And when his days were done, and Azrael
Called him to reap the harvest sown so well,
The nations that lay safe beneath his wing
Had but one heart to mourn their noble King.
'Tis said that when the funeral rites were o'er,
Deioces the Mede was seen no more ;
He vanished, silent as a drop of dew,

Or voiceless cloud that melts amid the blue;
Men turned, and he was gone; to reappear
Perchance, when Islam's danger draweth near.
Still, why swift hours of golden sunshine mar
With shadows from a darkness yet afar?
Let the grim future claim its prey-but now
A mandate from the Court tells Hatim how
He is to execute a righteous doom,

And rule his province in the dead man's room,
Like a house built on shifting sands alone,
By the King's breath that power was overthrown;
So fell the Viceroy, and the land had rest,
Whilst high and low the name of Motar blest ;

His noble heart rejoiced to see meanwhile

Those married lovers on each other smile,

And showered his favours down with bounteous hand,
Till they asked leave to go to their own land.
Dismissed with royal gifts and speeches fair,

Thus home to Cufa went that lovely pair.

860

870

Soon goodly sons and daughters, graced by Heaven
With strength and beauty, to their arms were given; 880

They rose, fulfilling Hatim's early dream,

Like palm-trees rising by a silver stream;

And thus with joy, with love that could not pall,
They dwelt together in that stately hall,

Till the divider, Death, came down and ended all.

THE QUICK MARCH OF THE

FOURTEENTH REGIMENT.

6

FIRST PUBLISHED IN THE CORNHILL MAGAZINE.'

[On May 23, 1793, my grandfather Welbore Ellis Doyle rallied his regiment-the 14th of the Line-then wavering under a heavy fire, and stormed the fortified camp of Famars, after a very severe action, to the tune of Ça Ira. For many years this tune continued to be the quick march of the 14th Regiment. I understand that of late years the tradition has ceased to operate, and that the march is disused, or, at least, that its origin has been forgotten.]

WHEN first the might of France was set
'Gainst creeds and laws, long years ago,
And the great strife-not ended yet―
Tossed crowns and nations to and fro,
Now buried deep beneath those wars
That since have made the earth their prey,
Our hard-won triumph at Famars

Was famous in its day.

Here-trained through stedfast work, and drilled

Till as one thought they moved along,
By the old land's old memories filled,
Our English lads were calm and strong.
There-drunk on hope as on new wine,
That in their veins like madness wrought,
With power half-devilish, half-divine,
Each restless Frenchman fought.

QUICK MARch of the FOURTEENTH REGIMENT. 267

Wealth, numbers, skill they heeded not,
Trampling them down as common things;
Man's spirit was a fire, made hot

To burn away the strength of kings.
Thus armed, as roars before the blast

At forest trees a prairie flame,

On our firm silence, fiercely fast
Their howling frenzy came-

Until (why shun the truth to speak?)
The courage rooted in the past

Struck, as by sudden storms, grew weak,
And wavered like a wavering mast:
Still kept their time the well-taught feet,
Nor dreamed the soldier yet of flight,
Though deepening shadows of defeat
Fell on him, like a blight.

Straight out in front their leader dashed
(A God-given king of men was he),

And from his bright looks on them flashed
One sparkle of heroic glee :

'They hold us cheap' (he cried) 'too soon,
We'll break them, frantic as they are,
Unto their own accursed tune;
Strike up then Ça Ira.'

The drums exulting thundered forth,
Whilst yet with trumpet tones he spoke,
And in those strong sons of the North
The old Berserker laugh awoke.
Their bayonets glowed with life, their eyes
Shone out to greet that eagle glance,
And, in her rush, a strange surprise

Palsied the steps of France.

268 QUICK MARCH OF THE FOURTEENTH REGIMENT.

Then, like a stream that bursts its banks,1
To Ça Ira from fifes and drums,

Upon their crushed and shattered ranks
The cataract charge of England comes;
Whilst their own conquering music leapt
Forth in wild mirth to feel them run;
Right o'er the ridge that host was swept,
And the grim battle won.

Thus, in the face of heaven and earth,
From their first home those notes he tore
To live, as by a second birth,

Linked fast with England evermore.
Yes, evermore, that through them still
To coming ages might be shown,
Whose arrowy thought and iron will
Had made that prize his own.

Thence, as each panting year rushed by
With garments rolled in blood-His march
Went sounding onwards, far and nigh—
Beneath cold rains, or suns that parch,
Northward or southward-east or west,
Where still the heirs of that renown,
Behind some other colonel, pressed
To the field hurrying down.

For him, alas! on Java's shore

It throbbed unheard through purple skies,

Nor marked he, under dark Bhurtpore,

The blood-bought battle-hymn arise.

This line is from 'Rokeby.' I borrowed it unconsciously at the moment, and thought afterwards that Scott was quite rich enough to lend it to me without feeling the 'css.

QUICK MARch of the fourteenth regimenT. 269

New Zealand's fern-gloom, as they stept,

Might quiver to that piercing tone,
But him it stirred not, where he slept
In a far land-alone.

And, whilst o'er its old ground, the strain
Smote with high scorn our ancient foe,
Called he upon those drums again?
Shared he their closing rapture? No!
His grave lay deep in dust, before

They pealed through Belgian corn-crops, when
The baffled Eagle fell, no more

To tear the hearts of men.

Yes, he died young, and all in vain
We dream how much he left undone,
Painting, upon an idle brain,

The glorious course he should have run.
Forgotten by the reckless years,

He rests apart and makes no sign-
Even his proud march no longer cheers
The Fourteenth of the Line.

Still, if elsewhere of this no trace
Remain, by some as worthy deed,
Oh, youthful soldiers of his race,
Against oblivion for it plead.

Thus, if his death-lamp have grown dim,

Re-light it; thus force Time to spare

This leaf of laurel, earned by him

For the old name we bear.