"There were six of us altogether, Norsemen of Helgoland; In two days and no more We killed of them threescore, And dragged them to the strand !” Here Alfred the Truth-Teller Suddenly closed his book, And Othere the old sea-captain And to the King of the Saxons, In witness of the truth, Raising his noble head, He stretched his brown hand, and said, "Behold this walrus-tooth!" VICTOR GALBRAITH.* UNDER the walls of Monterey At daybreak the bugles began to play, In the mist of the morning damp and gray, Victor Galbraith!" Forth he came, with a martial tread; He who so well the bugle played, Could not mistake the words it said: "Come forth to thy death, Victor Galbraith!" He looked at the earth, he looked at the sky, Victor Galbraith! And he said, with a steady voice and eye, Thus challenges death Victor Galbraith. * This poem is founded on fact. Victor Galbraith was a bugler in a company of volunteer cavalry; and was shot in Mexico for some breach of discipline. It is a common superstition among soldiers, that no balls will kill them unless their names are written on them. The old proverb says, "Every bullet has its billet." Twelve fiery tongues flashed straight and red, Falls to the ground, but he is not dead ; His name was not stamped on those balls of lead, Three balls are in his breast and brain, The water he drinks has a bloody stain; 66 "O kill me, and put me out of my pain!" In his agony prayeth Victor Galbraith. Forth dart once more those tongues of flame, His soul has gone back to whence it came, "Victor Galbraith!" Under the walls of Monterey By night a bugle is heard to play, Victor Galbraith! Through the mist of the valley damp and gray The sentinels hear the sound, and say, "That is the wraith Of Victor Galbraith!" |