She sobb'd-" I found him by the summer sea
Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee,-
She curl'd his hair and kiss'd him. Woe is me!"

She wept :

"Now let my punishment begin!

I have been fond and foolish. Let me in

To expiate my sorrow and my sin!"

The angel answer'd-" Nay, sad soul! go higher!
To be deceived in your true heart's desire
Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire."

HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON.

1840

BEFORE sedan.

Here in this leafy place
Quiet he lies,

Cold, with his sightless face
Turn'd to the skies:

'Tis but another dead:
All you can say is said.

Carry his body hence!
Kings must have slaves :
Kings climb to eminence
Over men's graves:
So this man's eye is dim ;-
Throw the earth over him!

What was the white you touch'd,

There, at his side?

Paper his hand had clutch'd

Tight ere he died:

Message or wish, may be:

Smooth the folds out and see!

THE MODERN WARRIOR.

O Warrior for the Right! Though thy shirt of mail be white As the snows upon the breast of The Adored, Though the weapon thou mayst claim Hath been temper'd in the flame

Of the fire upon the Altar of the Lord,

Ere the coming of the night

Thy mail shall be less bright,

And the taint of sin may settle on the sword.

For the foemen thou must meet

Are the phantoms in the street,

And thine armour shall be foul'd in many a place, And the shameful mire and mud

With a grosser stain than blood

Shall be scatter'd 'mid the fray upon thy face;
And the helpless thou dost aid

Shall shrink from thee, dismay'd,

Till thou comèst to the knowledge of things base.

Ah, mortal! with a brow

Like the gleam of sunshine, thou Mayst wander from the pathway in thy turn; In the noontide of thy strength

Be stricken down at length,

And cry to God for aid, and live, and learn:
And when with many a stain

Thou arisest up again,

The lightning of thy look will be less stern.

Thou shalt see with humbler eye
The adulteress go by,

Nor shudder at the touch of her attire;
Thou shalt only look with grief

On the liar and the thief;

Thou shalt meet the very murtherer in the mire : And to which wouldst thou accord,

O thou Warrior of the Lord!

The vengeance of the Sword and of the Fire?

Nay! batter'd in the fray,

Thou shalt quake in act to slay,

And remember thy transgression and be meek! And the thief shall grasp thy hand,

And the liar blushing stand,

And the harlot if she list shall kiss thy cheek;

And the murtherer, unafraid,

Shall meet thee in the shade

And pray thee for the doom thou wilt not wreak.

Yet shalt thou help the frail

From the phantoms that assail,—

Yea! the strong man in his anger shalt thou dare; Thy voice shall be a song

Against Wickedness and Wrong,

But the wicked and the wronger thou wilt spare. And, while thou lead'st the van,

The ungrateful hand of man

Shall smite thee down and slay thee unaware.

With an agonized cry

Thou shalt shiver down, and die,

With stained shirt of mail and broken brand;
And the voice of men shall call—

"He has fallen like us all,

Though the weapon of the Lord was in his hand : " And thine epitaph shall be—

"He was wretched even as we; ""

And thy tomb may be unhonour'd in the land.

But the basest of the base

Shall bless thy pale dead face;

And the thief shall steal a bloody lock of hair :
And over thee asleep

The adulteress shall weep

Such tears as she can never shed elsewhere,
Shall bless the broken brand

In thy chill and nerveless hand,

Shall kiss thy stained vesture, with a prayer.

Then, while in that chill place
Stand the basest of the base

Gather'd round thee in the silence of the dark,

A white Face shall look down

On the silence of the town

And see thee lying dead, with those to mark;
And a Voice shall fill the air-

"Bear my Warrior lying there

To his sleep upon my Breast!" and they shall hark.

Lo! then those fallen things
Shall perceive a rush of wings
Growing nearer down the azure gulf untrod;
And around them in the night

There shall grow a wondrous light,

While they hide affrighted faces on the sod :
But ere again 'tis dark

They shall raise their eyes, and mark
White arms that waft the Warrior up to God.

ROBERT BRIDGES.

1844

THE SEA-POPPY.

A Poppy grows upon the shore
Bursts her twin cup in summer late :
Her leaves are glaucous green and hoar,
Her petals yellow, delicate.

Oft to her cousins turns her thought,
In wonder if they care that she

Is fed with spray for dew, and caught
By every gale that sweeps the sea.

She has no lovers like the Red
That dances with the noble Corn:
Her blossoms on the waves are shed,
Where she sits shivering and forlorn.