"Oh, I've come from the Indies-I've just come from the war; And well I know the 90th, and gallant lads they are;

From colonel down to rank and file, I know my comrades well, And news I've brought you, mother, your Robert bade me tell."

"And do you know my Robert now? O tell me, tell me true,
O Soldier, tell me, word for word, all that he said to you:
His very words-my own boy's words-O tell me every one!
You little know how dear to his old mother is my son."

"Through Havelock's2 fights and marches, the 90th were there; In all the gallant 90th did, your Robert did his share; Twice he went into Lucknow,3 untouched by steel or ball, And you may bless your God, old dame, that brought him safe through all."

"O thanks unto the living God that heard his mother's prayer,The widow's cry that rose on high, her only son to spare;

O bless'd be God, that turn'd from him the sword and shot away!

And what to his old mother did my darling bid you say?"

Mother, he saved his colonel's life, and bravely it was done;

In the despatch they told it all, and named and praised your

son;

A medal and a pension's his; good luck to him I say,
And he has not a comrade but will wish him well to-day."

2 Havelock, Sir Henry, led the British troops who relieved the garrison of Lucknow. He died there very soon after; worn out by his exertions.

3 Lucknow, the capital of the province of Oude. The British garrison then was besieged by an army of Sepoys (our Indian soldiers) who had mutinied, but it held out against tremendous odds, till Havelock relieved it.

4 despatch, an official letter despatched to the authorities by the commanding

officer.

"Now, Soldier, blessings on your tongue. O husband, that you knew

How well our boy pays me this day for all that I've gone through, All I have done and borne for him, the long years since you're dead!

But, Soldier, tell me how he look'd, and all my Robert said."

"He's bronzed, and tann'd, and bearded, and you'd hardly know him, dame,

We've made your boy into a man, but still his heart's the same;
For often, dame, his talk's of you, and always to one tune:
But there, his ship is nearly home, and he'll be with you soon."

"O is he really coming home, and shall I really see

My boy again, my own boy, home; and when, when will it be? Did you say soon ?"-" Well, he is home; keep cool, old dame; he's here."

"O Robert, my own blessèd boy!"-"O mother-mother dear!"

1

HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN.1

THE bark that held a prince went down,
The sweeping waves rolled on;
And what was England's glorious crown
To him that wept a son?

He lived-for life may long be borne,

'Ere sorrow break its chain ;—

Why comes not death to those who mourn?

He never smiled again!

1 It is recorded of Henry the First, that, after the death of his son Prince William, who perished by shipwreck in the "White Ship," off the coast of Normandy, A.D. 1120, he was never seen to smile.

There stood proud forms before his throne,

The stately and the brave;

But which could fill the place of one,

That one beneath the wave?
Before him passed the young and fair,

In pleasure's reckless train;

But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair-
He never smiled again!

He sat where festal bowls went round;
He heard the minstrel sing;

He saw the tourney's1 victor crowned
Amidst the knightly ring:

A murmur of the restless deep
Was blent with every strain,

A voice of winds that would not sleep-
He never smiled again!

Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace
Of vows once fondly poured,

And strangers took the kinsman's place

At many a joyous board:

Graves, which true love had bathed with tears,

Were left to heaven's bright rain,

Fresh hopes were born for other years―

He never smiled again!

2 tourney, contracted from tournament. A fight, sometimes in earnest sometimes for sport, between knights, who generally fought on horseback with lances. The name seems to have been given from the quick turning of the horses.

THE MARINER'S SONG

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast;

And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

"Oh for a soft and gentle wind!"
I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze,

And white waves heaving high;

And white waves heaving high, my lads,

The good ship tight and free

The world of waters is our home,

And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon hornèd

And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud;

moon,

The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free-

While the hollow oak1 our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

THE AFRICAN CHIEF

HAINED in the market-place he stood,

A man of giant frame,
Amid the gathering multitude

That shrunk to hear his name;
All stern of look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground :-
And silently they gazed on him,
As on a lion bound.

Vainly, but well, that chief had fought-
He was a captive now;
Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow.

The scars his dark broad bosom wore,
Showed warrior true and brave;
A prince among his tribe before,

He could not be a slave.

1 The hollow ship made of oak.

2 heritage, that which comes to us, as our own, from our fathers, as their heirs.