_Benn Wilkes Jones Trevaldwyn._ ARNOLD LXXXIX THE FIRST DISTRIBUTION OF THE VICTORIA CROSS (_June 26, 1857_) To-day the people gather from the streets, To-day the soldiers muster near and far; Peace, with a glad look and a grateful, meets Her rugged brother War. To-day the Queen of all the English land, She who sits high o’er Kaisers and o’er Kings, Gives with her royal hand--th’ Imperial hand Whose grasp the earth enrings-- Her Cross of Valour to the worthiest; No golden toy with milky pearl besprent, But simple bronze, and for a warrior’s breast A fair, fit ornament. And richer than red gold that dull bronze seems, Since it was bought with lavish waste and worth Whereto the wealth of earth’s gold-sanded streams Were but a lack, and dearth. Muscovite metal makes this English Cross, Won in a rain of blood and wreath of flame; The guns that thundered for their brave lives’ loss Are worn hence, for their fame! Ay, listen! all ye maidens laughing-eyed, And all ye English mothers, be aware! Those who shall pass before ye at noontide Your friends and champions are. The men of all the army and the fleet, The very bravest of the very brave, Linesman and Lord, these fought with equal feet, Firm-planted on their grave. The men who, setting light their blood and breath So they might win a victor’s haught renown, Held their steel straight against the face of Death, And frowned his frowning down. And some that grasped the bomb, all fury-fraught, And hurled it far, to spend its spite away-- Between the rescue and the risk no thought-- Shall pass our Queen this day. And some who climbed the deadly glacis-side, For all that steel could stay, or savage shell; And some whose blood upon the Colours dried Tells if they bore them well. Some, too, who, gentle-hearted even in strife, Seeing their fellow or their friend go down, Saved his, at peril of their own dear life, Winning the Civil Crown. Well done for them; and, fair Isle, well for thee! While that thy bosom beareth sons like those; ‘This precious stone set in the silver sea’ Shall never fear her foes! _Sir Edwin Arnold._ GARNETT XC ABROAD Forests that beard the avalanche, Levels, empurpled slopes of vine, Wrecks, sadly gay with flower and branch, I love you, but you are not mine! The sweet domestic sanctity Fades in the fiery sun, like dew; My Love beheld and passed you by, My fathers shed no blood for you. Pause, rambling clouds, while fancy fain Your white similitude doth trace To England’s cliffs, so may your rain Fall blissful on your native place! _Richard Garnett._ GILBERT XCI THE ENGLISH GIRL