Golden Numbers Part 39

Dear girl! her name he dared not speak; But as the song grew louder, Something upon the soldier's cheek Washed off the stains of powder.

Beyond the darkening ocean burned The b.l.o.o.d.y sunset's embers, While the Crimean valleys learned How English love remembers.

And once again a fire of h.e.l.l Rained on the Russian quarters, With scream of shot and burst of sh.e.l.l, And bellowing of the mortars!

And Irish Nora's eyes are dim For a singer dumb and gory; And English Mary mourns for him Who sang of "Annie Laurie."

Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest Your truth and valor wearing; The bravest are the tenderest,-- The loving are the daring.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

_Border Ballad_

March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale; Why the de'il dinna ye march forward in order?

March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale!

All the Blue Bonnets are over the Border!

Many a banner spread Flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story.

Mount and make ready, then, Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory.

Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing; Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing; Come with the buckler, the lance and the bow.

Trumpets are sounding; War-steeds are bounding; Stand to your arms and march in good order.

England shall many a day Tell of the b.l.o.o.d.y fray When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

_From "The Monastery."_

_Gathering Song of Donuil Dhu_

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan Conuil.

Come away, come away, Hark to the summons!

Come in your war-array, Gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky; The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy.

Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterr'd, The bride at the altar; Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges: Come with your fighting gear, Broadswords and targes.

Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended, Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded: Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster, Chief, va.s.sal, page and groom, Tenant and master.

Fast they come, fast they come; See how they gather!

Wide waves the eagle plume Blended with heather.

Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set!

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Knell for the onset!

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

_The Reveille_

Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands, And of armed men the hum; Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum,-- Saying, "Come, Freemen, come!

Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick Alarming drum.

"Let me of my heart take counsel: War is not of life the sum; Who shall stay and reap the harvest When the autumn days shall come?"

But the drum Echoed, "Come!

Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the Solemn-sounding drum.

"But when won the coming battle, What of profit springs therefrom?

What if conquest, subjugation, Even greater ills become?"

But the drum Answered, "Come!

You must do the sum to prove it," said the Yankee-answering drum.

"What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder, Whistling shot and bursting bomb, When my brothers fall around me, Should my heart grow cold and numb?"

But the drum Answered, "Come!

Better there in death united, than in life a recreant, --Come!"

Thus they answered,--hoping, fearing, Some in faith, and doubting some, Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming, Said, "My chosen people, come!"

Then the drum, Lo! was dumb, For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, "Lord, we come!"

BRET HARTE.

_Ye Mariners of England_

Ye Mariners of England, That guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze, Your glorious standard launch again, To match another foe!

And sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow-- While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirit of your fathers Shall start from every wave!

For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave.

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow-- While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-wave, Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the sh.o.r.e When the stormy winds do blow-- When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.

Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!

Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow,-- When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

_The Knight's Tomb_

Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?

Where may the grave of that good man be?-- By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn, Under the twigs of a young birch tree!