What! it is possible then? Thou canst love! Thou who dost not love me!

Oh, but 'tis wormwood and gall, if only to think this may be !

Thrusting a thorn in a wound were cruel in lesser degree.

IV

PRIDE.

No, no! I'm not one of your women, not I,
Who fulfil the last office of kindness, and die,
That their headsmen may live at full ease by-and by.

Such devotion may be quite sublime in its way;
But 'tis childish. Too prompt are the men of our
day

O'er our coffins to pose in heroic display.

And it galls me the hypocrite's language to hear, When another soft victim is laid on her bier'There's an angel above praying for me. . . . Poor dear !'

Thou hast taught me too well that in strength lies

the gain.

Death is one with oblivion.

Better my pain!

Thou shalt not see me wilfully haste to be slain.

No, no! Though I'm shrouded in anguish and gloom,
My pride will still keep me aloof from the tomb;
For I would that at some future day thou shouldst
find,

If thou canst not repent, that indeed thou wert blind.

JESSIE BROWN OF LUCKNOW.

1857.

THE flaming sun, the pitiless flaming sun,
Glares on the battlements, where a dauntless few,
Gaunt, famished, fever-stricken, well-nigh spent,
But resolute to the death, keep ward and watch,
Or smite the foremost of the ravenous hosts
Swarming around, as wolves that scent their prey.

And woman too is there, with gentlest hand
To bind the wound, or soothe the parting spirit
With words of comfort-agonised at heart,
But calm of aspect, for at least she knows

That hers shall never be the terrible fate

Of her lost sisters.

Every thought, word, prayer,

Breathes of the succour that should come, but comes

not.

The little ones pent up in that grim place Catch the one tone, and in their play repeat The old, old question of their nursery tale'Dost thou see no one coming, sister Anne?'

It could not last. The next day was to bring Relief, or-all was ended. Yet their souls, Nor man's nor woman's, quailed. Duty went on, And discipline was kept.

In common times,

The Captain's lady and the Corporal's wife
Are wide apart in habit, as in rank.

They were knit now in closest sisterhood,

The two of whom I speak. And therefore was it
That when poor Jessie Brown's outwearied strength
Gave way at last, and on the ground she lay
Wrapped in her plaid, her head was in the lap
Of one she called her 'leddy.' She had begged
That when her father from the ploughing came
She might be wakened-poor light-headed Jessie !
The lady promised; but was soon asleep.
And they both slept, forgetful of the morrow,
Unconscious of the booming of the guns.

A wild unearthly scream!

The lady woke.

Jessie, entranced, was standing by her side,

Bent forward, listening, rapt. Then broke she forth : 'We're saved! we're saved. Dinna ye hear it noo? Nay, I'm no dreamin'; 'tis the Hieland slogan!' And on her knees thanked God with passionate fervour.

The lady was bewildered and—her ear Catching alone the hateful ceaseless sounds Whereto it had been used of late-was shocked At Jessie's raving. She from gun to gun Darted, exclaiming, 'Courage! help at last! Hark to the slogan! the Macgregors' slogan!'

A gleam of hope. The soldiers heard, and owned The electric thrill. The little Goorkha paused, With half-bit cartridge; the lithe Afghan paused, And the tall Sikh ; and paused the stalwart Briton. War's implements were still. The sleepers rose. Men, women, children-they were ear, all ear, In hushed suspense.

But oh! the agony,

The murmurs, and the wailing, when no sound,
Save of the booming shot or whistling bullet,
Came to the expectant ear! And when they looked
A mute inquiry to their Chief, and he