I HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he: I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace- "T was moonset at starting; but while we drew near And from Mechlen church-steeple we heard the half-chime- At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back By Hasselt Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! We'll remember at Aix" for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh; 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop!" gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight! "How they'll greet us!"—and all in a moment his roan Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; And all I remember is friends flocking round, As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. L APOSTROPHE TO WATER. OOK at that! Behold it! See its purity! See how it glitters like a crown of liquid gems! It is a beverage that was brewed by the hand of the Almighty himself. Not in the simmering still or smoking fires, choked with poisonous gases, and surrounded by the stench of sickening odors and rank corruptions, doth our Father in heaven prepare the precious essence of life, the pure cold water; but in the green glade and glassy dell, where the wild deer wanders and the child loves to play-there God brews it; and down, down in the deepest valleys, where the fountains murmur and the rills sing; and high up on the mountain-tops, where the naked granite glitters like gold in the sunlight, where the storm-clouds brood and the thunder-storms crash there He brews it; and away, far out on the wide, wide sea, where the hurricanes howl music, and the mighty waves roar the chorus, sweeping the march of God - there He brews it that beverage of life - health-giving water! And everywhere it is a thing of beauty; whether gleaming in the dewdrop, pattering in the summer rain, shining in the icegem till the trees all seem turned into living jewels, spreading a golden veil over the setting sun, or a bright halo around the midnight moon, roaring in the cataract, sleeping in the glaciers, dancing in the hail-storm, folding its pearly white mantle gently. about the wintry world, or weaving the many-colored iris, that seraph's zone of the sky, whose woof is the sunbeam of heaven, all checkered over with celestial flowers by the mystic hand of radiation - still always it is beautiful, that blessed life-water! There are no poison-bubbles on its brink! Its foam brings no sadness or sorrow! There are no blood-stains in its limpid glass! Broken-hearted wives, pale widows, and starving orphans shed no tears in its depths! No drunkard's shrieking ghost from the grave curses it in words of eternal despair! But it is beautiful, pure, blest, and glorious. Give me forever the sparkling, pure, heavenly water! DRIFTING. Y soul to-day M'Is far away, Sailing the Vesuvian Bay; My winged boat, A bird afloat, Swims round the purple peaks remote: Round purple peaks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, Through deeps below, A duplicated golden glow. Far, vague, and dim, The mountains swim; While on Vesuvius' misty brim, With outstretched hands, The gray smoke stands O'erlooking the volcanic lands. Here Ischia smiles O'er liquid miles; And yonder, bluest of the isles, Calm Capri waits, Her sapphire gates Beguiling to her bright estates. I heed not, if My rippling skiff Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff; My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise. Under the walls Where swells and falls The Bay's deep breast at intervals Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky. The day, so mild, Is heaven's own child, With earth and ocean reconciled The airs I feel Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail; The cooling sense Glides down my drowsy indolence. With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Where summer sings and never dies — She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines. Her children, hid The cliffs amid, Are gambolling with the gambolling kid; Or down the walls, With tipsy calls, Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. The fisher's child, With tresses wild, Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, With glowing lips Sings as she skips, Or gazes at the far-off ships. Yon deep bark goes Where Traffic blows, From lands of sun to lands of snows; Its course is run From lands of snow to lands of sun. O happy ship, To rise and dip, With the blue crystal at your lip! O happy crew, My heart with you Sails, and sails, and sings anew! |