912)

HE speaks as straight as his rifles shot,
As straight as a thrusting blade,
Waiting the deed that shall trouble the truce
His savage guns have made.

"You have dared the wrath of a dozen states,"
Was the challenge that he heard;
"We can die but once!" said the grim old King
As he gripped his mountain sword.

"For I paid in blood for the town I took,
The blood of my brave men slain,--
And if you covet the town I took
You must buy it with blood again!"

Stern old King of the stark, black hills,
Where the lean, fierce eagles breed,
Your speech rings true as your good sword rings--
And you are a king indeed!

DICKENS

"The only book that the party had was a volume of Dickens.
During the six months that they lay in the cave which they
had hacked in the ice, waiting for spring to come, they read
this volume through again and again."--_From a newspaper
report of an antarctic expedition._

HUDDLED within their savage lair
They hearkened to the prowling wind;
They heard the loud wings of despair ...
And madness beat against the mind....
A sunless world stretched stark outside
As if it had cursed God and died;
Dumb plains lay prone beneath the weight
Of cold unutterably great;
Iron ice bound all the bitter seas,
The brutal hills were bleak as hate....
Here none but Death might walk at ease!

Then Dickens spoke, and, lo! the vast
Unpeopled void stirred into life;

The dead world quickened, the mad blast
Hushed for an hour its idiot strife
With nothingness....

And from the gloom,
Parting the flaps of frozen skin,
Old friends and dear came trooping in,
And light and laughter filled the room....
Voices and faces, shapes beloved,
Babbling lips and kindly eyes,
Not ghosts, but friends that lived and moved ...
They brought the sun from other skies,
They wrought the magic that dispels
The bitterer part of loneliness ...
And when they vanished each man dreamed
His dream there in the wilderness....
One heard the chime of Christmas bells,
And, staring down a country lane,
Saw bright against the window-pane
The firelight beckon warm and red....
And one turned from the waterside
Where Thames rolls down his slothful tide
To breast the human sea that beats
Through roaring London's battered streets

And revel in the moods of