Then a long week of glory and agony came
Of mute supplication and yearning and dread;
When day unto day gave the record of fame,

And night unto night gave the list of its dead.

We had triumphed — the foe had fled back to his ships,
His standard in rags and his legions a wreck
But alas! the stark faces and colourless lips

-

30

Of our loved ones gave triumph's rejoicing a check.

Not yet, oh not yet, as a sign of release,

Had the Lord set in mercy his bow in the cloud; Nor yet had the Comforter whispered of peace

To the hearts that around us lay bleeding and bowed.

With its brilliant confusion of colours that spanned The sky on that exquisite eve, was the mark Of the Infinite Love overarching the land:

4.0

And that Love, shining richly and full as the day, Thro' the tear-drops that moisten each martyr's proud pall,

On the gloom of the past the bright bow shall display Of Freedom, Peace, Victory, bent over all.

FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR

VIRGINIANS OF THE VALLEY

The Knightliest of the Knightly race,
That since the days of old,
Have kept the lamp of chivalry
Alight in hearts of gold.
The kindliest of the kindly band

That rarely hating ease!

Yet rode with Raleigh round the land,
With Smith around the seas.

Who climbed the blue embattled hills

Against uncounted foes,

And planted there, in valleys fair,

The Lily and the Rose!

Whose fragrance lives in many lands
Whose beauty stars the earth;

And lights the hearths of happy homes
With loveliness and worth!

We thought they slept! the men who kept The names of noble sires,

10

And slumbered while the darkness crept
Around their vigil fires!

But aye! the golden horseshoe Knights
Their Old Dominion keep,

Whose foes have found enchanted ground
But not a knight asleep.

LITTLE GIFFEN

Out of the focal and foremost fire-
Out of the hospital walls as dire-
Smitten of grapeshot and gangrene-
Eighteenth battle and he, sixteen-
Specter, such as you seldom see,
Little Giffen of Tennessee.

"Take him and welcome," the surgeon said,
"Not the doctor can help the dead!”

So we took him and brought him where
The balm was sweet in our Summer air;

And we laid him down on a wholesome bed;
Utter Lazarus, heel to head!

And we watched the war with abated breath,
Skeleton boy against skeleton death!
Months of torture, how many such!

20

10

Weary weeks of the stick and crutch,-
And still a glint in the steel-blue eye
Told of a spirit that wouldn't die,

And didn't! Nay! more! in death's despite
The crippled skeleton learned to write
"Dear Mother!" at first, of course, and then
"Dear captain!" enquiring about the men.
-Captain's answer: "Of eighty and five
Giffen and I are left alive."

"Johnston pressed at the front," they say; -
Little Giffen was up and away!

A tear, his first, as he bade good-bye
Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye;

20

"I'll write, if spared!" There was news of fight, But none of Giffen! he did not write!

I sometimes fancy that were I King

Of the courtly Knights of Arthur's ring,
With the voice of the minstrel in mine ear
And the tender legend that trembles here —
I'd give the best on his bended knee-
The whitest soul of my chivalry –

For Little Giffen of Tennessee.

30

LOYAL

The Douglas-in the days of old
The gentle minstrels sing,

Wore at his heart, encased in gold,
The heart of Bruce, his King.

Through Paynim lands to Palestine,
Befall what peril might,

To lay that heart on Christ his shrine
His Knightly word he plight.

A weary way, by night and day,
Of vigil and of fight,

Where never rescue came by day
Nor ever rest by night.

And one by one the valiant spears,
They faltered from his side;
And one by one his heavy tears
Fell for the Brave who died.

Till fierce and black, around his track,
He saw the combat close,

And counted but a single sword
Against uncounted foes.

M

10

20