He and his dusky braves
So fain of glorious graves!-

One instant stood, and then

Drave through that cloud of purple steel and flame, Which wrapped him, held him, gave him not again, But in its trampled ashes left to Fame

An everlasting name!

III

That was indeed to live-
At one bold swoop to wrest
From darkling death the best
That death to life can give.
He fell as Roland fell
That day at Roncevaux,

With foot upon the ramparts of the foe!
A pæan, not a knell,

For heroes dying so!
No need for sorrow here,

No room for sigh or tear,

Save such rich tears as happy eyelids know.
See where he rides, our Knight!
Within his eyes the light

Of battle, and youth's gold about his brow;
Our Paladin, our Soldier of the Cross,
Not weighing gain with loss-
World-loser, that won all
Obeying duty's call!

Not his, at peril's frown,
A pulse of quicker beat;
Not his to hesitate

And parley hold with Fate,
But proudly to fling down
His gauntlet at her feet.

O soul of loyal valor and white truth,

Here, by this iron gate,

Thy serried ranks about thee as of
Stand thou for evermore

yore,

In thy undying youth!

Now there were two rang silverly and long;
And of Romance, that spirit of the sun,
And of Romance, Spirit of Youth, was one;
And one was that of Song.

Gold-belted sailors, bristling buccaneers,

The flashing soldier, and the high, slim dame,
These were the Shapes that all around him came,-
That we let go with tears.

His was the unstinted English of the Scot,
Clear, nimble, with the scriptural tang of Knox
Thrust through it like the far, sweet scent of box,
To keep it unforgot.

No frugal Realist, but quick to laugh,
To see appealing things in all he knew,

He plucked the sun-sweet corn his fathers grew,
And would have naught of chaff.

David and Keats, and all good singing men,
Take to your heart this Covenanter's son,
Gone in mid-years, leaving our years undone,
Where you do sing again!

Lizelle Woodworth Reese [1856

BAYARD TAYLOR

[1825-1878]

"AND where now, Bayard, will thy footsteps tend?"
My sister asked our guest one winter's day.
Smiling he answered in the Friends' sweet way
Common to both: "Wherever thou shalt send!
What wouldst thou have me see for thee?" She laughed,
Her dark eyes dancing in the wood-fire's glow:
"Loffoden isles, the Kilpis, and the low
Unsetting sun on Finmark's fishing-craft."
"All these and more I soon shall see for thee!"
He answered cheerily: and he kept his pledge
On Lapland snows, the North Cape's windy wedge,
And Tromsö freezing in its winter sea.

He went and came. But no man knows the track
Of his last journey, and he comes not back!

d by him so oft,

turf keep his memory. Let nor storied stream forget, round lonely Cedarcroft; greet him in the far,

hold him; let the messages o'er the chartless seas ess of his unknown star! rd beyond the loud discourse in every sphere nd its utterance here unfolding universe

veler, softening the surprise n unfamiliar skies!

John Greenleaf Whittier [1807-1892]

MÆ MUSARUM

ENNYSON, 1809-1892]

's, lies the laureled head: ned a perfect song is o'er: eat bard to his last bed. ed, thy noblest voice is mute. ed, that loved him! nevermore smooth lawn or wild sea-shore, us bloom and tremulous fruit,