A rattle and a cheer, the great guns are here!

With a cheer they wheel round and face the foe!

As the troopers wheel about their long swords are out,
With a trumpet and a shout in they go!

Like a yawning ocean green the huge host gulfs them in, But high o'er the rolling of the flood

Their sabres you may see like lights upon the sea

When the red sun is going down in blood.

Again, again, again! And the lights are on the wane! Ah, Christ! I see them sink, light by light,

As the gleams go one by one when the great sun is down,

And the sea rocks in foam beneath the night.

Ay, the great sun is low, and the waves of battle flow

O'er his honoured head; but, oh, we mourn not he is down,

For to-morrow he shall rise to fill his country's eyes,

As he sails up the skies of renown!

Ye may yell, but ye shall groan !

Ye shall buy them bone for bone!

Now, tyrant, hold thine own! blare the trumpet, peal the drum !

From yonder hillside dark the storm is on you! Hark! Swift as lightning, loud as thunder, down they come ! As on some Scottish shore, with mountains frowning o'er,

The sudden tempests roar from the glen,

And roll the tumbling sea in billows to the lee,

Came the charge of the gallant Highlandmen!

And as one beholds the sea, though the wind he cannot

see,

But by the waves that flee knows its might,

So I tracked the Highland blast by the sudden tide that

past

O'er the wild and rolling vast of the fight.

Yes, glory be to God, they have stemmed the foremost

flood!

I lay me on the sod and breathe again!

In the precious moments won the bugle call has gone
To the tents where it never rang in vain,
And, lo, the landscape wide is red from side to side,
And all the might of England loads the plain!
Like a hot and bloody dawn, across the horizon drawn
While the host of darkness holds the misty vale,
As glowing and as grand our bannered legions stand,
And England's flag unfolds upon the gale!
At that great sign unfurled, as

world

morn moves o'er the

When God lifts His standard of light,

With a tumult and a voice, and a rushing mighty noise, Our long line moves forward to the fight.

Clarion and clarion defying,

Sounding, resounding, replying,

Trumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neighing,
Near and far

The to and fro storm of the never-done hurrahing,

Through the bright weather banner and feather rising and falling, bugle and fife

Calling, recalling-for death or for life

Our host moved on to the war,

While England, England, England, England, England !
Was blown from line to line near and far,

And like the morning sea our bayonets you might see,
Come beaming, gleaming, streaming,

Streaming, gleaming, beaming,

Beaming, gleaming, streaming to the war.

Clarion and clarion defying,

Sounding, resounding, replying,

Trumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neighing,

Near and far

The to and fro storm of the never-done hurrahing, Through the bright weather banner and feather rising and falling, bugle and fife

Calling, recalling-for death or for life

Our long line moved forward to the war.

From "England in Time of War," by SYDNEY DOBELL.

86. OF FRIENDSHIP.

It had been hard for him that spake it to have put more truth and untruth together in few words than in that speech, "Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god." For it is most true that a natural and secret hatred and aversation towards society, in any man, hath somewhat of the savage beast; but it is most untrue that it should have any character at all of the divine nature, except it proceed, not out of a pleasure in solitude, but out of a love and desire to sequester a man's self for a higher conversation-such as is found to have been falsely and feignedly in some of the heathen, and truly and really in divers of the ancient hermits and holy fathers of the church. But little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth; for a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal where there is no love. The Latin adage meeteth with it a little, "A great city is a great solitude;" because in a great town friends are scattered; so that there is not that fellowship, for the most part, which is in less neighbourhoods. But we may go further, and affirm most truly that it is a mere and miserable solitude to want true friends, without which the world is but a wilderness; and even in this sense also of solitude, whosoever in the frame of his nature and affections is unfit for friendship, he taketh it of the beast, and not from humanity.

A principal fruit of friendship is the ease and discharge of the fullness and swellings of the heart, which

passions of all kinds do cause and induce. We know diseases of stoppings and suffocations are the most dangerous in the body; and it is not much otherwise in the mind. No receipt openeth the heart but a true friend, to whom you may impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, and whatsoever lieth upon the heart to oppress it, in a kind of civil shrift or confession.

It is a strange thing to observe how high a rate great kings and monarchs do set upon this fruit of friendship whereof we speak so great as they purchase it many times at the hazard of their own safety and greatness. For princes, in regard of the distance of their fortune from that of their subjects and servants, cannot gather this fruit, except (to make themselves capable thereof) they raise some persons to be, as it were, companions, and almost equals to themselves; which many times sorteth to inconvenience. The modern languages give unto such persons the name of favourites, secret friends, as if it were matter of grace or conversation; but the Roman name attaineth the true use and cause thereof, making them "partners of cares," for it is that which tieth the knot. And we see plainly that this hath been done, not by weak and passionate princes only, but by the wisest and most politic that ever reigned, who have oftentimes joined to themselves some of their servants, whom both themselves have called friends, and allowed others likewise to call them in the same manner, using the word which is received between private men.