JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY IRELAND, 1844-1890 Ensign Epps, the Color Bearer Ensign Epps, at the battle of Flanders, That flowers and flames in height and beauty Ensign Epps was the color bearer No matter on which side, Philip or Earl; Their cause was the shell-his deed was the pearl. 10 Scarce more than a lad, he had been a sharer That day in the wildest work of the field. He was wounded and spent, and the fight was lost; But stainless and scathless out of the strife 20 As proudly as if the fight had been won, And he smiled when they ordered him to yield. A FOREST HYMN 57 Ensign Epps, with his broken blade, Cut the silk from the gilded staff, Which he poised like a spear till the charge was made, And hurled at the leader with a laugh. Then round his breast, like the scarf of his love, 5 He tied the colors his heart above, And plunged in his armor into the tide, And there, in his dress of honor, died. Where are the lessons ye kinglings teach? And what is the text of your proud commanders? 10 Out of the centuries, heroes reach With the scroll of a deed, with the word of a story, WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT AMERICA, 1794-1878 A Forest Hymn The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave; And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, 15 Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, 5 Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 10 His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect Only among the crowd, and under roofs 15 That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn - thrice happy, if it find Father, Thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, Thou 20 Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in Thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in Thy breeze, And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow 25 Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, A FOREST HYMN As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, 59 The boast of our vain race to change the form Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground, Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Of Thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace In all that proud old world beyond the deep, Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, 5 With scented breath and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mold, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this great universe. 10 My heart is awed within me when I think In silence, round me - the perpetual work Lo! all grow old and die - but see again, |