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One bit his cartridge till his lip

Grew black as winter sky:

But still the boy moaned; "Forty-third, Teach me the way to die!"

Oh, never saw I sight like that!

The sergeant flung down flag, Even the fifer bound his brow With a wet and bloody rag, Then looked at locks and fixed their steel, But never made reply, Until he sobbed out once again, "Teach me the way to die!"

Then, with a shout that flew to God,
They strode into the fray;

I saw their red plumes join and wave,
But slowly melt away.

The last who went-a wounded man-
Bade the poor boy good bye,
And said, "We men of the Forty-third
Teach you the way to die!"

I never saw so sad a look

As the poor youngster cast, When the hot smoke of cannon

In cloud and whirlwind passed. Earth shook, and heaven answered. I watched his eagle eye

As he faintly moaned, "The Forty-third Teach me the way to die!"

Then, with a musket for a crutch,

He leaped into the fight; I, with a bullet in my hip,

Had neither strength nor might.
But, proudly beating on his drum,
A fever in his eye,

I heard him moan, "The Forty-third
Taught me the way to die!"

They found him on the morrow,
Stretched on a heap of dead;
His hand was in the grenadier's
Who at his bidding bled.
They hung a medal round his neck,
And closed bis dauntless eye;
On the stone they cut, "The Forty-third
Taught him the way to die!"

'Tis forty years from then till now,
The grave gapes at my feet,
Yet when I think of such a boy
I feel my old heart beat.

And from my sleep I sometimes wake,
Hearing a feeble cry,

And a voice that says, "Now, Forty-third,
Teach me the way to die!"

EDWARD ATHERSTONE.

SUNRISE.

SOON I began with eager foot to climb The high cliff, from whose top I might [grass

behold

The glorious spectacle. The short soft Had caught a plenteous dew: the mountain herbs [long Repaid my rude tread with sweet fragrance: The ascent and steep; and often did I pause To breathe and look around on the rich vales And swelling hills, each moment brightening.

Thus with alternate toil and rest I climbed To the high summit, then walked gently on, Till by the cliff's precipitous edge I stood. Oh, then what glories burst upon my sight! The interminable ocean lay beneath

At depth immense ;-not quiet as before, For a faint breath of air, even at the height On which I stood I scarce felt, played over it, Waking innumerous dimples on its face, As though 'twere conscious of the splendid guest

That e'en then touched the threshold of heaven's gates,

And smiled to bid him welcome. Far away
To either hand the broad curved beach
stretched on ;
[vance

And I could see the slow-paced waves ad-
One after one, and spread upon the sands,
Making a slender edge of pearly foam
Just as they broke;-then softly falling back,
Noiseless to me on that tall head of rock,
As it had been a picture, or descried
Through optic tubes leagues off.
A tender mist
Was round the horizon and along the vales;
But the hill-tops stood in a crystal air;
The cope of heaven was clear and deeply
blue,
[east

And not a cloud was visible. Towards the
An atmosphere of golden light, that grew
Momently brighter, and intensely bright,
Proclaimed the approaching sun. Now-
now he comes !-

A dazzling point emerges from the sea;
It spreads; it rises;-now it seems a dome
Of burning gold;-higher and rounder now
It mounts-it swells; now like a huge
balloon

Of light and fire, it rests upon the rim
Of waters; lingers there a moment; then-
Soars up.

Exulting I stretched forth my arms, And hailed the king of summer. Every hill

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Put on a face of gladness; every tree Shook his green leaves in joy; the meadows laughed; [beams, The deep glen, where it caught the amber Began to draw its misty veil aside, [tears; And smile and glisten through its pearly The birds struck up their chorus; the young lambs [lived

Scoured over hill and meadow ;-all that Looked like a new creation, over-filled With health and joy; nay, e'en the inanimate earth

Seemed coming into life.

But glorious far Beyond all else the mighty god of light Mounting the crystal firmament; no eye May look upon his overwhelming pomp: Power and majesty attend his steps, Ocean and earth adoring gaze on him: In lone magnificence he takes his way Through the bright solitude of heaven.

The sea Was clear and purely blue, save the broad path

Where the sunbeams danced on the heaving billows,

That seemed a high-road, paved with atom

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Lies in the freshness of the evening shade, When, on each side, with gravely-darkened face,

The masses rise above the light arcade; Walk down the midst with slowly timèd pace,

But gay withal, for there is high parade Of fair attire, and fairer forms, which pass Like varying groups on a magician's glass.

From broad illumined chambers far within, Or under curtains daintily outspread, Music, and laugh, and talk-the motley din Of all who from sad thought or toil are sped,

Here a chance hour of social joy to win Gush forth; but I love best above my head

To feel nor arch nor tent, nor anything But that pure heaven's eternal covering.

It is one broad saloon, one gorgeous hall; A chamber where a multitude, all kings, May hold full audience, splendid festival,

Or Piety's most prosperous minist'rings: Thus be its height unmarred-thus be it all One mighty room, whose form direct upsprings

To the o'erarching sky: it is right good When Art and Nature keep such brotherhood.

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On such a night as this, impassionedly

The old Venetian sang these verses rare: "That Venice must of needs eternal be, For heaven had looked through the pellucid air,

And cast its reflex on the crystal sea

And Venice was the image pictured there." I hear them now, and tremble, for I seem As treading on an unsubstantial dream.

Who talks of vanished glory, of dead power,

Of things that were and are not? Is he bere?

Can he take in the glory of this hour,

And call it all the decking of a bier? No; surely as on that Titanic tower

The Guardian Angel stands in ether clear, With the moon's silver tempering his gold wing,

So Venice lives, as lives no other thing:

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"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling,
Ere the early dews were falling,
Farre away I heard her song,
"Cusha! Cusha!" all along;
Where the reedy Lindis floweth,
Floweth, floweth,

From the meads where melick groweth
Faintly came her milking song,—

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling,

"

For the dews will soone be falling: Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow;

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, LightQuit the stalks of parsley hollow, [foot, Hollow, hollow:

Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow,

From the clovers lift your head, [foot, Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, LightCome uppe, Jetty, rise and follow,

Jetty, to the milking-shed."

If it be long, ay, long ago,

When I beginne to think howe long,
Againe I hear the Lindis flow,

Swift as an arrow sharpe and strong;
And all the aire, it seemeth mee,
Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee),
That ring the tune of Enderby.

Alle fresh the level pasture lay,

And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where full fyve good miles away

The steeple towered from out the greene;
And lo! the great bell farre and wide
Was heard in all the country-side
That Saturday at eventide.

The swanherds where their sedges are
Moved on in sunset's golden breath,
The shepherde lads I heard affarre,
And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth ;
Till floating o'er the grassy sea
Came downe that kyndly message free,
The "Brides of Mavis Enderby.'

Then some looked uppe into the sky,
And all along where Lindis flows

To where the goodly vessels lie,

And where the lordly steeple shows.
They sayde, "And why should this thing be?
What danger lowers by land or sea?
They ring the tune of Enderby!

"For evil news from Mablethorpe,
Of pyrate galleys warping down;
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe,
They have not spared to wake the towne;

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