The gray morn And the bright beams of frosty morning dance War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful path That force defends, and from a nation's rage Of the outsallying victors; far behind, Black ashes note where their proud city stood. Each tree which guards its darkness from the day Secure the crown, which all the curses reach That famine, frenzy, woe and penury breathe These are the hired bravos who defend The tyrant's throne. -Percy Byssh Happy he whose inward ear O'er the rabble's laughter; Knowing this-that never yet In the world's wide fallow; Thus, with somewhat of the seer, From the future borrow Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, And, on midnight's sky of rain, Paint the goiden morrow! -John Greenleaf Whittier. Ο The Soldier's Dream. UR bugles sang truce-for the night-cloud had lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track; 'Twas Autumn-and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant field traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. Stay, stay with us-rest, thou art weary and worn; And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay: But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice of my dreaming ear melted away. -Thomas Campbell. The Soldier's Pardon. ILD blew the gale in Gibraltar one night, WILD As a soldier lay stretched in his cell; And anon, 'mid the darkness, the moon's silver light Naught could she reveal, but a man true as steel, And the glance of his eye might the grim king defy, But in rage he had struck a well-merited blow Oh! sad was the thought to a man that had fought |