The Private Of The Buffs

Last night, among his fellow roughs, He jested, quaflfel and swore; A dranken private of the Buffs, Who never looked before. Today, beneath the foeman's frown, He stands in Elgin's place, Ambassador from Britain's crown. And type of all her race. Poor, reekless, rude, low bom, untanght. Bewildered and alone; A heart with English instinct fraught He yet can cali his own. Aye, tear his body limb from limh; Bring cord or ai or flama; He only knows that not throngh hlm Shall Kopland come to shame. Far Kentish hop flelds roand him seemcd, Like dreams, to come and go; Bright leagues of ciierry blossoms gleamed, One sheet of living snow; The smoke above his father's door In gray soft eddyings bang; Mast he Uien watch it rise no more, Doomed by himself so yoang? Yes, honor calis- with atrength like steal He pot the visión by; Let dusky Iodianü whine and kneel, An Rnglih lad most die. And thns, with eres tbat would not shrink, "With knee to nuui onbent, Untaltering on its drcadftü brink, To his red graw he went. Vain mightiest fleets of iron framed, Vain tliusw all shattering gons, Unless prood England keep untamed The strong heart of her sons; So let his name through Korope ring- A man of meau estáte, Who died, as ftrm as Sparta's king, Because his soul was great.