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Their lot with ours to rove the world Their headlong passes, but his footstep about;
fails And some are wilder comrades, sworn to. And red with blood the Crescent reels seek
from fight If any golden harbor be for men
Before their dauntless hundreds, in prone In seas of Death and sunless gulfs of tight Doubt.
By thousands down the crags and thro'
O smallest among peoples ! rough rurkTO THE REV. W. H. BROOK
Of Freedom ! warriors bearing back the
swarm BROOKS, for they call'd you so that knew Of Turkish Islam for five hundred years, you best,
| Great Tsernogora! never since thine own Old Brvoks, who loved so well to mouth Black ridges drew the cloud and brake my rhymes,
the storm How oft we iwo have heard St. Mary's Has breathed a race of mightier mounchimes!
taineers. How oft the Cantab supper, host and
guest, Would echo helpless laughter to your
TO VICTOR HUGO. jest! How oft with him we paced that walk of Victor iu Drama, Victor in Romance, limes,
Cloud-weaver of phantasmal hopes and Him, the lost light of those dawn-golden times,
French of the French, and Lord of huWho loved vou well! Now both are ! man tears ; gone to rest.
| Child-lover; Bard whose fame-lit laurels Yon man of humorous melancholy mail,
glance Dead of some inward agony - it is so? Darkening the wreaths of all that would Our kindlier, trustier Jaques, past away!
advance, I cannot laud this life, it looks so dark: | Beyond our strait, their claim to be thy kias õvap -- dream of a shadow, go —
peers; God bless you. I shall join you in a day. Weird Titan by thy win'er weight of
As yet unbroken, Stormy voice of France! MONTENEGRO.
Who dost not love our England - so they
say; They rose to where their sovran eagle I know not — England, France, all man sails,
to be They kept their faith, their freedom, on Will make one people ere man's race be the height,
run : Chaste, frugal, savage, arm'd by day and And I, desiring that diviner day, night
Yield thee full thanks for thy full courAgainst the Turk; whose inroad nowhere tesy scales
| To younger England in the boy my son.
1 I have more or less a vailed myself of my son's prose translation of this poem in the Contemporary Revicio (November, 1876).
2 Shields of linden wood.
ix. Also the crafty one, Constantinus,
Slender reason had He to be glad of The clash of the war-glaive Traitor and trickster And spurner of treaties He nor had Anlaf With armies so broken A reason for bragging That they had the better In perils of battle On places of slaughter The struggle of standardis, The rush of the javelins, The crash of the charges, The wielding of weapons The play that they play'd with The children of Edward.
xv. Never had huger Slaughter of heroes Slain by the sword-edgeSuch as old writers Have writ of in histories Hapt in this isle, since Up from the East hither Saxon and Angle from Over the broad billow Broke into Britain with Haughty war-workers who Harried the Welshmen, when Earls that were lured by the Hunger of glory gat Hold of the land.
ACHILLES OVER THE TRENCH.
Iliad, xviii. 202.
xu. Then with their nail'd prows Parted the Norsemen, a Blood-redden'd relic of Javelins over The jarring breaker, the deep-sea
billow, Shaping their way toward Dyefin
again, Shamed in their souls.
So saying, light-foot Iris pass'd away, Then rose Achilles dear to Zeus; and
round The warrior's puissant shoulders Pallas
flung Her fringed ægis, and around his head The glorious goddess wreath'd a golden
cloud, And from it lighted an all-shining flame. As when a smoke from a city goes to
heaven Far off from ont an island girt by foes, All day the men contend in grievous war From their own city, but with set of
sun Their fires flame thickly and aloft the
glare Flies streaming, if perchance the neigh
bors round May see, and sail to help them in the
war; So from his head the splendor went to
Each in his glory,
land, Glad of the war. i Lit. " the gathering of men.” 2 Dublin.
From wall to dike he stept, he stood, nor | TO THE PRINCESS FREDERICA join'd
ON HER MARRIACE. The Achæans — honoring his wise mother's word —
() you that were eyes and light to the There standing, shouted, and Pallas far
King till he past away
From the darkness of life – away Calld; and a boundless panic shook the He saw not his daughter — he blest her:
the blind King sees you to day, foe. For like the clear voice when a trumpet
He blesses the wife. shrills, Blown by the fierce beleaguerers of a
SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. town, So rang the clear voice of Æakidês;
On the cenotaph in Westminster Abbey. And when the brazen cry of Æakidės Was heard among the Trojaus, all their
a thoir Not here! the white North has thy bones; hearts
and thou, Were troubled, and the full-maned horses
Heroic sailor-soul, whirld'
Art passing on thine happier voyage now The chariots backward, knowing griefs
Toward no earthly pole. at hand; And sheer-astounded were the chariot
TO DANTE. eers To see the dread, unweariable fire
(Written at request of the Florentines.) That always o'er the great Peleions' | King, that hast reign'd six hundred years, head
and grown Burn’d, for the bright-eyed goddess made
In power, and ever growest, since thinc it burn.
own. Thrice from the dike he sent his mighty | Fair Florence honoring thy nativity,
Thy Florence now the crown of Italy, Thrice backward reel'd the Trojans and Hath sought the tribute of a verse from allies;
me, And there and then twelve of their noblest 1 wearing but the garland of a day. died
Cast at thy feet one flower that fades Among their spears and chariots.