Go—­brave the desert wind of fire;
                Go—­beard the lightning’s look of ire;
                Drive back the ravening flames, which leap
                In thunder from the mountain steep;
                But dream not, men of fifes and drums,
                To stop the Arab when he comes: 
                Not tides of fire, not walls of rock,
                Could shield you from that earthquake shock. 
                Come, brethren, come, too long we stay,
                The shades of night have rolled away,
                Too fast the golden moments fleet,
                Charge, ere another pulse has beat;
                Charge—­like the tiger on the fawn—­
                Before another breath is drawn.

MY LADY’S LEAP.

BY CAMPBELL RAE-BROWN.

My lady’s leap! that’s it, sir,—­
That’s what we call it ’ere;—­
It’s a nasty jump for a man, sir,
Let alone for a woman to clear. 
D’ye see the fencing around it? 
And the cross as folk can tell,
That this is the very spot, sir,
Where her sweet young ladyship fell?

I’ve lived in his lordship’s family
For goin’ on forty year. 
And the tears will come a wellin’
Whenever I think of her;
For my mem’ry takes me backwards
To the days when by my side
She would sit in her tiny saddle
As I taught her the way to ride.

But she didn’t want much teachin’;—­
Lor’ bless ye, afore she was eight
There wasn’t a fence in the county
Nor ever a five-barred gate
But what she’d leap, aye, and laugh at. 
I think now I hear the ring
Of her voice, shouting, “Now then, lassie!”
As over a ditch she’d spring.

How proud I was of my mistress,
When round the country-side
I’d hear folks talking of her, sir,
And how she used to ride! 
Every one knew my young mistress,
“My lady of Hislop Chase;”
And, what’s more, every one loved her,
And her sunny, angel face.

Lord Hislop lost his wife, sir,
When Lady Vi’ was born. 
And never man aged so quickly: 
He grew haggard and white and worn
In less than a week.  Then after,
At times, he’d grow queer and wild;
And only one thing saved him—­
His love for his only child. 
He worshipped her like an idol;
He loved her, folks said too well;
And God sent the end as a judgment,—­
But how that may be who can tell?

I don’t know how it all happened—­
I heard the story you see,
In bits and scraps,—­just here and there;
But, sir, ’atween you and me,
In putting them all together,
I think I’ve a good idea
As how the Master got swindled,
And things at the “Chase” went queer. 
He’d a notion to leave Miss Vi’let
Rich, I fancy, you know;
For now and ag’in I noticed
He’d take in his head to go