Oh, will he never, never rise again,

To look upon them all?

They brought him in with blood upon his face;
They told how they had found him in the field,
Where the dead foe lay thickest in the place,

With tattered colors grasped, and shivered shield,
Lying face downward on the blood-soaked plain,
'Midst those who would not yield.

He does not know our faces as we stand
About his bed, watching each fitful breath;
In his delirium, as with sword in hand,

"Freedom," he cries, "in England or in death!”
Then with a hoarse shout, lifting his hot head,
"The day is ours!" he saith.

So through long nights and days that bring no change, Or change but from wild hopes to wilder fears,

And still our faces are all dark and strange

To him; and the long nights of pain seem years In their duration; and we watch him now Through a thick mist of tears.

And still the hound creeps, wistful, to the door;
And still the steed stands idle in the stall 1;
The fearless wild-fowl flutter o'er the moor;

The broad, notched sword hangs, rusting on the wall;

And he, O God, may never rise again,

To look upon them all!

THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.

ROBERT LOWELL.

Он, that last day in Lucknow fort!
We knew that it was the last :

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

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

There was one of us, a corporal's wife,
A fair, young, gentle thing,
Wasted with fever and with siege,

And her mind was wandering.

She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid,
And I took her head on my knee;

"When my father comes home frae the pleugh," she said,

"Oh, please then waken me!

She slept like a child on her father's floor,

In the flecking of woodbine shade,

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

And the mother's wheel is stayed.

It was smoke and roar and powder-stench,

And hopeless waiting for death.

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

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

And wall and garden, till a sudden scream
Brought me back to the roar again.

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

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

The Macgregors! Ah! I ken it weel;
It is the grandest of them a'.

"God bless the bonny Highlanders!

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

Along the battery line her cry

Had fallen among the men ;

And they started, for they were to die ;

Was life so near them, then?

They listened for life; and the rattling fire

Far off, and the far-off roar

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

Then Jessie said, "The slogan's dune:
But can ye no hear them noo?

The Campbells are comin'! It is nae a dream;
Our succors hae broken through!'

We heard the roar and rattle afar,

But the pipers we could not hear;

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

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

It was the pipe of the Highlanders,

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

And they wept and shook each other's hands,
And the women sobbed in a crowd,

And every one knelt down where we stood,
And we all thanked God aloud.

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

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

And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed,
Marching round and round our line;

And our joyful cheers were broken with tears,
As the pipers played "Auld Lang Syne."

ARIOSTO tells a pretty story of a fairy, who, by some mysterious law of her nature, was condemned to appear at certain seasons in the form of a foul and poisonous snake. Those who injured her during the period of her disguise were forever excluded from participation in the blessings which she bestowed. But to those who, in spite of her loathsome aspect, pitied and protected her, she afterward revealed herself in the beautiful and celestial form which was natural to her, accompanied their steps, granted all their wishes, filled their houses with wealth, made them happy in love and victorious in war. Such a spirit is Liberty. At times she takes the form of a hateful reptile. She grovels, she hisses, she stings. But woe to those who, in disgust, shall venture to crush her! And happy are those who, having dared to receive her in her degraded and frightful shape, shall at length be rewarded by her in the time of her beauty and her glory.