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 yore,
Stand thou for evermore

In thy undying youth!

The tender heart, the eagle eye!
Oh, unto him belong

The homages of Song;

Our praises and the praise

Of coming days

To him belong

To him, to him, the dead that shall not die!

A PETITION

To spring belongs the violet, and the blown Spice of the roses let the summer own. Grant me this favor, Muse - all else withhold

That I may not write verse when I am old.

And yet I pray you, Muse, delay the time!
Be not too ready to deny me rhyme;
And when the hour strikes, as it must, dear

Muse,

I beg you very gently break the news.

VISION1

WITHIN a poor man's squalid home I stood: The one bare chamber, where his work-worn wife

Above the stove and wash-tub passed her life,

Next the sty where they slept with all their brood.

But I saw not that sunless, breathless lair, The chamber's sagging roof and reeking floor;

The smeared walls, broken sash, and battered door;

The foulness and forlornness everywhere.
I saw a great house with the portals wide
Upon a banquet room, and, from without,
The guests descending in a brilliant line
By the stair's statued niches, and beside
The loveliest of the gemmed and silken
rout

The poor man's landlord leading down to dine.

"Feel my pulse, sir, if you want to, but it ain't much use to try: "Never say that," said the Surgeon as he smothered down a sigh;

"It will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to say die !"

"What you say will make no difference, Doctor, when you come to die.

"Doctor, what has been the matter?" "You were very faint, they say; You must try to get to sleep now." tor, have I been away?"

"Doc

"Doctor

"Not that anybody knows of ! " - Doctor, please to stay! There is something I must tell you, you won't have long to stay!

and

Knew it could n't be the Lighter, - he could not have spoken so,

And I tried to answer, Here, sir!' but I could n't make it go;

For I could n't move a muscle, and I could n't make it go!

"Then I thought: it's all a nightmare, all a humbug and a bore;

Just another foolish grape-vine,1 — and it won't come any more;

But it came, sir, notwithstanding, just the same way as before:

'ORDERLY SERGEANT - ROBERT BUR

TON!'-even plainer than before.