WAR MUSIC.

The merest soldier is today The poet of his art, .Though he should neither sing nor say The transports of his heart.

His Genius writes in 'words of steel, Ana utters them in thunder,— Whilst we want speech for what we feel,

And sit at home 'in wander.

And those whom England with a cry Saw dashed into the strife, Those men of ours who rode to die

Like men who ride 'for life—

Whose souls ere well the word had gone Into the smoke were hurled, Who bound on bound went charging on

Into another world—

No lover prouder heart-beats knew,

Ne'er4 sighed " a "truer breath,"

Than they who with loose bridle Ile* Into the arms of death.

Doubt not, I say, 'the heads of a

A grander music made, When dancing to that funeral, 'Than ever clarion played.

And she no less, who three times-bleat,

No longer reads and hears, But, laying down the dumb death-list,

Gives help instead of 'tears— She champion of her country's cause, As faithful and as brave

Arlin whosword in battle (halve For triumph or the,grave- E'en she, who, 'bleeding at her 'feet, 'Sees many a' hero laid, Whose task, •though terrible as sweet,

Has found her not -afraid— Deep in her heart of holy fire,

Be sure such music rings As never yet Apollo's lyre Pelt trembling on its'strings.

E. E.