Who is losing? who is winning?-"Over hill and over plain, I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the mountain rain."

III.

Holy Mother! keep our brothers! Look, Ximena, look once

more:

'Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse,

Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course."

IV.

Look forth once more, Ximena! "Ah! the smoke has rolled

away;

And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of

gray.

Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Minon

wheels;

There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels.

V.

"Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreat and now advance! Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's charging lance !

Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together

fall;

Like a ploughshare in the fallow, through them ploughs the Northern ball."

VI.

Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on: Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost and who has won?

"Alas! alas! I know not; friend and foe together fall;

O'er the dying rush the living: pray, my sisters, for them all!"

VII.

"Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting: Blessed Mother, save my brain!

I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain: Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, and strive to rise;

Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes!

VIII.

"Oh, my heart's love! oh, my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee;

Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me? canst thou see me?

Oh, my husband, brave and gentle ! Oh, my Bernal, look once

more

On the blessed cross before thee! Mercy! mercy! all is o'er !"

IX.

Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to rest; Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his breast; Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral Masses said; To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid.

X.

Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay, Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life

away;

But, as tenderly before him, the lorn Ximena knelt,

She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol-belt.

ΧΙ.

With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her dead; But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain,

And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again.

XII.

Whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand and faintly smiled:

Was that pitying face his mother's? did she watch beside her child?

All his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart supplied;

With her kiss upon his forehead, "Mother !" murmured he, and died!

XIII.

"A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth, From some gentle sad-eyed mother, weeping lonely in the North!"

Spake the mournful Mexic woman as she laid him with her dead,

And turned to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled.

XIV.

Look forth once more, Ximena! "Like a cloud before the wind

Rolls the battle down the mountain, leaving blood and death

behind;

Ah! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded strive;

Hide your faces, holy angels! Oh, thou Christ of God, forgive !"

XV.

Sink, oh night, among thy mountains! let the cool, gray shadows fall;

Dying brothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain over all! Through the thickening winter twilight wide apart the battle

rolled;

In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's lips grew cold

XVI.

But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued, Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn faint and lacking food:

Over weak and suffering brothers with a tender care they hung,

And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and Northern tongue.

XVII.

Not wholly lost, oh Father! is this evil world of ours; Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the Eden flowers;

From its smoking hell of battle, Love and Pity send their

prayer,

And still thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our air!

WHITTIER

34. THE POSSESSION OF JUBA.

[This chapter from Callista has been considered by able critics not to be surpassed in its way by any thing in the English language. Among the writers of pure kingly English, Dr. Newman stands unrivalled. We prefer giving the entire description in three lessons, rather than to take extracts, which would destroy the effect of the piece.]

"W

VELL, my precious boy," said the old woman, "the choicest gifts of great Cham be your portion! You had excellent sport yesterday, I'll warrant. The rats squeaked, eh? and you beat the life out of them. That scoundrel sacristan, I suppose, has taken up his quarters below." "You may say it," answered Juba. "The reptile he turned righ about, and would have made himself an honest fellow, when it couldn't be helped." "Good, good!" returned Gurta, as if she had got something very pleasant in her mouth: "Ah! that` is good! but he did not escape on that score, I do trust."

2. "They pulled him to pieces all the more cheerfully," said Juba. "Pulled him to pieces, limb by limb, joint by joint, eh?"

answered Gurta. "Did they skin him?-did they do any thing to his eyes, or his tongue? Any how, it was too quickly, Juba. Slowly, leisurely, gradually. Yes, it's like a glutton to be quick about it. Taste him, handle him, play with him,— that's luxury but to bolt him,-faugh !”

3. "Cæso's slave made a good end," said Juba: "he stood up for his views, and died like a man." "The gods smite him! but he has gone up,-up :" and she laughed. "Up to what they call bliss and glory ;—such glory! but he's out of their domain, you know. But he did not die easy ?" "The boys worried him a good deal," answered Juba: "but it's not quite in my line, mother, all this. I think you drink a pint of blood morning and evening, and thrive on it, old woman. It makes you merry; but it's too much for my stomach."

4. "Ha, ha, my boy !" cried Gurta; "you'll improve in time, though you make wry faces, now that you're young. Well, and have you brought me any news from the capitol? Is any one getting a rise in the world, or a downfall? How blows the wind? Are there changes in the camp? This Decius, I suspect, will not last long." "They all seem desperately frightened," said Juba, "lest they should not smite your friends hard enough, Gurta. Root and branch is the word. They'll have to make a few Christians for the occasion, in order to kill them and I almost think they're about it," he added, thoughtfully. "They have to show that they are not surpassed by the rabble. "Tis a pity Christians are so few, isn't it, mother?"

5. "Yes, yes," she said; "but we must crush them, grind them, many or few; and we shall, we shall! Callista's to come." "I don't see they are worse than other people," said Juba; "not at all, except that they are commonly sneaks. If Callista turns, why should not I turn too, mother, to keep her company, and keep your hand in ?"

6. “No, no, my boy," returned the witch, "you must serve my master. You are having your fling just now, but you will buckle to in good time. You must one day take some work