Select Poetry.

Otago Witness, Issue 987, 29 October 1870, Page 20

Select Poetry.

THE MARSHAL AND THE EOSES.

BY. G. G. MO. Morning — The city waken'd from a sleep That night had r^.nder'd rapturous with dreams < f laurell'd victors, and of deep-toned bells, And the gay progress of the brave that swept "With arms at "slope," and "eagles" borne aloft, Through archeß green and garlanded with flow'ra, Throughstre^ts festoon'd with banners and device Of glory, while the people's "vivas" rent With wild acclaim the glad Italian sky. The dream was realised— To wVd torrid noon The legions dusty from the road poured in, And bells proclaim'd their welcome, while the

folk In holiday attire, with smiles of joy, Thronged every avenue, and court, and lane ; The roofs were crowded, ev'ry window held Within the bounds of its huge open frame A. bouquet of fresh roses— every rose A face, rich in its dow'r of soft Italian charms. Stretching (in salutation) o'er the street Were ropes, whence wavedgay banners multiform, And riband-streamers such as maidens wear, And pennons with cleft tongues like living flame. "Whilst high 'mid these conspicuously blazsd The war-like tricolor of glorious FranceIt floated from the fair cathedral's height, And o'er innumerable tow'rs— from staves That trembled with the pulse of victory, The columns of the cool piazzas twined, And wreath'd about with olive and with hays. Gleam'd fresh and sparkling in the southern sun, As crashed the tr^mp of marchinpr legions there, Th« ring of str el-shod hoofs, the sabre's clank, And all the music of a martial throng, Careering on its way with haughty air, Through clouds of dust, beneath a cloudless sky, Still en, to win sweet smiles for victory. There stood upon a bracket in an arch Of oleander and of lanral sprays A child of some six summers, and no more. She held a little posy in her hand, The flow'rs were roses, red and white in rows, Encircling sweet large -eyed forget-me-nots, "Whose blue seemed borrowed from their native sky, Or from the sea at Venice, when her face Reflects with joy the placid love of heaVn. The troops press'd on, the bearded pioneers, The giy chasseurs, the laughter-loving Zouaves, And thus the full tide roll'd that day at flood, When an old Marshal riding thro' the arch, Bowing to right and left, kepi in hand, Found himself gently check'd, a tiny palm _ Grasping his charger's bossed and studded rein, And then a childish voice spake fearless, thus — " This from Milan, fair sir ! to fairer France, Whose knight thou art, accept, I pray, these

flowers So fresh.— Our mother gathered them to-day." The veteran took the posy, and he smiled With calm benignant features on the girl, And made reply in some such words as these^ — " Petite! I thank thee for a gift so fair, And prompted by an innocent young heart, Which may God bless and ever after keep. I've but two hands, one for my bridle-rein, And one to grasp (fear not) this beaming sword. Natheless sweet-heart ! young bright eyes ! shin-

ing face ! I'll carry as I may these charmed flowers," Sweet happy tokens of Milan and thee. "Ah ! Eccelenza ! " cried the radiant cMld, "With eyes grown great in earnestness of heart, "I would go with thee! riding through the

town," ""With all my soul thou shalt! and bear the

flowers," So saying, he bent low and lifted her With martial grace unto his saddle bow, And laid her smooth, round limbs disposedly Against the housings of his holster flaps, And so they rode along, soldier and child, Two figures on one war-horse 'mid the throng Of glittering bayonets, and of bright, glad eyes His bridle-arm encircled her young waist, Her left clung on to his, while in one hand She held the token flow'rs beneath the sword That brought no fear to her, but made her glad, And whon the pomp was over, at the last He kissed her tenderly and let her down Where she had bade him, near her mother's door, Then reining up his steed, bent low again Giving his hand to kiss (she'd have it so), Then turned him in the saddle, holding high The flow'rs she gave, and forthwith spurred away. Months pass'd— One day a little packet came, Inscribed thus in Italian, in a hand Used less, apparently, to pen than sword, " To Mariana, in Milan, whose flow'rs, Tho' faded now, bloom in a soldier's heart." Look in my pretty one, and see (she looked), And lo ! a'necklace of the purest gold, Plain, massive, heavy gold, thereto attach'd The Bweet Madonna's calmly imag'd face, And then a strip of paper with these words, " These from M'Mahon, little oue, live on! Live long 1 Goa love you and Milan— Addio.