Successful Recitations Part 8

We knew they could but conquer; O fearless hearts, we knew The name and fame of England Could but be safe with you.

We knew no ranks more dauntless The rush of bayonets bore, Through all Spain's fields of carnage, Or thine, Ferozepore.

O red day of the Alma!

O when thy tale was heard, How was the heart of England With pride and gladness stirred!

How did our peopled cities All else forget, to tell Ye living, how ye conquered, And how, O dead, ye fell.

Glory to those who led you!

Glory to those they led!

Fame to the dauntless living!

Fame to the peaceful dead!

Honour, for ever, honour To those whose b.l.o.o.d.y swords Struck back the baffled despot, And smote to flight his hordes!

On, with your fierce burst onward!

On, sweep the foe before, Till the great sea-hold's volleys Roll through the ghastly roar!

Till your resistless onset The mighty fortress know, And storm-won fort and rampart Your conquering standards show.

Yes--clash, ye bells, in triumph!

Yes--roar, ye cannon, roar!

Not for the living only, But for those who come no more.

For the brave hearts coldly lying In their far-off gory graves, By the Alma's reddened waters, And the Euxine's das.h.i.+ng waves.

For thee, thou weeping mother, We grieve; our pity hears Thy wail, O wife; the fallen, For them we have no tears; No--but with pride we name them, For grief their memory wrongs; Our proudest thoughts shall claim them, And our exalting songs.

Heights of the rocky Alma, The flags that scaled you bore "Pla.s.sey," "Quebec," and "Blenheim,"

And many a triumph more; And they shall show your glory Till men shall silent be, Of Waterloo and Maida Moultan and Meanee.

I look; another glory Methinks they give to fame; By Badajoz and Bhurtpoor Streams out another name; From captured fleet and city, And fort, the thick clouds roll, And on the flags above them Is writ "Sebastopol."

THE MAMELUKE CHARGE.

BY SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE.

Let the Arab courser go Headlong on the silent foe; Their plumes may s.h.i.+ne like mountain snow, Like fire their iron tubes may glow, Their cannon death on death may throw, Their pomp, their pride, their strength, we know, But--let the Arab courser go.

The Arab horse is free and bold, His blood is n.o.ble from of old, Through dams, and sires, many a one, Up to the steed of Solomon.

He needs no spur to rouse his ire, His limbs of beauty never tire, Then, give the Arab horse the rein, And their dark squares will close in vain.

Though loud the death-shot peal, and louder, He will only neigh the prouder; Though nigh the death-flash glare, and nigher, He will face the storm of fire; He will leap the mound of slain, Only let him have the rein.

The Arab horse will not shrink back, Though death confront him in his track, The Arab horse will not shrink back, And shall his rider's arm be slack?

No!--By the G.o.d who gave us life, Our souls are ready for the strife.

We need no serried lines, to show A gallant bearing to the foe.

We need no trumpet to awake The thirst, which blood alone can slake.

What is it that can stop our course, Free riders of the Arab horse?

Go--brave the desert wind of fire; Go--beard the lightning's look of ire; Drive back the ravening flames, which leap In thunder from the mountain steep; But dream not, men of fifes and drums, To stop the Arab when he comes: Not tides of fire, not walls of rock, Could s.h.i.+eld you from that earthquake shock.

Come, brethren, come, too long we stay, The shades of night have rolled away, Too fast the golden moments fleet, Charge, ere another pulse has beat; Charge--like the tiger on the fawn-- Before another breath is drawn.

MY LADY'S LEAP.

BY CAMPBELL RAE-BROWN.

My lady's leap! that's it, sir,-- That's what we call it 'ere;-- It's a nasty jump for a man, sir, Let alone for a woman to clear.

D'ye see the fencing around it?

And the cross as folk can tell, That this is the very spot, sir, Where her sweet young ladys.h.i.+p fell?

I've lived in his lords.h.i.+p's family For goin' on forty year.

And the tears will come a wellin'

Whenever I think of her; For my mem'ry takes me backwards To the days when by my side She would sit in her tiny saddle As I taught her the way to ride.

But she didn't want much teachin';-- Lor' bless ye, afore she was eight There wasn't a fence in the county Nor ever a five-barred gate But what she'd leap, aye, and laugh at.

I think now I hear the ring Of her voice, shouting, "Now then, la.s.sie!"

As over a ditch she'd spring.

How proud I was of my mistress, When round the country-side I'd hear folks talking of her, sir, And how she used to ride!

Every one knew my young mistress, "My lady of Hislop Chase;"

And, what's more, every one loved her, And her sunny, angel face.

Lord Hislop lost his wife, sir, When Lady Vi' was born.

And never man aged so quickly: He grew haggard and white and worn In less than a week. Then after, At times, he'd grow queer and wild; And only one thing saved him-- His love for his only child.

He wors.h.i.+pped her like an idol; He loved her, folks said too well; And G.o.d sent the end as a judgment,-- But how that may be who can tell?

I don't know how it all happened-- I heard the story you see, In bits and sc.r.a.ps,--just here and there; But, sir, 'atween you and me, In putting them all together, I think I've a good idea As how the Master got swindled, And things at the "Chase" went queer.

He'd a notion to leave Miss Vi'let Rich, I fancy, you know; For now and ag'in I noticed He'd take in his head to go Away for a time--to London,-- And I, who knew him so well, Could see as he came home worried.

Aye, sir! I could read--could tell As things had gone wrong with Master.

I was right: 'twas that tale so old!

He'd lost in that great big gamble, In that cursed greed for gold.

And then the worst came to the worst, sir.

"The old Chase must go from us, Vi'!"

Her father told her one morning, "My child! oh, my child! I would die Ten thousand deaths rather than tell you What price our freedom would cost."

And then, in a voice hoa.r.s.e and broken, He told her how all had been lost.

They say, sir, the girl answered proudly, "I know, father, what you would say: The man who has swindled you, duped you, Will return you your own if you pay His price--my hand. Don't speak, father!

You know what I'm saying is true; And, father, I know Paul Delaunay, Yes, better, far better, than you.

Go, tell him I'll wed him to-morrow, On this one condition--list here,-- That he beats me across the country From Hislop to Motecombe Mere.

But say that should I chance to beat him He must give back everything--all Of what he has robbed you, father: That's the message I send Sir Paul."

Two men watched that ride across country At the break of an autumn day: Young Hilton, the son of the Squire, And I, sir. They started away And came through the first field together, Then leaped the first fence neck and neck; On, on again, riding like mad, sir, Jumping all without hinder or check.

In this, the last field 'fore the finish, You could save half a minute or more By leaping the stone wall and brooklet; But never, sir, never before, Had anyone ever attempted That leap; it was madness, but, sir, My young mistress knew that Delaunay Was too great a coward and cur To follow; and, what's more, she knew, sir, That she _must_ be first in the race-- For the sake of the Hislop honour, To win back the dear old Chase.

I looked at young Hilton beside me-- A finer lad never walked: I don't think he thought as I knew, sir, Their secret, for I'd never talked; But I'd known for a long time, you see, sir, As he and my lady Vi'