LOCHINVAR.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

O YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west,

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best,
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none;
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late :
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,

Among bride's-men and kinsmen, and brothers, and all;
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword
(For the poor craven bridegroom spoke never a word),
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied :
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.”

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup;

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She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered, ""Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near : So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung !

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur! They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan :
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee ;
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ?

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THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

BANNER of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou

Floated in conquering battle, or flapped to the battle-cry!

Never with mightier glory than when we had reared thee on high, Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow ;

Shot through the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee

anew,

And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.

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Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our

lives,

Women and children among us, God help them, our children and

wives!

Hold it we might,

and for fifteen days, or for twenty at most. "Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post!"

ΙΟ

Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence, the best of

the brave:

Cold were his brows when we kissed him, we laid him that night in his grave.

"Every man die at his post!" and there hailed on our houses and halls

Death from their rifle-bullets, and death from their cannon-balls, Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade, Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we stooped

to the spade,

Death to the dying, and wounds to the wounded, for often there fell, Striking the hospital wall, crashing through it, their shot and their shell;

Death,

for their spies were among us, their marksmen were told of our best,

So that the brute bullet broke through the brain that could think

for the rest.

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Bullets would sing by our foreheads, and bullets would rain at our

feet;

Fire from ten thousand at once of the rebels that girdled us round; Death at the glimpse of a finger from over the breadth of a street; Death from the heights of the mosque and the palace, and death in the ground!

Mine? Yes, a mine!

through the hole;

Countermine ! down, down! and creep

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Keep the revolver in hand! you can hear him, — the murderous

mole !

Quiet, ah, quiet! wait till the point of the pickaxe be through! Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again than before; Now let it speak, and you fire, and the dark pioneer is no

more;

And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.

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Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it chanced on a day,

Soon as the blast of that underground thunder-clap echoed away, Dark through the smoke and the sulphur, like so many fiends in their hell,

Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell upon yell, Fiercely on all the defences our myriad enemy fell.

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What have they done? where is it? Out yonder. Guard the

Redan!

Storm at the Water-gate! storm at the Bailey-gate! storm! and it

ran

Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every side

Plunges and heaves at a bank that is daily drowned by the tide,

So many thousands that, if they be bold enough, who shall escape? Kill or be killed, live or die, they shall know we are soldiers and

men!

Ready! take aim at their leaders; their masses are gapped with

our grape:

Backward they reel like the wave, like the wave flinging forward

again,

Flying and foiled at the last by the handful they could not sub

due;

And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 45

Handful of men as we were, we were English in heart and in limb; Strong with the strength of the race to command, to obey, to

endure ;

Each of us fought as if hope for the garrison hung but on him; Still could we watch at all points? We were every day fewer and fewer.

There was a whisper among us, but only a whisper that passed: 50
"Children and wives, if the tigers leap into the fold unawares,
Every man die at his post, and the foe may outlive us at last,
Better to fall by the hands that they love than to fall into

theirs!"

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Roar upon roar, in a moment two mines by the enemy sprung Clove into perilous chasms our walls and our poor palisades. Rifleman, true is your heart, but be sure that your hand be as true! Sharp is the fire of assault, better aimed are your flank fusillades ; Twice do we hurl them to earth from the ladders to which they had clung,

Twice from the ditch where they shelter we drive them with handgrenades;

And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 60

Then on another wild morning another wild earthquake out-tore Clean from our lines of defence ten or twelve good paces or

more.

Rifleman, high on the roof, hidden there from the light of the sun, One has leapt up on the breach, crying out, "Follow me, follow me!"

Mark him, he falls! then another, and him too, and down goes he. Had they been bold enough then, who can tell but the traitors had won?

Boardings and rafters and doors an embrasure! make way for the gun!

Now double-charge it with grape! It is charged, and we fire, and they run !