborough in his rage + Between the granite passes of Luxorme, + Or else--dear Christ! my Helen, low! stoop low!" + (These words were hissed in horror, for just then, + 'Twixt the deep hollows of the river-vale, + The miscreants, with mixed shouts and curses, poured + Down through the flinty gorge tumultuously, + Seeming, we thought, in one fierce throng to charge + Our hiding-place.) I seized my Widderin's head, + Blindfolding him, for with a single neigh + Our fate were sealed o' the instant! As they rode, + Those wild, foul-languaged demons by our lair, + Scarce twelve yards off, my troubled steed shook wide + His streaming mane, stamped on the earth, and pawed + So loudly, that the sweat of agony rolled + Down my cold forehead; at which point I felt + My arm clutched, and a voice I did not know + Dropped the low murmur from pale, shuddering lips, + "O God! if in those brutal hands I fall, + Living, look not into your mother's face + Or any woman's more!" + + What time had passed + Above our bowed heads, we pent, pinioned there + By awe and nameless horror, who shall tell? + Minutes, perchance, by mortal measurement, + Eternity by heart-throbs!--when at length + We turned, and eyes of mutual wonder raised, + We gazed on alien faces, haggard, worn, + And strange of feature as the faces born + In fever and delirium! Were we saved? + We scarce could comprehend it, till from out + The neighboring oak-wood rode our friends at speed, + With clang of steel, and eyebrows bent in wrath. + But, warned betimes, the wily ruffians fled + Far up the forest-coverts, and beyond + The dazzling snow-line of the distant hills, + Their yells of fiendish laughter pealing faint + And fainter from the cloudland, and the mist + That closed about them like an ash-gray shroud: + Yet were these wretches marked for imminent death: + The next keen sunrise pierced the savage gorge, + To which we tracked them, where, mere beasts at bay, + Grimly they fought, and brute by brute they fell. + + _Paul Hamilton Hayne._ + + + + +THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. + +SHOWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED, AND CAME SAFE HOME AGAIN. + + + John Gilpin was a citizen + Of credit and renown, + A trainband captain eke was he + Of famous London town. + + John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, + "Though wedded we have been + These twice ten tedious years, yet we + No holiday have seen. + + "To morrow is our wedding-day, + And we will then repair + Unto the Bell at Edmonton + All in a chaise and pair. + + "My sister, and my sister's child, + Myself, and children three, + Will fill the chaise; so you must ride + On horseback after we." + + He soon replied, "I do admire + Of womankind but one, + And you are she, my dearest dear, + Therefore it shall be done. + + "I am a linendraper bold, + As all the world doth know, + And my good friend the calender + Will lend his horse to go." + + Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said; + And for that wine is dear, + We will be furnished with our own, + Which is both bright and clear." + + John Gilpin kissed his loving wife; + O'erjoyed was he to find, + That, though on pleasure she was bent, + She had a frugal mind. + + The morning came, the chaise was brought, + But yet was not allowed + To drive up to the door, lest all + Should say that she was proud. + + So three doors off the chaise was stayed, + Where they did all get in; + Six precious souls, and all agog + To dash through thick and thin. + + Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, + Were never folks so glad; + The stones did rattle underneath, + As if Cheapside were mad. + + John Gilpin at his horse's side + Seized fast the flowing mane, + And up he got, in haste to ride, + But soon came down again; + + For saddle-tree scarce reached had he, + His journey to begin, + When, turning round his head, he saw + Three customers come in. + + So down he came; for loss of time, + Although it grieved him sore, + Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, + Would trouble him much more. + + 'Twas long before the customers + Were suited to their mind, + When Betty screaming came down stairs, + "The wine is left behind!" + + "Good lack!" quoth he, "yet bring it me, + My leathern belt likewise, + In which I bear my trusty sword + When I do exercise." + + Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) + Had two stone bottles found, + To hold the liquor that she loved, + And keep it safe and sound. + + Each bottle had a curling ear, + Through which the belt he drew, + And hung a bottle on each side, + To make his balance true. + + Then over all, that he might be + Equipped from top to toe, + His long-red cloak, well brushed and neat, + He manfully did throw. + + Now see him mounted once again + Upon his nimble steed, + Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, + With caution and good heed. + + But finding soon a smoother road + Beneath his well-shod feet, + The snorting beast began to trot, + Which galled him in his seat. + + "So, fair and softly," John he cried, + But John he cried in vain; + That trot became a gallop soon, + In spite of curb and rein. + + So stooping down, as needs he must + Who cannot sit upright, + He grasped the mane with both his hands, + And eke with all his might. + + His horse, who never in that sort + Had handled been before, + What thing upon his back had got + Did wonder more and more. + + Away went Gilpin, neck or naught; + Away went hat and wig; + He little dreamt, when he set out, + Of running such a rig. + + The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, + Like streamer long and gay, + Till, loop and button failing both, + At last it flew away. + + Then might all people well discern + The bottles he had slung; + A bottle swinging at each side, + As hath been said or sung. + + The dogs did bark, the children screamed, + Up flew the windows all; + And every soul cried out, "Well done!" + As loud as he could bawl. + + Away went Gilpin,--who but he? + His fame soon spread around, + "He carries