And they stayed in the dancing main!

This is easy to sing, and often to mourn,
And the breaking of dawn is no newer to-day;
But those who die young, or are left forlorn,
Think grief is no older than they!




IN THE ARTILLERY.


We are moving on in silence,
Save for rattling iron and steel,
And a skirmish echoing round us,
Showering faintly, peal on peal.

Like a lion roars the North wind
As a-horse we sternly clank,
While beside the guns our men drop,
Slyly shot from either flank.

You are musing, love, and smiling
By the hearth-fire of the Mill,
While the tangled oaks are cracking
Boughs upon the windy hill.

I can see the moonlight shining
Over fields of frozen calm;