War was abroad, and the fleeting gale
Loud, o’er the wife’s and the daughter’s wail,
Brought the summoning sound of the clarion’s blast—
Age and affection looked their last
On the valour and youth that went forth to the tomb—
Young eyes were bright at the nodding plume—
Banner and spear gleam’d in the sun—
And the laugh was loud as the day were won:
But the sun shall set, and—ere ’tis night,—
Woe to thee, Child of Pride and Might.
’Tis the hour of battle, the hosts are met,
Pierc’d is the hauberk, cleft the bass’net:
Like a torrent the legions thunder’d on—
Lo! like its foam, they are vanish’d and gone
Thou whom this day beauty’s arms carest,
The hoof of the fleeing spurns thy crest—
Thy pride yet lives on thy dark brow’s height,
But, where is thy power, Child of Might?
J. J. K.
Vol. I.—24.
The old Water Carrier.
The old Water Carrier.
“Any New-River water here.”
This is another of the criers of a hundred years ago, and, it seems, he cried “New-River water.” The cry is scarce, though scarcely extinct, in the environs of London.