bear to say,      "Sail forth, my mariners, and slay The liegemen of my foe."      Meanwhile on Russian steppe and lake Are women weeping for the sake Of them that seaward go. Oh warriors, when you stain with gore, If this indeed must be, the floor Whereon that lady stept, When the fierce joy of battle won Hardens the heart of sire and son, Remember that she wept 

  

       THE CAIRN AND THE CHURCH     

      A Prince went down the banks of Dee That widen out from bleak Braemar, To drive the deer that wander free Amidst the pines of Lochnagar. And stepping on beneath the birks On the road-side he found a spot, Which told of pibrochs, kilts, and dirks, And wars the courtiers had forgot; Where with the streams, as each alone Down to the gathering river runs, Each on one heap to cast a stone, Came twice three hundred Farquharsons. They raised that pile to keep for ever The memory of the loyal clan; Then, grudging not their vain endeavour, Fell at Culloden to a man. And she, whose grandsire's uncle slew Those dwellers on the banks of Dee, Sighed for those tender hearts and true, And whispered: "Who would die for me?"       Oh, lady, turn thee southward. Show Thy standard on thine own Thames-side; Let us be called to meet thy foe, Our Kith be pledged, our honour tried. Now, on the stone by Albert laid, We'll build a pile as high as theirs, So sworn to bring our Sovereign aid, If not with war-cries, yet with prayers. 

  

       A QUEEN'S VISIT     

       June 4, 1851     

      From vale to vale, from shore to shore, The lady Gloriana passed, To view her realms: the south wind bore Her shallop to Belleisle at last. A quiet mead, where willows bend Above the curving wave, which rolls On slowly crumbling banks, to send Its hard-won spoils to lazy shoals. Beneath an oak weird eddies play, Where fate was writ for Saxon seer; And yonder park is white with may, Where shadowy hunters chased the deer. In rows half up the chestnut, perch Stiff-silvered fairies; busy rooks Caw front the elm; and, rung to church, Mute anglers drop their caddised hooks. They troop between the dark-red walls, When the twin towers give four-fold chimes; And lo! the breaking groups, where 

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