There was one of us, a corporal's wife,
A fair young gentle thing,
Wasted with fever in the siege,
And her mind was wandering.
She lay on the ground in her Scottish plaid,
And I took her head on my knee:
"When my father comes hame frae the pleugh," she said, "Oh! please, then waken me.
She slept like a child on her father's floor
In the flecking of wood-bine shade,
When the house-dog sprawls by the open door,
And the mother's wheel is stay'd.
It was smoke and roar, and powder-stench,
And hopeless waiting for death:
But the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child,
Seem'd scarce to draw her breath.
I sank to sleep, and I had my dream,
Of an English village-lane,
And wall and garden: a sudden scream
Brought me back to the roar again.
Then Jessie Brown stood listening,
And then a broad gladness broke
All over her face, and she shook my hand
And drew me near and spoke:
"The Highlanders! Oh! dinna ye hear
The slogan far awa'-
The M'Gregor's? Ah! I ken it weel;
It's the grandest o' them a'.
"God bless thae bonny Highlanders!
We're saved! we're saved!" she cried:
And fell on her knees, and thanks to God
Pour'd forth, like a full flood-tide.
Along the battery-line her cry
Had fallen among the men:
And they startled, for they were there to die: Was life so near them then?
They listened for life: and the rattling fire
Far off, and the far-off roar
Were all and the colonel shook his head,
And they turned their guns once more.
Then Jessie said: "That slogan's dune;
But can ye no hear them noo-
The Campbells are comin'? It's no a dream;
Our succors hae broken through!”
We heard the roar and rattle afar,
But the pipes we could not hear;
So the men plied their work of hopeless war
And knew that the end was near.
It was not long ere it must be heard-
A shrilling, ceaseless sound:
It was no noise of the strife afar,
Or the sappers underground.
It was the pipes of the Highlanders,
And now they played "Auld Lang Syne";
It came to our men like the voice of God,
And they shouted along the line.
And they wept and shook one another's hands,
And the women sobb'd in a crowd:
And every one knelt down where he stood,
And we all thank'd God aloud.
That happy day when we welcomed them,
Our men put Jessie first;
And the General, too, her hand, and cheers
From the men, like a volley, burst,
And the pipers' ribbons and tartan stream'd
Marching round and round our line;
And our joyful cheers were broken with tears,
For the pipes played "Auld Lang Syne.'
"The old Norse kings, when about to die, had their body laid into a ship, the ship sent forth with sails set and slow fire burning in it, that, once out to sea, it might blaze up in flame, and in such manner bury worthily the old hero at once in the sky and in the ocean."-Carlyle's "Hero Worship."
"My strength is failing fast,"
Said the sea-king to his men;
"I shall never sail the seas
Like a conqueror again.
But while yet a drop remains
Of the life-blood in my veins,
Raise, oh, raise me from the bed;
Put the crown upon my head;
Put my good sword in my hand;
And so lead me to the strand,
Where my ship at anchor rides
Steadily;
If I can not end my life
In the crimson'd battle-strife,
Let me die as I have lived,
They have raised King Balder up,
Put his crown upon his head;
They have sheathed his limbs in mail,
And the purple o'er him spread;
And amid the greeting rude
Of a gathering multitude,
Borne him slowly to the shore-
All the energy of yore
From his dim eyes flashing forth-
Old sea-lion of the North-
As he looked upon his ship
Riding free,
And on his forehead pale
Felt the cold refreshing gale,
And heard the welcome sound
Of the sea.
They have borne him to the ship
With a slow and solemn tread;
They have placed him on the deck
With his crown upon his head,
Where he sat as on a throne;
And have left him there alone,
With his anchor ready weighed,
And his snowy sails displayed
To the favoring wind, once more
Blowing freshly from the shore;
And have bidden him farewell
Tenderly,
Saying, "King of mighty men,
We shall meet thee yet again
In Valhalla, with the monarchs
Of the sea."
Underneath him in the hold
They had placed the lighted brand;
And the fire was burning slow
As the vessel from the land
Like a stag-hound from the slips,
Darted forth from out the ships.
There was music in her sail,
As it swelled before the gale,
And a dashing at her prow
As it cleft the waves below,
And the good ship sped along,
Scudding free;
As on many a battle morn
In her time she had been borne,
To struggle and to conquer
On the sea.
And the king, with sudden strength,
Started up, and paced the deck,
With his good sword for his staff,
And his robe around his neck:
Once alone, he raised his hand
To the people on the land;
And with shout and joyous cry,
Once again they made reply,
Till the loud exulting cheer
Sounded faintly on his ear;
For the gale was o'er him blowing
Fresh and free;
And ere yet an hour had passed,
He was driven before the blast,
And a storm was on his path,
On the sea.
"So blow, ye tempests, blow,
And my spirit shall not quail:
I have fought with many a foe,
I have weathered many a gale;
And in this hour of death,
Ere I yield my fleeting breath-
Ere the fire now burning slow
Shall come rushing from below,
And this worn and wasted frame
Be devoted to the flame,
I will raise my voice in triumph,
Singing free:
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