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Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun.
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God!
THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE.
(CAROLINE NORTON.) Word was brought to the Danish king
That the love of his heart lay suffering,
And pined for the comfort his voice would bring;
(01 ride as though you were flying !)
Better he loves each golden curl
On the brow of that Scandinavian girl
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl;
And his Rose of the Isles is dying!
Thirty nobles saddled with speed;
Each one mounting a gallant steed
Which he kept for battle and days of need;
(01 ride as though you were flying!)
Spurs were struck in the foaming flank;
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank;
Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst;
But ride as they would, the king rode first,
For his Rose of the Isles lay dying!
His nobles are beaten, one by one;
(Hurry!) They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; His little fair page now follows alone,
For strength and for courage trying.
The king looked back at that faithful child;
Wan was the face that answering smiled;
They passed the drawbridge with clattering din,
Then he dropped; and only the king rode in
Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying!
The king blew a blast on his bugle horn;
No answer came; but faint and forlorn
An echo returned on the cold gray morn,
Like the breath of a spirit sigbing.
The castle portal stood grimly wide;
None welcomed the king from that weary ride;
For dead, in the light of the dawning day,
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay,
Who had yearned for his voice while dying!
The panting steed, with a drooping crest,
The king returned from her chamber of rest,
The thick sobs choking in his breast;
And, that dumb companion eyeing,
The tears gushed forth which he strove to check ;
He bowed his head on his charger's neck:
“O, steed—that every nerve didst strain,
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain
To the halls where my love lay dying !"
THE RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX.
(BROWNING.) I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he: I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; “Good speed !” cried the watch, as the gate-bolts un
drew; “Speed !" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.
Not a word to each other; we kept the great paceNeck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our
place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.
'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;
At Duffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be ;
Aud from Mechlen church-steeple we heard the half-
So Joris broke silence with “Yet there is time!"
At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past;
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.
And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent
back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence,-ever that glance O'er its wbite edge at me, his own master, askanie; And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on.
By Hasselt Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, “Stay
spur! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her ; We'll remember at Aix”—for one heard the quick
wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering
knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.
So we were left galloping Joris and I,
Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh ;
chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And “Gallop!” gasped Joris, “ for Aix is in sight!
“ How they'll greet us !”—and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eyesockets' rim.
Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my Jack-boots, let go belt and all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,
Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without
peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad
or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.
And all I remember is friends flocking round,
As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
Was no more than his due who brought good news
SCENE FROM CATILINE.
[In the Senate.] Cicero. Our long dispute must close. Take one
proof more Of this rebellion.-Lucius Catiline Has been commanded to attend the senate. He dares not come. I now demand your votes! Is he condemned to exile? [CATILINE comes in hastily, and flings himself on the
bench; all the senators go over to the other side. Cicero. [turning to CATILINE.] Here I repeat the
charge, to gods and men.
Of treasons manifold ;—that, but this day,
He has received dispatches from the rebels;
That he has leagued with deputies from Gaul
To seize the province; nay, has levied troops,
And raised his rebel standard :--that but now
A meeting of conspirators was held
Under his roof, with mystic rites, and oaths,
Pledged round the body of a murdered slave.
To these he has no answer.
Catiline. [rising calmly.] Conscript fathers!
I do not rise to waste the night in words;
Let that plebeian talk; 'tis not my trade;
But here I stand for right let him show proofs-
For Roman right; though none, it seems, dare stand
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there,
Cling to your masters ; judges, Romans--slaves !
His charge is false; I dare him to his proofs.
You have my answer. Let my actions speak!
Cic. [interrupting him.] Deeds shall convince you!
Has the traitor done ?
Cat. But this I will avow, that I have scorned,
And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong:
Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword,
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back,
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts
The gates of honor on me,-turning out
The Roman from his birthright; and for what?
To fling your offices to every slave;
Vipers that creep where man disdains to climb :
And having wound their loathsome track to the top
Of this huge mouldering monument of Rome,
Hang hissing at the nobler man below.
Cic. This is his answer! Must I bring more
Fathers, you know there lives not one of us,
But lives in peril of his midnight sword.
Lists of proscription have been handed round,
In which your general properties are made
Your murderer's hire.