Ballads of Bravery 9

Ballads of Bravery 9

THE SONG OF THE CAMP.

 

“Give us a song!” the soldiers cried,

The outer trenches guarding,

When the heated guns of the camps allied

Grew weary of bombarding.

 

The dark Redan, in silent scoff,

Lay grim and threatening under;

And the tawny mound of the Malakoff

No longer belched its thunder.

 

There was a pause. A guardsman said,

“We storm the forts to-morrow;

Sing while we may, another day

Will bring enough of sorrow.”

 

They lay along the battery’s side,

Below the smoking cannon,

Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde,

And from the banks of Shannon.

 

They sang of love, and not of fame;

Forgot was Britain’s glory:Each heart recalled a different name,

But all sang “Annie Lawrie.”

 

[Illustration]

 

Voice after voice caught up the song,

Until its tender passion

Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,--

Their battle-eve confession.

 

Beyond the darkening ocean burned

The bloody sunset’s embers,

While the Crimean valleys learned

How English love remembers.

 

And once again a fire of hell

Rained on the Russian quarters,

With scream of shot and burst of shell

And bellowing of the mortars!

 

And Irish Nora’s eyes are dim

For a singer dumb and gory;

And English Mary mourns for him

Who sang of “Annie Lawrie.”

 

Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest

Your truth and valor wearing.

The bravest are the tenderest,

The loving are the daring.

 

[Illustration]

 

 

THE RECANTATION OF GALILEO.

 

Far ’neath the glorious light of the noontide,

In a damp dungeon a prisoner lay,

Aged and feeble, his failing years numbered,

Waiting the fate to be brought him that day.

 

Silence, oppressive with darkness, held durance;

Death in the living, or living in death;

Crouched on the granite, and burdened with fetters,

Inhaling slow poison with each labored breath.

 

O’er the damp floor of his dungeon there glistened

Faintly the rays of a swift-nearing light;

Then the sweet jingle of keys, that soon opened

The door, and revealed a strange scene to his sight.

 

In the red glare of the flickering torches,

Held by the gray-gowned soldiers of God,

Gathered a group that the world will remember

Long ages after we sleep ’neath the sod.

 

Draped in their robes of bright scarlet and purple,

Bearing aloft the gold emblems of Rome,

Stood the chief priests of the papal dominion,

Under the shadow of Peter’s proud dome,

 

[Illustration]

 

By the infallible pontiff commanded,

From his own lips their directions received;

Sent to demand of the wise Galileo

Denial of all the great truths he believed,--

 

Before the whole world to give up his convictions,

Because the great church said the world had not moved;

Then to swear, before God, that his science was idle,

And truth was unknown to the facts he had proved.

 

So, loosing his shackles, they bade the sage listen

To words from the mouth of the vicar of God:

“Recant thy vile doctrines, and life we will give thee:

Adhere, and thy road to the grave is soon trod!”

 

His doctrines--the truth, as proud Rome has acknowledged--

On low, bended knee, in that vault he renounced;

Yet with joy in their eyes, the high-priests retiring,

“Confinement for life,” as his sentence pronounced.

 

But as they left him, their malice rekindled

Fires that their threats had subdued in his breast:

Clanking his chains, with fierce ardor he muttered,

“But it _does_ move, and tyrants can ne’er make it rest.”

 

[Illustration]

 

 

BELSHAZZAR.

 

The midnight hour was drawing on;

Flushed in repose lay Babylon;

But in the palace of the king

The herd of courtiers shout and sing.

There, in his royal banquet hall,

Belshazzar holds high festival.

 

The servants sit in glittering rows,

The beakers are drained, the red wine flows;

The beakers clash and the servants sing,--

A pleasing sound to the moody king.

The king’s cheeks flush and his wild eyes shine,

His spirit waxes bold with wine,

Until, by maddening passion stung,

He scoffs at God with impious tongue;

And his proud heart swells as he wildly raves,

’Mid shouts of applause from his fawning slaves.

He spoke the word, and his eyes flashed flame!

The ready servants went and came;

Vessels of massive gold they bore,

Of Jehovah’s temple the plundered store.

 

Then seizing a consecrated cup,

The king in his fury fills it up;

He fills, and hastily drains it dry;

From his foaming lips leaps forth the cry,

“Jehovah, at Thee my scorn I fling!

I am Belshazzar, Babylon’s king.”

Yet scarce had the impious words been said,

When the king’s heart shrank with secret dread;

Suddenly died the shout and yell,

A deathlike hush on the tumult fell.

 

[Illustration]

 

And see! and see! on the white wall high

The form of a hand went slowly by,

And wrote--and wrote in sight of all

Letters of fire upon the wall!

The king sat still, with a stony look,

His trembling knees with terror shook;

The menial throng nor spoke nor stirred;

Fear froze the blood,--no sound was heard.

 

The magicians came, but none of all

Could read the writing on the wall.

At length to solve those words of flame,

Fearless, but meek, the prophet came.

One glance he gave, and all was clear.

“King! there is reason in thy fear.

Those words proclaim, thy empire ends,

The day of woe and wrath impends.

Weighed in the balance, wanting found,

Thou and thy empire strike the ground!”

 

That night, by the servants of his train,

Belshazzar, the mighty king, was slain!

 

 

LIBERTY.

 

With what pride I used

To walk these hills, and look up to my God,

And bless him that it was so! I loved

Its very storms. I have sat

In my boat at night when, midway o’er the lake,

The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge

The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed

The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled

To see him shake his lightnings o’er my head,

And think I had no master save his own.

You know the jutting cliff round which a track

Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow

To such another one, with scanty room

For two abreast to pass? O’ertaken there

By the mountain blast, I’ve laid me flat along,

And while gust followed gust more furiously,

As if to sweep me o’er the horrid brink,

And I have thought of other lands, whose storms

Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just

Have wished me there--the thought that mine was free

Has checked that wish; and I have raised my head,