Poems Teachers Ask For Volume I Part 62

The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother-eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes; "You're wounded!" "Nay," his soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead.

_Robert Browning._

The Bugle Song

(_From "The Princess"_)

The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going!

O sweet and far from cliff and scar[A]

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.

Blow bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

_Alfred, Lord Tennyson._

[Footnote A: Scar, a deep bank.]

A Child's Thought of G.o.d

They say that G.o.d lives very high; But if you look above the pines You cannot see our G.o.d; and why?

And if you dig down in the mines, You never see him in the gold, Though from Him all that's glory s.h.i.+nes.

G.o.d is so good, He wears a fold Of heaven and earth across His face, Like secrets kept for love untold.

But still I feel that His embrace Slides down by thrills through all things made, Through sight and sound of every place;

As if my tender mother laid On my shut lips her kisses' pressure, Half waking me at night, and said, "Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?"

_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._

The Blue and The Gray

By the flow of the inland river, Where the fleets of iron have fled, Where the blades of grave gra.s.s quiver, Asleep are the ranks of the dead; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day-- Under the one, the Blue; Under the other, the Gray.

These in the robings of glory, Those in the gloom of defeat, All, with the battle blood gory, In the dusk of eternity meet; Under the sod and the dew,-- Waiting the judgment day-- Under the laurel, the Blue; Under the willow, the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours The desolate mourners go, Lovingly laden with flowers Alike for the friend and the foe; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day-- Under the roses, the Blue; Under the lilies, the Gray.

So with an equal splendor The morning sun-rays fall, With a touch impartially tender, On the blossoms blooming for all; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day-- 'Broidered with gold, the Blue; Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

So, when the summer calleth, On forest and field of grain With an equal murmur falleth The cooling drip of the rain; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day-- Wet with the rain, the Blue; Wet with the rain, the Gray.

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, The generous deed was done; In the storm of the years that are fading.

No braver battle was won; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day-- Under the blossoms, the Blue; Under the garlands, the Gray.

No more shall the war-cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red; They banish our anger forever When they laurel the graves of our dead!

Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day-- Love and tears for the Blue; Tears and love for the Gray.

_Francis Miles Finch._

Good Night and Good Morning

A fair little girl sat under a tree, Sewing as long as her eyes could see, Then smoothed her work, and folded it right, And said, "Dear work, good night, good night!"

Such a number of rooks came over her head, Crying "Caw, caw," on their way to bed; She said, as she watched their curious flight, "Little black things, good night, good night!"

The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed, The sheep's "bleat, bleat" came over the road, And all seemed to say, with a quiet delight, "Good little girl, good night, good night!"

She did not say to the sun "Good night,"

Tho' she saw him there like a ball of light; For she knew he had G.o.d's own time to keep All over the world, and never could sleep.

The tall pink foxglove bowed his head, The violets curtseyed and went to bed; And good little Lucy tied up her hair, And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.

And, while on her pillow she softly lay, She knew nothing more till again it was day; And all things said to the beautiful sun, "Good morning, good morning, our work is begun!"

_Lord Houghton._

Lady Moon

"Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?"

"Over the sea."

"Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?"