+ tongue can tell, "But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite; That's what the brier-wood said, as nigh as my CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY. THE BRIER-WOOD PIPE. And the words went straight to my heart, like the stroke of the fire-bell. To-night I lie in the clover, watching the blossomy smoke; I'm glad the boys are asleep, for I ain't in the humor to joke. HA! bully for me again, when my turn for I lie in the hefty clover up between me and My pipe, it's only a knot from the root of a brier- My thoughts are back in the city, I'm every- And I'm but a rough at best, bred up to the I see the red shirts crowding around the engine- But a softness comes over my heart, when all are The foreman's hail through the trumpet comes For, many a time, in the night, strange things The reel in the Bowery dance-house, the row in As the breath from my brier-wood pipe curls up Where I put in my licks at Big Paul, come be- Last night a beautiful spirit arose with the wisp- I hear the drum and the bugle, the tramp of the O, I shook, but my heart felt good, as it spread cow-skin boots, We are marching on our muscle, the Fire-Zouave recruits! Saying, "I am the soul of the brier; we grew White handkerchiefs wave before me-O, but at the root of a tree the sight is pretty Where lovers would come in the twilight, two On the white marble steps, as we march through "Where lovers would come in the morning - Bright eyes and clasping arms, and lips that When the flowers were full in their blow; the And the splendid lady who gave me the havelock for my cap. up from my pipe-cloud rises, there between me and the moon, Looking in each other's eyes, like pigeons that A beautiful white-robed lady; my heart will be kiss and coo. quiet, soon. "And O, the honeyed words that came when The lovely golden-haired lady ever in dreams I the lips were parted, see, And the passion that glowed in the eyes, and the Who gave me the snow-white havelock — but "Enough: Love dwells in the pipe- so ever it Look at my grimy features; mountains between glows with fire ! us stand: jeweled hand! I am the soul of the bush, and the spirits call I with my sledge-hammer knuckles, she with her me Sweet Brier." What care I?- the day that's dawning may see me, when all is over, "I nursed him, and, before his end, bequeathing His money and this bowl With the red stream of my life-blood staining the To me, he pressed my hand, just ceased his the hefty clover. Hark! the reveille sounding out on the morning air; Devils are we for the battle- Will there be angels there? Kiss me again, Sweet Brier, the touch of your lip to mine Brings back the white-robed lady with hair like the golden wine! CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY. THE NOBLEMAN AND THE PENSIONER. "OLD man, God bless you! does your pipe taste sweetly? A beauty, by my soul ! A red clay flower-pot, rimmed with gold so neatly! What ask you for the bowl?" "O sir, that bowl for worlds I would not part with; A brave man gave it me, Who won it-now what think you?—of a bashaw At Belgrade's victory. breathing, And so he died, brave soul! "The money thou must give mine host, SO thought I, Three plunderings suffered he : And, in remembrance of my old friend, brought I The pipe away with me. "Henceforth in all campaigns with me I bore it, In flight or in pursuit ; It was a holy thing, sir, and I wore it "This very limb, I lost it by a shot, sir, Under the walls of Prague : First at my precious pipe, be sure, I caught, sir, And then picked up my leg." "You move me even to tears, old sire. What was the brave man's name? Tell me, that I, too, may admire, And venerate his fame." "They called him only the brave Walter ; His farm lay near the Rhine.". "God bless your old eyes! 't was my father, And that same farm is mine. "There, sir, ah! there was booty worth the "Come, friend, you've seen some stormy weather, showing, With me is now your bed; We'll drink of Walter's grapes together, And eat of Walter's bread." + Take a message, and a token, to some distant | Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle "Tell my brothers and companions, when they To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vine- That we fought the battle bravely, and when the Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the or seemed to hear, And, mid the dead and dying, were some grown "I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, — I heard, And some were young, and suddenly beheld life's And down the pleasant river, and up the slant- ing hill, And one had come from Bingen, — fair Bingen The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening on the Rhine. "Tell my mother that her other son shall com- For I was still a truant bird, that thought his For my father was a soldier, and even as a child And when he died, and left us to divide his I let them take whate'er they would, — but kept And with boyish love I hung it where the bright On the cottage wall at Bingen, — calm Bingen “Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with When the troops come marching home again with But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame, For the honor of old Bingen, dear Bingen on "There's another, - not a sister; in the happy days gone by calm and still; You'd have known her by the merriment that To-morrow, in-no matter where, sparkled in her eye; Than lie in that foul prison-hole-over there. Step slowly! Speak lowly! These rocks may have life. Lay me down in this hollow: By heavens! the foemen may track me in blood, Well! well! I am rough; 't is a very rough school, When they came down the hill over sloughing and sand! But we stood rock, Unheeding their balls and repelling their shock. Did you mind the loud cry did we not?-like immovable When, as turning to fly, Our men sprang upon them, determined to die? I am dying-bend down till I touch you once + ALL day long the storm of battle through the Midnight came with ebon garments and a diadem All night long the stars in heaven o'er the slain While right upward in the zenith hung the fiery planet Mars. O, the ghastly upturned faces gleaming whitely Hark! a sound of stealthy footsteps and of voices O, the heaps of mangled corses in that dim sepul- Was it nothing but the young leaves, or the One by one the pale stars faded, and at length the morning broke; But not one of all the sleepers on that field of death awoke. Slowly passed the golden hours of that long bright summer day, And upon that field of carnage still the dead unburied lay. Lay there stark and cold, but pleading with a dumb, unceasing prayer, For a little dust to hide them from the staring sun and air. brooklet's murmuring flow? Clinging closely to each other, striving never to look round As they passed with silent shudder the pale corses on the ground, Came two little maidens, sisters, with a light and hasty tread, And a look upon their faces, half of sorrow, half of dread. And they did not pause nor falter till, with throbbing hearts, they stood Where the drummer-boy was lying in that partial solitude. |