Look forth once more, Ximena ! "Ah! the smoke has

rolled away;

And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of

gray.

Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Minon wheels;

There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels.

"Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreat and now advance!

Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's charging lance!

Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall;

Like a plowshare in the fallow, through them plow the Northern ball."

Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on:

Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost, and who has won?

"Alas! alas! I know not; friend and foe together fall, O'er the dying rush the living: pray, my sisters, for them all!"

"Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting: Blessed Mother, save my brain!

I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain.

Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, and strive to rise;

Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before. our eyes!"

"Oh my heart's love! oh my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee;

Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me? canst thou see?

Oh, my husband, brave and gentle! oh, my Bernal, look

once more

On the blessed cross before thee! mercy! mercy! all is o'er !"

Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to rest;

Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his

breast;

Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses

said;

Today, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid.

Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay,

Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his

life away;

But, as tenderly before him, the lorn Ximena knelt,

She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol belt.

With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head;

With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her dead;

But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain,

And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again.

Whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand and faintly smiled:

Was that pitying face his mother's? did she watch beside her child?

All his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart

supplied;

With her kiss upon his forehead "Mother!" murmured he, and died!

“A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth, From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping, lonely, in the North!"

Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead,

And turned to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled.

Look forth once more, Ximena ! "Like a cloud before the wind

Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death behind;

Ah! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded

strive;

Hide your faces, holy angels! oh, thou Christ of God, forgive!"

Sink, oh Night, among thy Mountains! let the cool, gray shadows fall;

Dying brothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain over all!

Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle rolled,

In its sheath the saber rested, and the cannon's lips grew .cold.

But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued, Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn and faint and lacking food;

Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care they hung,

And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and Northern tongue.

Not wholly lost, oh Father! is this evil world of ours; Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the Eden flowers;

From its smoking hell of battle, Love and Pity send their prayer,

And still thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our air!

89

THE HOST OF THE AIR1

WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

O'Driscoll drove with a song,

The wild duck and the drake,

From the tall and the tufted reeds

Of the drear Hart Lake.

And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night tide,

And dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.

1. "The gods of ancient Ireland, the Sidhe, still ride the country as of old. The Sidhe have much to do with the wind. When the country people see the leaves whirling on the road they bless themselves, because they believe the Sidhe to be passing by. If anyone becomes too much interested in them and sees them overmuch, he loses all interest in ordinary things. They are said to steal brides just after their marriage, and sometimes in a blast of wind. The story in the poem is founded on an old Gaelic ballad."--William Butler Yeats.

He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,

And never was piping so sad,

And never was piping so gay.

And he saw young men and young girls

Who danced on a level place

And Bridget his bride among them,

With a sad and a gay face.

The dancers crowded about him,

And many a sweet thing said,

And a young man brought him red wine
And a young girl white bread.

But Bridget drew him by the sleeve,
Away from the merry bands,
To old men playing at cards
With a twinkling of ancient hands.

2

The bread and the wine had a doom,
For these were the host of the air;
He sat and played in a dream
Of her long dim hair.

He played with the merry old men
And thought not of evil chance,
Until one bore Bridget his bride
Away from the merry dance.

He bore her away in his arms,

The handsomest young man there,

And his neck and his breast and his arms
Were drowned in her long dim hair.

2. The host of the air. The Sidhe.