ATTILA ON THE BATTLE-FIELD OF CHALONS.
Lay dead and dying, like the scattered seed
Cast by the husbandman, with other thoughts
Of unstained harvest; chariots overthrown,
Shields cast behind, and wheels, and severed limbs,
Rider and steed, and all the merciless shower
Of arrows barbed, strong shafts, and feathered darts
Winged with dismay. As when of Alpine snows
The secret fount is opened, and dread sprites,
That dwell in those crystalline solitudes
Have loosed the avalanche whose deep-thundering moan,
Predicting ruin, on his couch death-doomed
The peasant hears; waters on waters rush
Uptearing all impediment, woods, rocks,
Ice rifted from the deep cærulean glens,
Herds striving with the stream, and bleating flocks,
The dwellers of the dale, with all of life
That made the cottage blithesome; but ere long
The floods o'erpass; the ravaged valley lies
Tranquil and mute in ruin. So confused
In awful stillness lay the battle's wreck.
Here heaps of slain, as by an eddy cast,
And hands, which, stiff, still clenched the ruddy steel,
Showed rallied strength, and life sold dearly. There
Equal and mingled havoc, where the tide
Doubtful had paused whether to ebb or flow.
Some prone were cast, some headlong, some supine;
Others yet strove with death. The sallow cheek
Of the slain Avar pressed the mangled limbs
Of yellow-haired Sicambrian, whose blue eyes
Still swum in agony; Gelonic steed
Lay panting on the cicatrized form
Of his grim lord, whose painted brow convulsed
Seemed a ferocious mockery. There, mixed
The Getic archer with the savage Hun,
And Dacian lancers lay, and sturdy Goths
Pierced by Sarmatian pike. There, once his pride
The Sueve's long-flowing hair with gore besprent,
And Alans stout, in Roman tunic clad.
Some of apparel stripped by coward bands
That vulture-like upon the skirts of war
Ever hang merciless; their naked forms
In death yet beauteous, though the eburnean limbs
Blood had defiled. There some, whom thirst all night
Had parched, too feeble from that fellowship
To drag their fevered heads, aroused at dawn
From fearful dreaming to new hope and life,
Die rifled by the hands whose help they crave.
Others lie maimed and torn, too strong to die,
Imploring death. Oh, for some friendly aid
To staunch their burning wounds and cool the lip
Refreshed with water from an unstained spring!
THERE was heard the sound of a coming foe,
There was sent through Britain a bended bow;
And a voice was poured on the free winds far,
As the land rose up at the sign of war.
"Heard you not the battle horn?-
Reaper! leave thy golden corn!
Leave it for the birds of heaven,
Swords must flash, and spears be riven!
Leave it for the winds to shed-
Arm! ere Britain's turf grow red!"
And the reaper armed, like a freeman's son;
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.
"Hunter! leave the mountain chase!
Take the falchion from its place!
Let the wolf go free to-day,
Leave him for a nobler prey!
Let the deer ungalled sweep by,—
Arm thee! Britain's foes are nigh!"
And the hunter armed ere the chase was done;
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.
"Chieftain! quit the joyous feast!
Stay not till the song hath ceased:
Though the mead be foaming bright,
Though the fire give ruddy light,
Leave the hearth and leave the hall-
Arm thee! Britain's foes must fall."
And the chieftain armed, and the horn was blown;
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.
"Prince! thy father's deeds are told,
In the bower and in the hold!
Where the goatherd's lay is sung,
Where the minstrel's harp is strung!
Foes are on thy native sea-
Give our bards a tale of thee!"
And the prince came armed, like a leader's son;
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.
"Mother! stay thou not thy boy!
He must learn the battle's joy.
Sister! bring the sword and spear,
Give thy brother words of cheer!
Maiden! bid thy lover part,
Britain calls the strong in heart!"
And the bended bow and the voice passed on;
And the bards made song for a battle won.
