His puissant sword unto his side The peaceful scabbard, where it dwelt, This sword a dagger had, his page, SAMUEL BUTLER. Your looks are so full of woe." "But since to speak I'm hurried," "He's dead! he's dead as a herring! For I beheld his berring, And four officers transferring His corpse away from the field. "One officer carried his sabre ; And he carried it not without labor, Much envying his next neighbor, Who only bore a shield. the Forth, Count the stars in the clear, cloudless heaven of the north; Then go blazon their numbers, their names, and their worth, All the broadswords of old Scotland! etc. The highest in splendor, the humblest in place, Then sacred to each and to all let it be, Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and O the broadswords of old Scotland! etc. MONTEREY. WE were not many, we who stood Before the iron sleet that day; Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years if but he could Now here, now there, the shot it hailed Yet not a single soldier quailed And on, still on our column kept, Through walls of flame, its withering way; Where fell the dead, the living stept, Still charging on the guns which swept The slippery streets of Monterey. The foe himself recoiled aghast, When, striking where he strongest lay, We swooped his flanking batteries past, And, braving full their murderous blast, Stormed home the towers of Monterey. Our banners on those turrets wave, And there our evening bugles play; Where orange boughs above their grave, Keep green the memory of the brave Who fought and fell at Monterey. We are not many, we who pressed Beside the brave who fell that day; CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN BALAKLAVA. O THE charge at Balaklava ! On the battle's bloody marge! Fortress huge, and blazing banks, Poured their dread destructive volumes On the French and English ranks, - O that rash and fatal charge, DEATH OF ARTHUR. So all day long the noise of battle rolled And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : They sleep- the men I loved. I think that wo Which was my pride for thou rememberest how | Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again, : In those old days, one summer noon, an arm To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere : "It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus, Aidless, alone, and smitten through the helmA little thing may harm a wounded man ; Yet I thy hest will all perform at full, Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word." So saying, from the ruined shrine he stept By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock, There drew he forth the brand Excalibur Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : "Hast thou performed my mission which I gave? What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?" And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: "I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, And the wild water lapping on the crag." To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale: "Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name, Not rendering true answer, as beseemed Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight: For surer sign had followed, either hand, Or voice, or else a motion of the mere. This is a shameful thing for men to lie. As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word." Then went Sir Bedivere the second time Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere, Counting the dewy pebbles, fixed in thought; But when he saw the wonder of the hilt, How curiously and strangely chased, he smote His palms together, and he cried aloud :— "And if indeed I cast the brand away, Surely a precious thing, one worthy note, Should thus be lost forever from the earth, Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. What good should follow this, if this were done? What harm, undone? deep harm to disobey, Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. Were it well to obey then, if a king demand An act unprofitable, against himself? The King is sick, and knows not what he does. What record, or what relic of my lord Should be to after-time, but empty breath And rumors of a doubt? but were this kept, Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, Some one might show it at a joust of arms, Saying, King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills.' So might some old man speak in the after-time To all the people, winning reverence. But now much honor and much fame were lost." So spake he, clouded with his own conceit, And hid Excalibur the second time, And so strode back slow to the wounded King. Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily: "What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard!" And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: "I heard the water lapping on the crag, And the long ripple washing in the reeds." To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath: Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me! Authority forgets a dying king, Laid widowed of the power in his eye I will arise and slay thee with my hands." Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged Among the bulrush-beds, and clutched the sword, And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon, And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch, Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: "Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems Should blind my purpose, for I never saw, Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, Not though I live three lives of mortal men, So great a miracle as yonder hilt. Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him; But when I looked again, behold an arm, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him Three times, and drew him under in the mere." So saying, from the pavement he half rose, Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm, And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded through his tears, And would have spoken, but he found not words; Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee, O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands, And rising bore him through the place of tombs. But, as he walked, King Arthur panted hard, Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. So sighed the King, Muttering and murmuring at his ear "Quick, quick! I fear it is too late, and I shall die." Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walked, Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, Beneath them; and descending they were ware That all the decks were dense with stately forms, Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream, - by these Three Queens with crowns of gold, — and from them rose - Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, So like a shattered column lay the King; From spur to plume a star of tournament, Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere: 66 But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge, | Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? |