THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST. Long besieged, in mud and rain, Some old frontier town of Flanders. Up and down the dreary camp, In great boots of Spanish leather, Striding with a measured tramp, These Hidalgos, dull and damp, Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather. Thus as to and fro they went, Over upland and through hollow, Giving their impatience vent, Yes, it was a swallow's nest, Built of clay and hair of horses, Mane or tail, or dragoon's crest, Found on hedgerows east and west, After skirmish of the forces. Then an old Hidalgo said, As he twirled his grey mustachio, Hearing his imperial name Coupled with those words of malice, "Macho" is Spanish for "mule." "Let no hand the bird molest," 'Tis the wife of some deserter!" Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft, Through the camp was spread the rumour, So unharmed and unafraid Sat the swallow still and brooded, Through the walls a breach had made, Then the army, elsewhere bent, So it stood there all alone, Loosely flapping, torn and tattered, Which the cannon-shot had shattered. IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE. IN the village churchyard she lies, Dust is in her beautiful eyes, No more she breathes, nor feels, nor stirs ; "Golondrina." A swallow is also a cant word for a deserter. At her feet and at her head Was she a lady of high degree, And foolish pomp of this world of ours; And lowliness and humility, The richest and rarest of all dowers? Who shall tell us? No one speaks; By those who are sleeping at her side. Hereafter? And do you think to look To find her failings, faults, and errors? THE TWO ANGELS. Two angels, one of Life and one of Death, The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke. Their attitude and aspect were the same, I saw them pause on their celestial way; Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed, "Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray The place where thy beloved are at rest!" And he who wore the crown of asphodels, Descending, at my door began to knock, And my soul sank within me, as in wells The waters sink before an earthquake's shock. I recognized the nameless agony, The terror and the tremor and the pain, That oft before had filled or haunted me, And now returned with threefold strength again. The door I opened to my heavenly guest, And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice; Then with a smile, that filled the house with light, 'Twas at thy door, O friend! and not at mine, Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud. Angels of Life and Death alike are his ; OLIVER BASSELIN. IN the Valley of the Vire These words alone: "Oliver Basselin lived here.' Far above it, on the steep, Stare at the skies, Stare at the valley green and deep. Whose sunny gleam Cheers the little Norman town. That ancient mill With a splendour of its own. |