THER

FROM HERZEGOVINA.

HERE were some forty men of us, strong men and young together,

Went marching up the mountain-side that glorious August weather;

All four by four and step by step, with carabine to

shoulder,

And girt with glittering yatagans — Ho! never a band was bolder!

Our blood-red tassels switched our ears, blood-stained

our white apparel;

We feasted on the wild goats' flesh, and drank strong wine by barrel ;

And flushed it forth like fire, and sang and shouted out

in chorus,

And swore by all God's sacraments, holding his cross

before us,

Each one that he was Freedom's son and every one a

brother,

And each to the sun discharged his gun and manlike kiss'd the other;

And hand to hand, and breast to breast, that glorious

August weather,

We swore to hunt the Turk and feast and drink and die together.

For forty days and forty nights we rattled on like thunder,

And shot the damnèd Turk dogs down no man of us fell under!

For forty days and forty nights with long moustaches

flying,

We hurled the Turk from crag to crag―no Christian dreamed of dying!

For forty days the vines and maize were blazing with our fire,

And four by four and step by step we strode on higher and higher.

One day we came on a chestnut grove and chose it out

for nooning,

Our heads were wreathed up from the sun as if we came from pruning ;

Cool strawberry plants grew all about; bright blue, between the branches,

You could not say which was blue bay or blue sky where it blanches;

For everywhere were simmering air and slumbering slopes of heather;

And farther away one reek yet lay and a white sail faint as a feather.

We stretched our bare limbs in the moss, our hot things on the thickets,

And all was still on shore and hill, except the ceaseless

crickets,

No bird was heard and no leaf stirr'd and no one

dreamed of battle,

When quick a white flame quivered past, the jays whirled out, and a rattle

Of bullets crackled against the twigs, and, snatching our guns in wonder,

We found our youngest clawing the ground, his left lung shot asunder.

For forty days and forty nights each man was like a

mother;

We made a litter of tender boughs, each one relieved

the other;

We gave him all we had, and hard we fought our way and bore him

Both night and day the slippery way, though nothing I could restore him.

He lay like lead upon our hearts, like dead upon our shoulder,

His joints were rotting in the thews and no corpse could be colder.

At last one murmured: "Tis no use.

are pressing faster, —

The Turks

We had better slay him from his pain than wait a worse disaster."

It must have been his heart that heard. God knows!

He muttered: "Hear me.

"My comrades, I've no fear of Death, 'tis death who seems to fear me !

So take me to the highest ground where grows the golden heather,

The wind and light are brighter there than all one's life

together.

And let me die there as God wills and leave me where

you lay me,

And may my dead curse doubly strike whoever dares gainsay me!

And further yet I pray of you, even to the last brother The Turks may spare, that you shall bear no tidings to my mother.

She stands her distaff in her hands among them at the

fountain,

And sighs that old sad sigh of hers, and looks up at the mountain.

Above them shakes the mulberry-tree I have climbed with many a fellow;

About the top I 've cut my name

be yellow.

the leaves must now

She must not know how matters go; her poor old hands

are hoary;

It can't be long, so let her die still dreaming of my glory. And bid her work the white stuff done she has spun

against I marry ;

And say I've joined the Servian men, and say she must not tarry."