THE freeman's glittering sword be blest,
For ever blest the freeman's lyre,
That rings upon the tyrant's crest;
This stirs the heart like living fire:
Well can he wield the shining brand,
Who battles for his native land;
But when his fingers sweep the chords,
That summon heroes to the fray,
They gather at the feat of swords,
Like mountain-eagles to their prey!
And mid the vales and swelling hills,
That sweetly bloom in Freedom's land,
A living spirit breathes and fills
The freeman's heart and nerves his hand;
For the bright soil that gave him birth,
The home of all he loves on earth,-
For this when Freedom's trumpet calls,
He waves on high his sword of fire,—
For this, amidst his country's halls
For ever strikes the freeman's lyre!
His burning heart he may not lend
To serve a doting despot's sway,—
A suppliant knee he will not bend,
Before these things of "brass and clay:"
When wrong and ruin call to war,
He knows the summons from afar;
On high his glittering sword he waves,
And myriads feel the freeman's fire,
While he, around their father's graves,
Strikes to old strains the freeman's lyre!
A STEED, a steed of matchlesse speed!
A sword of metal keene!
All else to noble heartes is drosse,
All else on earth is meane.
The neighynge of the war-horse prowde,
The rowlings of the drum,
The clangor of the trumpet lowde,
Be soundes from heaven that come;
And O! the thundering presse of knightes
Whenas their war-cryes swell,
May tole from heaven an angel bright,
And rouse a fiend from hell.
Then mounte! then mounte! brave gallants all,
And don your helmes amaine:
Deathe's couriers, fame and honor, call
Us to the field againe.
No shrewish teares shall fill our eye
When the sword-hilt's in our hand,—
Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sighe
For the fayrest of the land;
Let piping swaine, and craven wight
Thus weepe and puling crye,
Our business is like men to fight,
And hero-like to die!
RIO BRAVO-A MEXICAN LAMENT.
RIO BRAVO! Rio Bravo!-saw men ever such a sight
Since the field of Roncesvalles sealed the fate of many a knight!
Dark is Palo Alto's story-sad Resaca Palma's rout—
Ah me! upon those fields so gory how many a gallant life went out.
There our best and bravest lances shivered 'gainst the Northern steel,
Left the valiant hearts that couched them 'neath the Northern charger's
heel.
Rio Bravo! Rio Bravo! brave hearts ne'er mourned such a sight,
Since the noblest lost their life-blood in the Roncesvalles fight.
There Arista, best and bravest-there Raguena, tried and true,
On the fatal field thou lavest, nobly did all men could do;
Vainly there those heroes rally, Castile on Montezuma's shore,
Vainly there shone Aztec valor brightly as it shone of yore.
Rio Bravo! Rio Bravo! saw men ever such a sight,
Since the dews of Roncesvalles wept for paladin and knight.
Heard ye not the wounded coursers shrieking on yon trampled banks, As the Northern winged artillery thundered on our shattered ranks? On they came-those Northern horsemen-on like eagles toward the
Followed then the Northern bayonet, and the field was lost and won.
Rio Bravo! Rio Bravo! minstrel ne'er sung such a fight,
Since the lay of Roncesvalles sang the fame of martyred knight.
Rio Bravo! fatal river! saw ye not, while red with gore,
One cavalier all headless quiver, a nameless trunk upon thy shore?
Other champions not less noted sleep beneath thy sullen wave:
Sullen water, thou hast floated armies to an ocean grave.
Rio Bravo! Rio Bravo! lady ne'er wept such a sight,
Since the moon of Roncesvalles kissed in death her own loved knight.
Weepest thou, lorn Lady Inez, for thy lover mid the slain?
Brave La Vega's trenchant sabre cleft his slayer to the brain-
Brave La Vega, who, all lonely, by a host of foes beset,
Yielded up his falchion only when his equal there he met.
Oh, for Roland's horn to rally his paladins by that sad shore!
Rio Bravo, Roncesvalles, ye are names linked evermore.
Sullen river! sullen river! vultures drink thy gory wave,
But they blur not those loved features, which not Love himself could
|