weight! he rides a race! + 'Tis for a thousand pound!" + + And still as fast as he drew near, + 'Twas wonderful to view, + How in a trice the turnpike men + Their gates wide open threw. + + And now, as he went bowing down + His reeking head fell low, + The bottles twain behind his back + Were shattered at a blow. + + Down ran the wine into the road, + Most piteous to be seen, + Which made his horse's flanks to smoke + As they had basted been. + + But still he seemed to carry weight, + With leathern girdle braced; + For all might see the bottle necks + Still dangling at his waist. + + Thus all through merry Islington + These gambols did he play, + Until he came unto the Wash + Of Edmonton so gay; + + And there he threw the wash about + On both sides of the way, + Just like unto a trundling mop, + Or a wild goose at play. + + At Edmonton his loving wife + From the balcony spied + Her tender husband, wondering much + To see how he did ride. + + "Stop, stop, John Gilpin!--Here's the house," + They all at once did cry; + "The dinner waits, and we are tired." + Said Gilpin, "So am I!" + + But yet his horse was not a whit + Inclined to tarry there; + For why?--his owner had a house + Full ten miles off, at Ware. + + So like an arrow swift he flew, + Shot by an archer strong; + So did he fly,--which brings me to + The middle of my song. + + Away went Gilpin out of breath, + And sore against his will, + Till at his friend the calender's + His horse at last stood still. + + The calender, amazed to see + His neighbor in such trim, + Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, + And thus accosted him: + + "What news? what news? your tidings tell; + Tell me you must and shall.-- + Say why bareheaded you are come, + Or why you come at all?" + + Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, + And loved a timely joke; + And thus unto the calender + In merry guise he spoke: + + "I came because your horse would come; + And, if I well forbode, + My hat and wig will soon be here, + They are upon the road." + + The calender, right glad to find + His friend in merry pin, + Returned him not a single word, + But to the house went in; + + Whence straight he came with hat and wig; + A wig that flowed behind, + A hat not much the worse for wear, + Each comely in its kind. + + He held them up, and in his turn + Thus showed his ready wit, + "My head is twice as big as yours, + They therefore needs must fit. + + "But let me scrape the dirt away + That hangs upon your face; + And stop and eat, for well you may + Be in a hungry case." + + Said John, "It is my wedding-day, + And all the world would stare, + If wife should dine at Edmonton, + And I should dine at Ware." + + So, turning to his horse, he said, + "I am in haste to dine; + 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, + You shall go back for mine." + + Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast! + For which he paid full dear; + For, while he spake, a braying ass + Did sing most loud and clear; + + Whereat his horse did snort, as he + Had heard a lion roar, + And galloped off with all his might, + As he had done before. + + Away went Gilpin, and away + Went Gilpin's hat and wig; + He lost them sooner than at first, + For why?--they were too big. + + Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw + Her husband posting down + Into the country far away, + She pulled out half a crown; + + And thus unto the youth she said, + That drove them to the Bell, + "This shall be yours, when you bring back + My husband safe and well." + + The youth did ride, and soon did meet + John coming back amain; + Whom in a trice he tried to stop + By catching at his rein, + + But not performing what he meant, + And gladly would have done, + The frighted steed he frighted more, + And made him faster run. + + Away went Gilpin, and away + Went postboy at his heels, + The postboy's horse right glad to miss + The lumbering of the wheels. + + Six gentlemen upon the road, + Thus seeing Gilpin fly, + With postboy scampering in the rear, + They raised the hue and cry:-- + + "Stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman!" + Not one of them was mute; + And all and each that passed that way + Did join in the pursuit. + + And now the turnpike-gates again + Flew open in short space; + The toll-men thinking, as before, + That Gilpin rode a race. + + And so he did, and won it too, + For he got first to town; + Nor stopped till where he had got up + He did again get down. + + Now let us sing, "Long live the king, + And Gilpin, long live he; + And when he next doth ride abroad, + May I be there to see!" + + _William Cowper._ + + + + +REFLECTIONS OF A PROUD PEDESTRIAN. + + + I saw the curl of his waving lash, + And the glance of his knowing eye, + And I knew that he thought he was cutting a dash, + As his steed went thundering by. + + And he may ride in the rattling gig, + Or flourish the Stanhope gay, + And dream that he looks exceeding big + To the people that walk in the way; + + But he shall think, when the night is still, + On the stable-boy's gathering numbers, + And the ghost of many a veteran bill + Shall hover around his slumbers; + + The ghastly dun shall worry his sleep, + And constables cluster around him, + And he shall creep from the wood-hole deep + Where their spectre eyes have found him! + + Ay! gather your reins, and crack your thong, + And bid your steed go faster; + He does not know, as he scrambles along, + That he has a fool for his master; + + And hurry away on your lonely ride, + Nor deign from the mire to save me; + I will paddle it stoutly at your side + With the tandem that nature gave me! + + _Oliver Wendell Holmes._ + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Saddle, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE SADDLE *** + +***** This file should be named 39236.txt or 39236.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/2/3/39236/ + +Produced by Julia Miller, Josephine Paolucci and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. 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