Fills to the margin your blotted scroll; Yet one page to each is given, Close up the ledger, Time! Say, are we creditors for aught? Have we a store of noble deeds, Springing from high and generous thought Such as our fallen brother needs? Have we laid up for coming years Words to weave in a funeral rhymeNames that will call up grateful tears?— What of the ledger, Time? Close up the ledger, Time! Say what promises hope has drawn ; Say what drafts stern truth has paid; Say what bankrupt hopes have gone, In the grave with memory laid: Say if the heart has kept its own, Gathering beauty with lure and line; Say what fabrics are overthrown, What of the ledger, Time? Close up the ledger, Time! Hark the knell of the year gone by! Have I run out my golden sand? Where shall I be when the next shall die? Where shall the soul within me stand? Naught beyond but guilt and crime? Listen! I hear the New Year's bell! Shut up the ledger, Time! MRS. MARY E. FOXWELL. THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. BANNER of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou Floated in conquering battle or flapt 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 at Luck now Shot through the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew, And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 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!" 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 stoopt 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; 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! Countermine! down, down! and creep through the hole! 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 And no more; ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 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 enemies fell. 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 subdue; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 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: "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!" Roar upon roar in a moment two mines, by the enemy sprung, Clove into perilous chasms our walls and our poor palisades. Riflemen, true is your heart, but be sure that your hand be as true! Sharp is the fire of assault, better aimed are your flank fusilades 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 hand grenades; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. Then on another wild morning another wild earthquake out-tore Clean from our lines of defence ten or twelve good paces or more. Riflemen, high on the roof, hidden there from the light of the sun |