And new triumphs on land are before us.

To the charge! - Heaven's banner is o'er us!

This day

shall ye blush for its story?

Or brighten your lives with its glory?

Our women O say, shall they shriek in despair,
Or embrace us from conquest, with wreaths in their hair?
Accursed may his memory blacken,

If a coward there be that would slacken,

Till we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth Being sprung from, and named for, the godlike of earth. Strike home! and the world shall revere us

As heroes descended from heroes.

Old Greece lightens up with emotion

Her inlands, her isles of the ocean :

Fanes rebuilt, and fair towns, shall with jubilee sing,
And the Nine shall new-hallow their Helicon's spring.
Our hearths shall be kindled with gladness,

That were cold, and extinguished in sadness;
Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white waving arms,
Singing joy to the brave that delivered their charms, -

When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens
Shall have crimsoned the beaks of our ravens.

T. Campbell.

CCXVII.

THE FLIGHT OF XERXES.

I SAW him on the battle-eve

When like a king he bore him;
Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave,
And prouder chiefs, before him.

The warrior and the warrior's deeds,
The morrow and the morrow's meeds, -

No daunting thought came o'er him;
He looked around him, and his eye
Defiance flashed to earth and sky.

He looked on ocean, its broad breast

Was covered with his fleet:

On earth,- and saw from east to west

His bannered millions meet;

While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast,
Shook with the war-cry of that host,
The thunder of their feet!
He heard the imperial echoes ring, –
He heard, and felt himself a king.

I saw him next alone; -nor camp
Nor chief his steps attended;
Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp
With war-cries proudly blended.
He stood alone, whom Fortune high
So lately seemed to deify,

He, who with Heaven contended,
Fled like a fugitive and slave!
Behind, the foe; before, the wave!

He stood

fleet, army, treasure, gone

Alone, and in despair!

But wave and wind swept ruthless on,

For they were monarchs there;

And Xerxes, in a single bark,

Where late his thousand ships were dark

Must all their fury dare.

What a revenge, a trophy, this,

For thee, immortal Salamis !

Miss Jewsbury

CCXVIII.

OLD IRONSIDES.

AY, tear her tattered ensign down!

Long has it waved on high,

And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;

Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;
The meteor of the ocean air

Shall sweep the clouds no more.

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,

No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee;
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!

O, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave!
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave!
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,

And give her to the god of storms

The lightning and the gale!

CCXIX.

CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

HALF a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" he said.

Into the valley of Death,

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?

O. W. Holmes.

Not though the soldier knew
Some one had blundered;
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volleyed and thundered:

Stormed at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of hell,

Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while

All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery smoke, Right through the line they broke

Cossack and Russian

Reeled from the sabre stroke,

Shattered and sundered; Then they rode back, but not Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them,

Volleyed and thundered:
Stormed at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well,
Came through the jaws of death,

Back from the mouth of hell,

All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred!

66

CCXX.

ARNOLD WINKELREID.

MAKE way for liberty!" — he cried ;

Made way for liberty, and died!

It must not be: this day, this hour,
Annihilates the oppressor's power!
All Switzerland is in the field,
She will not fly, she cannot yield, -
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast;
But every freeman was a host,

And felt as though himself were he,
On whose sole arm hung victory.

There sounds not to the trump of fame
The echo of a nobler name.

• Unmarked he stood among the throng,
In rumination deep and long,

Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face;
And, by the motion of his form,
Anticipate the bursting storm;
And, by the uplifting of his brow,

Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.

A. Tennyson.