'Here and here did England help me: how can I help Eng

land?'-say,

Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and

pray,

While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.

R. Browning.

THE LOST LEADER

JUST for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a riband to stick in his coat-
Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,
Lost all the others she lets us devote;

They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,
So much was theirs who so little allowed:

How all our copper had gone for his service!

Rags were they purple, his heart had been proud!
We that had loved him so, followed him, honored him,
Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,

Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,
Made him our pattern to live and to die!

Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,

Burns, Shelley, were with us, they watch from their graves!

He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,

-He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!

We shall march prospering,-not through his presence;
Songs may inspirit us,—not from his lyre;
Deeds will be done,-while he boasts his quiescence,
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire:
Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,
One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,
One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels,
One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!

Life's night begins: let him never come back to us!
There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,
Forced praise on our part-the glimmer of twilight,
Never glad confident morning again!

Best fight on well, for we taught him-strike gallantly,
Menace our heart ere we master his own;

Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,
Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!

KENTISH Sir Byng stood for his King,
Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing:
And, pressing a troop unable to stoop,
And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop,
Marched them along, fifty-score strong,
Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

God for King Charles! Pym and such carles
To the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles!
Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup,

Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup

Till you're-

CHORUS.-Marching along, fifty-score strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

Hampton to hell, and his obsequies' knell.

Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well!
England, good cheer! Rupert is near!

Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here,

CHORUS.-Marching along, fifty-score strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song?

Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarles
To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles!
Hold by the right, you double your might;
So, onward to Nottingham, fresh from the fight,
CHORUS.-March we along, fifty-score strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song!

II. GIVE A ROUSE

KING CHARLES, and who'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
King Charles!

Who gave me the goods that went since?
Who raised me the house that sank once?
Who helped me to gold I spent since?
Who found me in wine you drank once?

CHO.-King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
King Charles!

To whom used my boy George quaff else,
By the old fool's side that begot him?
For whom did he cheer and laugh else,

While Noll's damned troopers shot him?

CHO.--King Charles, and who'll do him right now?

King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
King Charles!

III. BOOT AND SADDLE

BOOT, saddle, to horse, and away!

Rescue my castle before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray.

CHO.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
Many's the friend there, will listen and pray
'God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay—
CHO.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!'

Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,

·

Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array: Who laughs, Good fellows ere this, by my fay, CHO.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!'

Who? My wife Gertrude, that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, 'Nay!
I've better counsellors; what counsel they?
CHO.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!'

R. Browning.

POEMS ON THE PROBLEM OF LIFE

CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE

How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought
And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied unto the world by care

Of public fame, or private breath;

Who envies none that chance doth raise
Nor vice; Who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good:

Who hath his life from rumours freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who God doth late and early pray
More of His grace than gifts to lend;

And entertains the harmless day

With a religious book or friend;