I said it many times, and then She did not move, but seemed to be We went to the far North once more, To seek the well-remembered home, Where my poor kinsman dwelt before, Whence now he was too old to roam; And there six happy years we past, A CROWN OF SORROW. SORROW, wet with early tears Yet bitter, had been long with me; I wearied of this weight of years, And would be free. I tore my Sorrow from my heart, Right joyful that we two could part— I sought, (to take my Sorrow's place,) I took once more with strange delight I wear it, set with stars of light, THE LESSON OF THE WAR. (1855.) HE feast is spread through England Greetings and laughter may be there, Over the stormy ocean, Over the dreary track, Where some are gone, whom England Will never welcome back. Breathless she waits, and listens For every eastern breeze That bears upon its bloody wings The rulers of the nation, The poor ones at their gate, With the same eager wonder The same great news await! The poor man's stay and comfort, The rich man's joy and pride, Upon the bleak Crimean shore Are fighting side by side. The bullet comes- and either The dread that stirs the peasant Thrills nobles' hearts with fear Yet above selfish sorrow Both hold their country dear. In his ancestral shade, The peasant at his ploughshare, The worker at his trade, Each one his all has perilled, Each has the same great stake; |