"G.o.d!" sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice!

Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!

And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, And, in their perilous fall, shall thunder, "G.o.d!"

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!

Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest!

Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm!

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!

Ye signs and wonders of the elements!

Utter forth "G.o.d!" and fill the hills with praise!

Once more, h.o.a.r mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene Into the depths of clouds, that veil thy breast-- Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,-- Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, To rise before me--Rise, O, ever rise!

Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!

Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills!

Thou dread amba.s.sador from earth to heaven, Great Hierarch, tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, "Earth, with her thousand voices, praises G.o.d."

S. T. Coleridge.

CXCVIIII.

"HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT T0 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 for stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,-- Nor galloped less steadily Roland, a whit.

'T was moonset at starting; but, while we drew near Lokeren, the c.o.c.ks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Duffeld, 't was morning as plain as could be; And from Mechlin 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 b.u.t.ting away The haze, as some bluff river headland its sprays

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other p.r.i.c.ked 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 upward in galloping on.

By Ha.s.selt, 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 Loos 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 sate 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.

R. Browning.

CXCIX.

THE SWORD.

'T was on the battle-field; and the cold pale moon Looked down on the dead and dying; And the wind pa.s.sed o'er with a dirge and a wail, Where the young and brave were lying.

With his father's sword in his red right hand, And the hostile dead around him, Lay a youthful chief; but his bed was the ground, And the grave's icy sleep had bound him.

A reckless rover, 'mid death and doom, Pa.s.sed a soldier, his plunder seeking; Careless he stepped where friend and foe Lay alike in their life-blood reeking.

Drawn by the shine of the warrior's sword, The soldier paused beside it; He wrenched the hand with a giant's strength, But the grasp of the dead defied it.

He loosed his hold, and his n.o.ble heart Took part with the dead before him; And he honored the brave who died sword in hand, As with softened brow he leaned o'er him.

"A soldier's death thou hast boldly died, A soldier's grave won by it: Before I would take that sword from thine hand, My own life's blood should dye it.

"Thou shalt not be left for the carrion crow, Or the wolf to batten o'er thee; Or the coward insult the gallant dead, Who in life had trembled before thee."

Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth, Where his warrior foe was sleeping; And he laid him there, in honor and rest, With his sword in his own brave keeping.

Miss Landon.

CC.

THE FIREMAN.

Hoa.r.s.e wintry blasts a solemn requiem sung To the departed day, Upon whose bier The velvet pall of midnight lead been flung, And Nature mourned through one wide hemisphere Silence and darkness held their cheerless sway, Save in the haunts of riotous excess; And half the world in dreamy slumbers lay, Lost in the maze of sweet forgetfulness.

When lo! upon the startled ear, There broke a sound so dread and drear,-- As, like a sudden peal of thunder, Burst the bands of sleep asunder, And filled a thousand throbbing hearts with fear.

Hark! the faithful watchman's cry Speaks a conflagration nigh!-- See! yon glare upon the sky Confirms the fearful tale.

The deep-mouthed bells with rapid tone, Combine to make the tidings known; Affrighted silence now has flown, And sounds of terror freight the chilly gale!

At the first note of this discordant din, The gallant fireman from his slumber starts; Reckless of toil and danger, if he win The tributary meed of grateful hearts.

From pavement rough, or frozen ground, His engine's rattling wheels resound, And soon before his eyes The lurid flames, with horrid glare, Mingled with murky vapors rise, In wreathy folds upon the air, And veil the frowning skies!

Sudden a shriek a.s.sails his heart,-- A female shriek, so piercing wild, As makes his very life-blood start:-- "My child! Almighty G.o.d, my child!"

He hears, And 'gainst the tottering wall The ponderous ladder rears: While blazing fragments round him fall, And crackling sounds a.s.sail his ears, His sinewy arm, with one rude crash, Hurls to the earth the opposing sash; And, heedless of the startling din, Though smoky volumes round him roll, The mother's shriek has pierced his soul,-- See! see! he plunges in!

The admiring crowd, with hopes and fears, In breathless expectation stands, When, lo! the daring youth appears, Hailed by a burst of warm, ecstatic cheers, Bearing the child triumphant in his arms.

Anonymous.

CCI.

SPEAK GENTLY.

Speak gently: it is better far To rule by love than fear.

Speak gently: let no harsh words mar The good we might do here.

Speak gently; love doth whisper low The vows that true hearts bind; And gently friendship's accents flow,-- Affection's voice is kind.

Speak gently to the little child, Its love be sure to gain; Teach it in accents soft and mild,-- It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young; for they Will leave enough to bear: Pa.s.s through this life as best we may, 'T is full of anxious care.

Speak gently to the aged one, Grieve not the care-worn heart; The sands of life are nearly run,-- Let such in peace depart.