THE LOST LEADER. UST for a handful of silver | Blot out his name, then; record one lost soul he left us, Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat Found the one gift of which Fortune bereft us, Lost all the others she lets us devote. They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed. How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags! were they purple, his heart had been proud. We that had loved him so, followed him, Best fight on well, for we taught him; strike My loves were Glory and Pride and Art: Ah! dangerous rivals three! Sweet lips might quiver and warm tears start: Should an artist pause for a woman's heart, Too rare to be broken for me! And the heart that was breaking for me Poor heart! Silently breaking for me! My days were a dream of summer-time, Fame wove bright garlands to crown my Oh, she was more mild than the summer And I half forgot in that radiant clime wind, More fair than the lilies be; More true than the star with twilight twinned The heart that was breaking for me Poor heart! Patiently breaking for me! Was the spirit against whose love I sinned- But my whole life seemed, as the swift Poor heart! Cruelly broken for me! I told her an artist should wed his art- No other should lure me from mine apart, The heart that was breaking for me- Hopelessly breaking for me! I spoke of the beautiful years to come Poor heart! Broke, yet complained not, for me! I pressed her hand and rebuked her tears I said my triumphs should reach her ears, And soul cries out in its bitter pain. For the bliss that cannot be my For the love that never can come again, Right merry was I every day, For the sweet young life that was lived in To answer to their sudden call, vain, To join the ring, to speed the chase, And the heart that was broken for To find each playmate's hiding-place I never saw my father's face, I sit upon my father's knee: I never saw my mother smile: Beneath the blast the forests bend, The sight sublime enrapts my thought, But can my soul the scene enjoy JOHN SCOTT. While rock and glen and cave and coast The thunder of their feet; I saw him next alone, nor camp He who with Heaven contended He stood-fleet, army, treasure, gone— Alone, and in despair, While wave and wind swept ruthless on For they were monarchs there, And Xerxes in a single bark, 'Where late his thousand ships were dark, Must all their fury dare. What a revenge, a trophy, this, For thee, immortal Salamis ! MISS M. A. JEWSBURY. FLIGHT OF XERXES. SAW him on the battle-eve, Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave, The warrior, and the warrior's deeds, He looked on ocean: its broad breast |