great throng!
I saw them shine, like hope, afar!
Their shout, their shout was like a song,
And O, 'twas not a song of war!

Yet, as the whole world with their tramp
Quivered, a signal-lightning spoke,
A bugle warned our darkling camp,
And, like a thunder-cloud, it woke.

Our searchlights raked the world's wide ends.
O'er the dark hills a grey light crept.
Down, through the light, that host of friends
We took for foemen, triumphing swept.

The old century could not hear their cry,
How should it hear the song they sang?
_We bring good news!_ It pierced the sky!
_We bring good news!_ The welkin rang.

One shout of triumph and of faith;
And then--our shattering cannon roared!
But, over the reeking ranks of death,
The song rose like a single sword.

_We bring good news!_ Red flared the guns!
_We bring good news!_ The sabres flashed!
And the dark age with its own sons
In blind and furious battle clashed.

A swift, a terrible bugle pealed.
The sulphurous clouds were rolled away.
Embraced, embraced, on that red field,
The wounded and the dying lay.

_We bring good news!_ Blood choked the word,
--_We knew you not; so dark the night!--
O father, was I worth your sword?
O son, O herald of the light!_

_We bring good news!_--The darkness fills
Mine eyes!--Nay, the night ebbs away!
And, over the everlasting hills,
The great new dawn led on the day.

THE LONELY SHRINE

(_A few months after the Milton Ter-centenary._)

I

The crowd has passed away,
Faded the feast, and most forget!
Master, we come with lowly hearts to pay
Our deeper debt.

II

High they upheld the wine,
And royally, royally drank to thee!
Loud were their plaudits. Now the lonely shrine
Accepts our knee.

III

All dark and silent now!
Master, thy few are faithful still,
And nightly hear thy brooks that warbling flow
By Siloa's hill.

AT NOON

(AFTER THE FRENCH OF VERLAINE)

The sky is blue above the roof,
So calm, so blue;
One rustling bough above the roof
Rocks, the noon through.

The bell-tower in the sky, aloof,
Tenderly rings!
A bird upon the bough, aloof,