Then looked at locks, and fixed their stcel, But never made reply, Until he sobbed out once again, "Teach me the way to die!" Then, with a shout that flew to God, I saw their red plumes join and wave, The last who went-a wounded man- And said, "We men of the Forty-third Teach you the way to die!" I never saw so sad a look As the poor youngster cast, When the hot smoke of cannon In cloud and whirlwind passed. Earth shook, and Heaven answered: I watched his eagle eye, As he faintly moaned, "The Forty-third Teach me the way to die!" Then, with a musket for a crutch, He limped unto the fight; I, with a bullet in my hip, Had neither strength nor might. But, proudly beating on his drum, I heard him moan, "The Forty-third They found him on the morrow, Stretched on a heap of dead; His hand was in the grenadier's Who at his bidding bled. They hung a medal round his neck, On the stone they cut, "The Forty-third 'Tis forty years from then till now— And from my sleep I sometimes wake, Hearing a feeble cry, And a voice that says, "Now, Forty-third, Teach me the way to die!" George Meredith. WILL O' THE WISP. FOLLOW me, follow me, Over brake and under tree, Through the bosky tanglery, Brushwood and bramble! Laugh and leap and scramble ! Follow, follow, Hill and hollow, ⚫ Fosse and burrow, Fen and furrow, Down into the bulrush-beds, Midst the reeds and osier-heads, For a midnight ramble! Oh, what a mighty fog! What a merry night O ho! Follow, follow, nigher, nigher- Rotten log, Spotted frog, Beetle bright With crawling light, What a joy O ho! Deep into the purple bog What a joy O ho! Where like hosts of puckered witches Could still their teeth, or warm their bones, Or loose them from their chilly coils. What a clatter! How they chatter ! Shrink and huddle, All a muddle, What a joy O ho! Down we go, down we go, What a joy O ho! Soon shall I be down below, Plunging with a gray fat friar, What a joy O ho! Breathing mists and whisking lamps, While my cousin Lantern Jack, Where he lies, where he lies, Staring with his great round eyes! Sits upon him in the swamps, Breathing mists and whisking lamps ! Such a lad is Lantern Jack, When he rides the black nightmare Through the fens, and puts a glare Such a frolic lad, good lack! To turn a friar on his back, Trip him, clip him, whip him, nip him, Lay him sprawling, smack! Such a lad is Lantern Jack! Such a tricksy lad, good lack! What a joy O ho! Follow me, follow me, Where he sits, and you shall see! UN LOVE IN THE VALLEY. ́NDER yonder beech-tree standing on the green sward, Couched with her arms behind her little head, Her knees folded up, and her tresses on her bosom, Lies my young love sleeping in the shade. Had I the heart to slide one arm beneath her! Press her dreaming lips as her waist I folded slow, Waking on the instant she could not but embrace me-Ah! would she hold me, and never let me go? Shy as the squirrel, and wayward as the swallow; Shy as the squirrel whose nest is in the pine-tops; What can have taught her distrust of all I tell her? Can she truly doubt me when looking on my brows? Nature never teaches distrust of tender love-tales, What can have taught her distrust of all my vows? No, she does not doubt me! on a dewy eve-tide, Whispering together beneath the listening moon, When her mother tends her before the laughing mirror, Often she thinks, "Were this wild thing wedded, |