Had raised an army of the Desert men,
And, waiting for his hour, had turned again.
And fallen on that False Prophet, yet we know
GORDON is dead, and these things are not so!
Nay, not for England's cause, nor to restore
Her trampled flag-for he loved Honour more—
Nay, not for Life, Revenge, or Victory,

Would he have fled, whose hour had dawned to die.
He will not come again, whate'er our need,
He will not come, who is happy, being freed
From the deathly flesh and perishable things,
And lies of statesmen and rewards of kings.
Nay, somewhere by the sacred River's shore
He sleeps like those who shall return no more,
No more return for all the prayers of men-
Arthur and Charles-they never come again!
They shall not wake, though fair the vision seem:
Whate'er sick Hope may whisper, vain the dream!
Lang.

CXXIII

MOTHER AND SON

It is not yours, O mother, to complain,

Not, mother, yours to weep,

Though nevermore your son again

Shall to your bosom creep,

Though nevermore again you watch your baby sleep.

Though in the greener paths of earth

Mother and child, no more

We wander; and no more the birth

Of me whom once you bore,

Seems still the brave reward that once it seemed of

yore;

Though as all passes, day and night,

The seasons and the years,

From you, O mother, this delight,

This also disappears

Some profit yet survives of all your pangs and tears.

The child, the seed, the grain of corn,

The acorn on the hill,

Each for some separate end is born

In season fit, and still

Each must in strength arise to work the Almighty

will.

So from the hearth the children flee,

By that Almighty hand

Austerely led; so one by sea

Goes forth, and one by land;

Nor aught of all men's sons escapes from that com

mand.

So from the sally each obeys

The unseen Almighty nod;

So till the ending all their ways

Blind-folded loth have trod:

Nor knew their task at all, but were the tools of God.

And as the fervent smith of yore

Beat out the glowing blade,

Nor wielded in the front of war

The weapons that he made,

But in the tower at home still plied his ringing trade;

So like a sword the son shall roam

On nobler missions sent;

And as the smith remained at home

In peaceful turret pent,

So sits the while at home the mother well content.

CXXIV

PRAYERS

GOD who created me

Nimble and light of limb,
In three elements free,

To run, to ride, to swim:
Not when the sense is dim,

But now from the heart of joy,

I would remember Him:

Take the thanks of a boy.

Jesu, King and Lord,

Whose are my foes to fight,

Gird me with Thy sword

Swift and sharp and bright.

Thee would I serve if I might;
And conquer if I can,
From day-dawn till night,

Take the strength of a man.

Stevenson.

Spirit of Love and Truth,
Breathing in grosser clay,
The light and flame of youth,

Delight of men in the fray,
Wisdom in strength's decay;

From pain, strife, wrong to be free
This best gift I pray,

Take my spirit to Thee.

Beeching.

CXXV

A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST

KAMAL is out with twenty men to raise the Border side, And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the

Colonel's pride:

He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day,

And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away.

Then up

and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the Guides:

'Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?'

Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar,

'If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know where his pickets are.

At dusk he harries the Abazai-at dawn he is into Bonair

But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare,

So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly, By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of Jagai.

But if he be passed the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then,

For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain are sown with Kamal's men.'

The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he,

With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and

the head of the gallows-tree.

The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat

Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.

He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he

can fly,

Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,

Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her back,

And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack.

He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.

'Ye shoot like a soldier,' Kamal said.

if ye can ride.'

'Show now

It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust

devils go,

The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like

a barren doe.