STUART LIVINGSTON

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THE VOLUNTEERS OF '85

WIDE are the plains to the north and the westward;

Drear are the skies to the west and the north—

Little they cared, as they snatched up their rifles,

And shoulder to shoulder marched gallantly forth.

Cold are the plains to the north and the westward,

Stretching out far to the gray of the sky—

Little they cared as they marched from the barrack-room,

Willing and ready, if need be, to die.

Bright was the gleam of the sun on their bayonets;

Firm and erect was each man in his place;

Steadily, evenly, marched they like veterans;

Smiling and fearless was every face;

Never a dread of the foe that was waiting them;

Never a fear of war's terrible scenes;

"Brave as the bravest" was stamped on each face of them;

Half of them boys not yet out of their teens.

Many a woman gazed down at them longingly,

Scanning each rank for her boy as it passed;

Striving through tears just to catch a last glimpse of him,

Knowing that glimpse might, for aye, be the last.

Many a maiden's cheek paled as she looked at them,

Seeing the lover from whom she must part;

Trying to smile and be brave for the sake of him,

Stifling the dread that was breaking her heart.

Every heart of us, wild at the sight of them,

Beat as it never had beaten before;

Every voice of us, choked though it may have been,

Broke from huzza to a deafening roar.

Proud! were we proud of them? God! they were part of us,

Sons of us, brothers, all marching to fight;

Swift at their country's call, ready each man and all,

Eager to battle for her and the right.

Wide are the plains to the north and the westward,

Stretching out far to the gray of the sky—

Little they cared as they filed from the barrack-room,

Shoulder to shoulder, if need be, to die.

Was there one flinched? Not a boy, not a boy of them;

Straight on they marched to the dread battle's brunt—

Fill up your glasses and drink to them, all of them,

Canada's call found them all at the front.


THOU sweet-souled comrade of a time gone by

Who in the infinite dost walk to-day,

And lift thy spirit lips in song, while I

Lift up but lips of clay—

Oft do I think on thee, thou steadfast heart,

Who, when the summons dread was in thine ear,

Didst raise thy calm brow up and challenge death,

As one that knows no fear.

And I have wondered if thy passionate lips

Now voice the songs that surged within thy heart;

By the great alchemy of mighty death

Freed to diviner art.

And didst thou find a welcome on the shore

That rims the vastness of that shadow land?

Did those sweet singing prophet bards of yore

Stretch thee a greeting hand?

And did they gather round about thee there,

With faces gray against the coming day;

And, with wan fingers on thy trembling lips,

Teach thee their mighty lay?—

Till thy enraptured soul, by thine own lips,

Was filled with such great harmony of song

As gave thee place among their matchless selves,

A brother of the throng.


IN sooth he was a mighty King,

And ruled in splendid state,

Surrounded by a haughty band

Of nobles small and great;

And he was good to one and all,

Yet they were plotting for his fall.

For though a king be good and great

And generous, I trow

His nobles yet will envy him,

And seek his overthrow;

For so hath been the ancient strife

Since man first took his sovereign's life.

And thus, to gain their foul design,

They planned to lie in wait,

And drop a deadly poison in

The golden flagon great,

That never more the King should rule;

And no one heard them but the fool.

So when the King came down that night

Into his hall to dine,

He found his flagon in its place,

And at its side the wine—

The blood-red wine—at which he said,

"Such wine should put life in the dead!"

Then poured he full the poisoned cup,

And, raising it on high,

O'er all his courtiers in the hall

He ran his noble eye:

"Oh, I would drink," he said, with zest,

"Unto the man that loves me best!"

Then mute they sat around the board,

And each looked to the other,

Till rose, with mocking reverence,

The fool, and said, "Good brother,

All round this board, of every guest,

I am the man that loves thee best."

Then wrothful was the King, and said,

"Thou art no man, I wis,

That makest such a silly jest

At such a time as this.

Give us a better jest," he said,

"Or pay the forfeit with thy head."

Then quoth the fool, "My good liege lord,

I'll give another jest,

But after it, I tell thee now,

That I will take my rest,

No more to be thy jester," and

He snatched the flagon from his hand.

Then dark became the King's great brow,

Amazed was every guest,

While with the flagon at his lips

The fool quoth, "This sweet jest

That man, I trow, will best divine

Who poured such strength into this wine"—

Then drained the goblet at a draught,

And set it down anon,

While round the board each face grew pale,

And strange to look upon;

Then sank the fool into his place,

And on the table laid his face.

Amid the silence stood the King,

As if perplexed with doubt;

He looked upon his poor dead fool,

And then looked round about;

And then in thunder called the guard

That near him kept their watch and ward.

He bid them take the traitors forth

And put them all to death.

"Would God," he cried, "their lives could give

My poor fool back his breath—

My poor dead fool, whose silent breast

Doth show, too late, he loved me best!"

This is the legend of a fool

Who died his king to save,

And to its truth a monument

Was built above his grave;

And on it in gold this wording ran,

"He lived a fool, but died a man."


A YOUNG-EYED seer, amid the leafy ways

Of Latmos' groves, sacred to mighty Pan,

Afar from all the busy marts of man,

Content to seek the beautiful, he strays;

With mild eyes lifted in their starry gaze

Of ravishment divine, a priest, he stands

Before the altar builded by his hands,

And on his pipe, with pallid lip, he plays.

This night, O god-like singer, have I knelt

Before that altar listening to thy strain,

Till off my soul mortality did melt,

DissolvËd from all weariness of pain;

And at thy magic melody I felt

All life were mine, could I such rapture drain.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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