THE COMING OF SPRING

And the next thing, in the woods,
The catkins in their hoods
Of fur and silk will stand,
A sturdy little band.

And the tassels soft and fine
Of the hazel will entwine,
And the elder branches show
Their buds against the snow.

So, silently but swift,
Above the wintry drift,
The long days gain and gain,
Until on hill and plain,-

Once more, and yet once more,
Returning as before,

We see the bloom of birth
Make young again the earth.

NORA PERRY.

75

BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE

OT a drum was heard, not a funeral note,

NOT

As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkly, at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Nor in sheet or in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow!

BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him!

But half of our heavy task was done

When the clock tolled the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory! We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.

CHARLES Wolfe.

77

I

CHRISTMAS BELLS

[Written December 25, 1864.]

HEARD the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet

The words repeat

Of peace on earth, good will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along

The unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,

A chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South, And with the sound

The carols drowned

Of peace on earth, good will to men!

CHRISTMAS BELLS

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn

The households born

Of peace on earth, good will to men!

For hate is strong,

And mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men!

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: "God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!

The Wrong shall fail,

And Right prevail,

With peace on earth, good will to men!"

LONGFELLOW.

79