A squadron of British horse that night, Galloping hard in the shadowy light, Came on the scene of that last stern fight, And found the Corporal lying Silent and grim on the trampled sand, His rifle grasped in his stiffened hand, With the warrior pride of one who died 'Mid a ring of the dead and the dying.

And still when twilight shadows fall, After the evening bugle call, In bivouac or in barrack-hall, His comrades speak of the Corporal, His death and his devotion.

And there are some who like to say That perhaps a hidden meaning lay In the words he spoke, and that the day When his rough bold spirit pa.s.sed away _Was_ the day that he won promotion.

A FORGOTTEN TALE

[The scene of this ancient fight, recorded by Froissart, is still called 'Altura de los Inglesos.' Five hundred years later Wellington's soldiers were fighting on the same ground.]

'Say, what saw you on the hill, Campesino Garcia?'

'I saw my brindled heifer there, A trail of bowmen, spent and bare, And a little man on a sorrel mare Riding slow before them.'

'Say, what saw you in the vale, Campesino Garcia?'

'There I saw my lambing ewe And an army riding through, Thick and brave the pennons flew From the lances o'er them.'

'Then what saw you on the hill, Campesino Garcia?'

'I saw beside the milking byre, White with want and black with mire, The little man with eyes afire Marshalling his bowmen.'

'Then what saw you in the vale, Campesino Garcia?'

'There I saw my bullocks twain, And amid my uncut grain All the hardy men of Spain Spurring for their foemen.'

'Nay, but there is more to tell, Campesino Garcia!'

'I could not bide the end to view; I had graver things to do Tending on the lambing ewe Down among the clover.'

'Ah, but tell me what you heard, Campesino Garcia!'

'Shouting from the mountain-side, Shouting until eventide; But it dwindled and it died Ere milking time was over.'

'Nay, but saw you nothing more, Campesino Garcia?'

'Yes, I saw them lying there, The little man and sorrel mare; And in their ranks the bowmen fair, With their staves before them.'

'And the hardy men of Spain, Campesino Garcia?'

'Hush! but we are Spanish too; More I may not say to you: May G.o.d's benison, like dew, Gently settle o'er them.'

PENNARBY MINE

Pennarby shaft is dark and steep, Eight foot wide, eight hundred deep.

Stout the bucket and tough the cord, Strong as the arm of Winchman Ford.

'Never look down!

Stick to the line!'

That was the saying at Pennarby mine.

A stranger came to Pennarby shaft.

Lord, to see how the miners laughed!

White in the collar and stiff in the hat, With his patent boots and his silk cravat, Picking his way, Dainty and fine, Stepping on tiptoe to Pennarby mine.

Touring from London, so he said.

Was it copper they dug for? or gold? or lead?

Where did they find it? How did it come?

If he tried with a shovel might _he_ get some?

Stooping so much Was bad for the spine; And wasn't it warmish in Pennarby mine?

'Twas like two worlds that met that day- The world of work and the world of play; And the grimy lads from the reeking shaft Nudged each other and grinned and chaffed.

'Got 'em all out!'

'A cousin of mine!'

So ran the banter at Pennarby mine.

And Carnbrae Bob, the Pennarby wit, Told him the facts about the pit: How they bored the shaft till the brimstone smell Warned them off from tapping-well, He wouldn't say what, But they took it as sign To dig no deeper in Pennarby mine.

Then leaning over and peering in, He was pointing out what he said was tin In the ten-foot lode-a crash! a jar!

A grasping hand and a splintered bar.

Gone in his strength, With the lips that laughed- Oh, the pale faces round Pennarby shaft!

Far down on a narrow ledge, They saw him cling to the crumbling edge.

'Wait for the bucket! Hi, man! Stay!

That rope ain't safe! It's worn away!

He's taking his chance, Slack out the line!

Sweet Lord be with him!' cried Pennarby mine.

'He's got him! He has him! Pull with a will!

Thank G.o.d! He's over and breathing still.

And he-Lord's sakes now! What's that? Well!

Blowed if it ain't our London swell.

Your heart is right If your coat _is_ fine: Give us your hand!' cried Pennarby mine.

A ROVER CHANTY

A trader sailed from Stepney town- Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the mainsail!

A trader sailed from Stepney town With a keg full of gold and a velvet gown: Ho, the bully rover Jack, Waiting with his yard aback Out upon the Lowland sea!

The trader he had a daughter fair- Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the foresail The trader he had a daughter fair, She had gold in her ears, and gold in her hair: All for bully rover Jack, Waiting with his yard aback, Out upon the Lowland sea!

'Alas the day, oh daughter mine!'- Shake her up! Wake her up! Try her with the topsail!

'Alas the day, oh daughter mine!

Yon red, red flag is a fearsome sign!'

Ho, the bully rover Jack, Reaching on the weather tack, Out upon the Lowland sea!