POETRY.

ENGLAND'S DEAD.*

("Mahe them to be numbered with thy Saints: in glory everlasting."

HOMEWARD the long ships leap; swift-shod with joy, Striding the deep sea-dykes fast home they fare,—, Where is my wedded love P Where is my boy?

Where go the dead that died for England, where?

Homeward the long ships leap ; but not with these Thy boy, thy wedded love, 0 gentle.eyed Woman of England, nor far over seas Mixing with dull earth sleep the dead that died For England. They, in God's completed aims, Bear each his part; unseen of bounded sight,

Down the vast firmament there floats and flames, Crested with stars and panoplied in light,

Of strenuous clean souls a long array,

With lambent lance and white, bright, blinding sword,

All riding upon horses,—what are they?

They are the dead which died in Christ their Lord For England, from old time; with God made one, As on the mount the triple vision shone, So shine they now, and like the noontide sun Before them all the fair Saint George rides on.

There goes the boy of CrCey whispering low To him of .Agincourt, a kingly pair, With many mighty men which bent the bow,—

There go the dead that died for England, there; There go those quenchless Talbots, there the flower Of Devon, Grenville, Gilbert, mariners rare, She too who thought foul scorn of Philip's power.— There go the dead that died for England, there;

And Sidney who the rippling cup resigned, And happy Wolfe; wan Pitt released from care, Nelson the well-beloved and all his kind,—

There go the dead that died for England, there; And he who brake the Corsican's strong spell, And Nicholson impatient of despair, And Gordon, faithful, desolate sentinel,— There go the dead that died for England, there ; And there unhelmeted, ungirt of brand,

Victoria moves with mild, maternal air, Still vigilant, still prayerful for the land,—

There go the dead that died for England, there.

Nor ride they idly nor with indolent rein, Irresolute, as men that seek no foe, But by the pathless sea, by peak and plain,

Bright-eyed, stern-lipped, all day, all night, they go

Forth as a fire that snatches and devours

Wind-withered woods, so go they swift and fell, Warring with principalities and powers,

Hunting through space the mart, old bands of Hell; And all the sounding causeways of the spheres Ring like white iron with the rhythmic tread Of these and their innumerable peers ;

But most round England muster England's dead,

Round England cradled in her roaring seas, With Arctic snows white-girdled, bathed in suns Asian and Australasian, there go these; And where one solitary trader runs

• Ho received the Ms. of this poem, which was written about We year 19011 from the executor of the late Mr. Prank Taylor.

His English keel, and where one lonely sword Glimmers for England, one unsleeping brain Watches and works for England, thitherward Gather the bright souls of her servants slain

For her, and lock their shimmering ranks, and sweep

Round England's child as sweeps the northern gale Round some stark pine-tree on the moorland steep, And from the flash and rattle of their mail Hell's pale marauders shudderingly recoil

Frustrate. 0 glad condition and sublime Of our undying dead, to fight and foil The ancient foe, continually to climb

Through God's high order of His Sainte, to meet Some soul whose star-like name lit all their course, And commune with him, to discern and greet

• Old kindred, love, and friendship, hound and horse; To see God face to face, and still to see

And labour for the loves that grope on earth, To wait serenely till all souls shall be One in God's aristocracy of worth,- 0 glad condition and sublime ! whereto That southern tomb thy hands may never tend Was but the gateway thy loved boy passed through, Thy wedded love passed through, that he might wend Homeward to thee ; thou can'et not see the blaze Of his great blade nor hear his trumpets blare, Yet thick as brown leaves round about thy ways, There go the dead that died for England, there.

FRANK TAYLOR.