Drawn by the shine of the warrior's sword,
The soldier paused beside it:
He wrench'd the hand with a giant's strength,
But the grasp of the dead defied it.
He loosed his hold, and his English heart
Took part with the dead before him,
And he honour'd the brave who died sword in hand,
As with soften'd brow he leant o'er him.
"A soldier's death thou hast boldly died,
A soldier's grave won by it:
Before I would take that sword from thine hand,
My own life's blood should dye it.
"Thou shalt not be left for the carrion crow,
Or the wolf to batten o'er thee:
Or the coward insult the gallant dead,
Who in life had trembled before thee."
Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth
Where his warrior foe was sleeping,
And he laid him there in honour and rest,
With his sword in his own brave keeping.
* * * * *
As a relief, we quote the following characteristic sketch by Miss
Mitford:--
A COUNTRY APOTHECARY.
One of the most important personages in a small country town is the
apothecary. He takes rank next after the rector and the attorney, and
before the curate; and could be much less easily dispensed with than
either of those worthies, not merely as holding "fate and physic" in his
hand, but as the general, and as it were official, associate, adviser,
comforter, and friend, of all ranks and all ages, of high and low, rich
and poor, sick and well.
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