Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

January 23.

A WELCOME TO THE DUKE AND DUCHESS OF EDINBURGH.

(Married Jan. 23, 1874.)

The Son of him with whom we strove for power

Whose will is lord thro' all his worlddomain

Who made the serf a man, and burst his chain

Has given our Prince his own Imperial Flower,

Alexandrovna.

And welcome, Russian flower, a people's

pride,

To Britain, when her flowers begin to blow!

From love to love, from home to home

you go,

From mother unto mother, stately bride, Marie-Alexandrovna.

The golden news along the steppes is blown,

And at thy name the Tartar tents are stirred:

Elburz and all the Caucasus have heard;

And all the sultry palms of India known, Alexandrovna.

The voice of our univers:l sea,

On capes of Afric as on cliffs of Kent, The Maoris and that Isle of Continent, And loyal pines of Canada murmur thee. Marie-Alexandrovna.

Fair empires branching, both, in lusty life!

Yet Harold's England fell to Norman

swords:

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

(Died Jan. 23, 1875.)

Mortals there are who seem, all over,

flame,

Vitalized radiance, keen, intense, and

high,

Whose souls, like planets in a dominant sky,

Burn with full forces of eternity:

Such was his soul, and such the light which came

From that pure heaven he lived in; holiest worth

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Let faded dogmas drop,

Sure of the Soul

Fearless that Doubt would stop Man from his goal;

Drew from the dust and weeds
Lessons of Love

Sown in our earthly needs,
Garnered above;

Saw in the stars and sea
Symbols sublime,
Gleams of Eternity,
Hopes beyond Time;

Heard heavenly whisperings
Where'er he trod,

Felt through the frame of things
The pulse of God.

O, dying century, test Thy sons and say, "My bravest, truest, best, "I lose this day!"

-John Hall Ingham.

January 24.

AFTER THE LECTURE ON SPION

KOP.

Delivered at Mulligan's Hall, New York. On the night of Jan. 23 (1900), Sir Charles Warren's division of General Sir Redvers Buller's army, under the immediate command of General Woodgate, occupied Spion Kop in the belief that it was the key to the Boer position. When day broke they found themselves in an unsheltered place on the ridge, with no water except what was in their canteens and exposed to a terrible artillery fire from the neighboring hills, to which they were unable to reply. They held their position all day with heavy loss and at nightfall, the command having devolved on Col. Thorneycroft, General Woodgate being mortally wounded, a retreat was ordered and they marched down the hill without knowing that artillery had been ordered to their relief and was then close at hand.

"Man, Blake was fine: ev'ry word that he spoke

Snapped out like the crack of a whip. D'ye mind where he looked through the cannon smoke

As the English let go their grip? For that one hot minute on Spion Kop. God willin', I'd roast ten years!

[blocks in formation]

They laughed through the leafy lanes,
The long lanes of Dartmoor;
And they sang their soldier strains,
Pledged "death" to the Roundhead
boor;

Then they came at the middle day

To a hamlet quaint and brown Where the hated troopers lay,

And they cheered for the King and

crown.

They fought in the fervid heat,

Fought fearlessly and well, But low at the foeman's feet

Their valorous leader fell.

Full on his fair young face

The blinding sun beat down;
In the morn of his manly grace
He died for the King and crown.

Oh the pitiless blow,

The vengeance-thrust of strife, That blotted the golden glow

From the sky of his glad, brave life!

The glorious promise gone;

Night with its grim black frown! Never again the dawn,

And all for the King and crown.

Hidden his sad fate now

In the sealed book of the years; Few are the heads that bow,

Or the eyes that brim with tears, Reading 'twixt blots and stains

From a musty tome that saith

How he rode through the Dartmoor lanes
To his woful, dauntless death.

But I, in the summer's prime,
From that lovely leafy land
Look back to the olden time
And the leal and loyal band.
I see them dash along,—

I hear them charge and cheer,
And my heart goes out in a song
To the poet-cavalier.

-Clinton Scollard.

January 25.

ROBIN BURNS.

(Robert Burns was born, Jan. 25, 1759.)

A hundred years ago this morn,

He came to walk our human way;

[blocks in formation]
« AnteriorContinuar »