I know that the grass and the leaves will not tell, And I'm sure that the wind, precious rover, Will carry my secret so safely and well That no being shall ever discover One word of the many that rapidly fell From the soul-speaking lips of my lover: And the moon and the stars that looked over Shall never reveal what a fairy-like spell HOMER GREENE. What Does it Matter? IT matters little where I was born, Or if my parents were rich or poor; And hold my integrity firm in my clutch, It matters little how long I stay In a world of sorrow, sin, and care; Whether in youth I am called away, Or live till my bones and pate are bare. To soften the weight of Adversity's touch It matters little where be my grave,— By purling brook, or 'neath stormy wave,- But whether the angel Death comes down NOAH BARKER. The Last Redoubt. KACELYEVO's slope still felt The cannon's bolts and the rifles' pelt; Mehemet Ali stroked his beard; His lips were clinched and his look was weird; "Clear me the Muscovite out!" he cried Then the name of Allah!" echoed wide, And the fezzes were waved and the bayonets lowered, And on to the last redoubt they poured. One fell, and a second quickly stopped The gap that he left when he reeled and dropped; and a fourth kept up the race. Many a fez in the mud was crushed, Over their corpses the living sprang, In the redoubt a fair form towered, That cheered up the brave and chid the coward; Brandishing blade with a gallant air; His head erect and his bosom bare. "Fly! they are on us!" his men implored; But he stood with his face set hard to the foe. Then clung they about him, and tugged, and knelt ; He drew a pistol from out his belt, And fired it blank at the first that set Foot on the edge of the parapet. Over that first one toppled; but on Clambered the rest till their bayonets shone, Not a bayonet's length from the length of his blade. "Yield!" But aloft his steel he flashed, And down on their steel it ringing clashed; They lifted him up from the dabbled ground; Mehemet Ali came and saw The riddled breast and the tender jaw. "Make her a bier of your arms," he said, "And daintily bury this dainty dead! "Make her a grave where she stood and fell, - 'Gainst the jackal's scratch and the vulture's smell. Did the Muscovite men like their maidens fight, So a deeper trench 'mong the trenches there ALFRED AUSTIN. NOTES. My Mind to Me a Kingdom is. Page 1. BYRD (b. 1540, d. 1623) wat organist to Queen Elizabeth, and composed an immense amount of vocal music. Three or four other stanzas, inferior to these, are sometimes inserted in this poem, and its authorship has been claimed for Sir Edward Dyer, a contemporary of Byrd's. There are also four stanzas of precisely similar construction, having many of the same thoughts, and in some cases almost identical words, which are attributed to Joshua Sylvester. These are given at page 15. The Lye. Page 2. The authorship of this poem has been disputed. Percy ascribes it to RALEIGH (b. 1552, executed 1618), and a copy of it among the Chetham manuscripts bears his signature. Man's Mortality. Page 6. WASTEL (b. about 1566) published in 1629 "Microbiblion, or the Bible's Epitome in Verse," of which these famous stanzas are a fragment. Willy Drowned in Yarrow. Page 8. This poem is believed to date from the 15th century. Verses. Page 9. The story of CHEDIOCK TICHEBORNE is told in Disraeli's "Curiosities of Literature," Vol. II. He was executed for treason (of which he was probably innocent) in 1586. The Ballad of Agincourt. Page 10. DRAYTON (b. 1563, d. 1631) published many poems, this being one of his latest. The battle, in which 15,000 English defeated 50,000 French, took place in 1415. Longfellow borrows the metrical formula of this poem for his "Skeleton in Ar mor. Take thy Old Cloake about thee. Page 13. The seventh stanza of this poem is sung by Iago in the Second Act of "Othello." The whole appeared in Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany," 1724. A Contented Mind. Page 15. See the first of these Notes. SYLVESTER was born in England in 1563, and died in 1618. |