Oh, 'tis a race sublime!

I, neck and neck with Time,

I, with my thews of iron and heart of fire, Run without pause for breath;

While all the earth beneath

Shakes with the shocks of my tremendous ire.

On-till the race be won ;
On-till the coming sun

Blinds moon and stars with his excessive light;

On-till the earth be green

And the first lark be seen Shaking away with songs the dews of night.

Sudden my speed I slack—
Sudden all force I lack-

Without a struggle yield I up my breath;
Numb'd are my thews of steel,

Wearily rolls each wheel,

My heart cools slowly to the sleep of death.

Why for so brief a length

Dower'd with such mighty strength? Man is my God-I seek not to divine : At his command I stir,

I, his stern messenger ;Does he his duty well as I do mine?

1859

JAMES KENNETH STEPHEN.

1892

ELEGY ON DE MARSAY

Come cats and kittens everywhere,
Whate'er of cat the world contains,
From tabby on the kitchen stair
To tiger burning in his lair,

Unite your melancholy strains.

Weep, likewise, kindred dogs, and weep
Domestic fowls, and pigs, and goats;
Weep horses, oxen, poultry, sheep,
Weep finny monsters of the deep,
Weep foxes, weasels, badgers, stoats.

Weep more than all, exalted man,
And hardly less exalted maid ;
Outweep creation if you can,
Which never yet, since time began,
Such creditable grief displayed.

It little profiteth that we

Go proudly up and down the land, And drive our ships across the sea, And babble of Eternity,

And hold the Universe in hand,

If, when our pride is at its height,
And glory sits upon our head,
A sudden mist can dim the light,
A voice be heard in pride's despite,

A voice which cries, “ De Marsay's dead."

De Marsay dead! and never more
Shall I behold that silky form
Lie curled upon the conscious floor
With sinuous limbs and placid snore,

As one who sleeps through calm and
storm ?

De Marsay dead! De Marsay dead!
And are you dead, De Marsay, you?
The sun is shining overhead

With glory undiminishèd,

And you are dead; let me die too!

Then birds and beasts and fishes come,
And people come, of all degrees;
Beat, sadly beat the funeral drum,
And let the gloomy organ hum
With dark mysterious melodies.

And (when we have adequately moaned)
For all the world to wonder at,
Let this great sentence be intoned:
No cat so sweet a mistress owned;

No mistress owned so sweet a cat.

PART III

SIR FRANKLIN LUSHINGTON.

THE FLEET UNDER SAIL

1854

They are gone from their own green shore !

Our armies sally forth to the East and to the North,

By the Lion of Gibraltar and the steep of Elsinore ;

And the long line of sail on the verge is low and pale,

And the dun smoke-track fades amid the cloudy wrack;

And we fade, as they look toward the shore.

Many will come back no more;

Whether they shall sleep twenty fathoms deep

'Neath the Black Sea's surge or the Baltic's icy floor,

297

Or whether they shall lie with their faces to the sky,

Till the mound upon the plain is heap'd above the slain ;

Many shall come back no more.

Did you scan those steady faces o'er ? Which of all the troop that cheered from prow and poop,

As the signal to weigh anchor flew aloft at the fore

When the sudden trumpet blares through

the squadrons and the squares,

Shall be stricken by the breath of the messenger of death?

Which are they that shall come home no more ?

Did you mark what a frank air they

wore,

The sea's hardy sons, that will stand beside their guns,

Spite of batteries afloat and of bristling forts ashore ?

Stript bare to the waist, with their strong loins braced,

As fearless and as frank they will tread the ruddy plank,

Where the boarder slips to rise no

more.