New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1855-02-20

sitting yspor hoes the b'oocy close.
Up springs the breeze; and 10 on Alms's crown
Stand sterLly.oE ering Eng md and flushed France.
AFTER Nina
God be with vry man who fell or fought
LIT that stern Marshal ever h0nored be,
Who ssked the price Of dazzling victory
Life And be threw bis dosn. there slumbers not
'MoIg our brave dead Drawer man than he.
The pToudest tears into my eyes are brought
By 4 puned scld ers OF my native land.
&. n. are they Of that worn and VESTED band,
Who stood around then king the while the night
Dark Ell cd on Flodten. On with hearts a. light
As # tbese wild nights were s summer feat,
They march death Their ruined ranks were true
As crUmbliDg squares at deadly Waterloo,
On which vain hurricanes OF battle beat.
SELF.
The War rolf on. DARK failure, brave success
Deaftn cur ears. But little power 10 touch
Our deeper human nature lies in such
Doth victory make an infant smile toe less
Each msn bath bis own personsl happiness,
In which-as creep the cold.enfeebled flies
In the late beam-he warm and besking lies.
Each hath bic separate rack OF sore distress
No hand can give an AIMS, 70 power consoles
We only have our true hearts aud our souls.
IL leaeueTed forts water, with patient sris,
They draw from their own court or garden. plot
SO from the deep-sunk wells within our hearts
We draw refreshmsnt when the tight Is bot.
HONE.
She turned tie fair page with her fairer hand
More fair and frail than il was wont TO be
DER each remembered thing be loved to see
She lr gered, and as with fairy wand,
Enchsnted il TO order. OFT she famed
ewuo,ts into the sun; and a. a bee
Sings through brake of bells go murmured she,
Ard so her patient love did understand
The reliquary room. Upon the sill
She fed HE favorite bird. "Ab, Robin, sing
He loves thee" Then che touches a sweet string
OF soft recall and toward the eastern bill
Smiles sll her soul-for him who cannot hear
TIE raven croskiDg ut his csrron ear.
1t appears TO me that the fine idea contained in
the lines
~Who asked the price of dazzling victory
Life ard he threw HIS down.
wants just one finishing touch. II should have
"Lifei and he threw Il down."
as better completion Of both sound and sense.
The concluding image in the third sonnet is very
beautiful and think perfectly original; and that
called Home" is painfully sweet. But oh the
thrilling touch of that last line
Gerald Massey has put forth small volume,
entitled War Waits" In q note TO the poems,
he says:
These rough and.resiy war rhymes can scarcely
be looked spcn poetic fruit maturely ripened but
rather as wnd.fals shook down in this wild blast OF
war. have called them Waits, conscious th.t they
90 but mske rude music in this dim night 81 var
and dedicate them to the memory OF John Bright,
who fell 30 recently and go gloriously lighting the
battles Of u enemy
The Leader says:
"The book is the best and bravest that has yet ap
peared. War Waits are as the writer expresses H.
rough and ready, but they are none the less wei
come for that quality-indeed il il their flavor and
bouquet. We may fairly consider Mr.. Massey as fit
Interpreter Of the peoples voice aud VIII ana 70 10
the poet of the British people is mean prerogstye
Thee lyrics fierce, hearty terribly in earnest
the Peace Society would brand them a. thirsty
they do not treat war as political fencing match,
but as a wrestle Of Titans for life and death
The following stanzas are from a ballad on IT,
hermann:
"As Bridegroom leaves bis welded Bride in gentle
slumbers seald,
Our England slumbered in the est when her W az
riors ent held.
We thou, BIT OF her and .sore that day to strike in.
mortal blows;
Then all along the leaguered line the erssh Of battle
Her banner. waved Ike blessing hands and we knew
il was the hour
For glorious grip till fingers met in the throst OF
Russian power.
Ard at bound, and with sound that madly cried
10 Kill,
The Lion of Old England leapt like lightning hom
the bill.
And there he stood superb, thro all tbs. Sabbath Of
And there he slew with terrible scorn, hi, hunters,
horde on horee.
From morn till night fought our fght and a: the
sef OF sun
Stood Copquaors on Inkermann-our Soldiers Bat.
tie won.
That norp their legion. stood Ike corn in It's ponp
Of golden grain;
That high, the rudy sheayes were reaps upon the
NIFTY plain
Fer We cut them down BY thunder strokes and piled
the shock. Of slain
Tie hillside Ike d vintage ran, and reeled Death
harvest vain.
We had hungry hundreds gore to cup N raFad'e
that night,
And robes Of Immortality our ragged Braves be-
deht
They fell in Boyhood's eomely bloom, and BFayerys
lusty price,
Blu. they made their bed the R1s.aa des1 ere IDey
10y down and cied.
ave gathered round the ent-fre in the evening cola
Ard thought Of those who rank. with u N Battle
rich suay
Our conrsde. Of the morn who came no more from
that fell fray III.
Tie tait teas wrung on. in The gloom OF green oe1-S
far away ~ .
The eyes Of lurking Death tina, Ia Lies crimson
bubbles play .I,..L
ground lay
Like Statues of old Heroes, cut in precious human
clay
Some with smile a. Life hsd stop, to MUSIC proudly
The boa.thold Gsds OF many heart al dark and
dumb te-dsy 49,,
ssrk down TO pray .,
Tlapav n n French mas given Us Alma, and