THE BELEAGUERED TOWN.

Behind the town the sun sinks down

Gilding the vane upon the spire,

While many a wall reels to its fall

Beneath the fell artillery fire.

As sinks that sun mortar and gun

Like living things leap grim and hot,

And far and wide across the tide

Spray-furrows show the flying shot.

White smoke in clouds yon earthwork shrouds

Where, steeped in battle to the lips,

The French amain pour fiery rain

On town, and walls, and English ships.

That deadly sleet smites lines and fleet,

As closes in the Autumn night,

And Aboville from head to heel

Thrills with the battle's wild delight.

At every flash oak timbers crash —

A sudden glare yon frigate dyes!

Then flames up-gush, and roar, and rush,

From deck to where her pennon flies!

Those flames on high crimson the sky

And paint their signals overhead,

And every fold of smoke is rolled

And woven in Plutonian red.

All radiant now taffrail and prow,

And hull, and cordage, beams and spars,

Thus lit she sails on fiery gales

To purple seas where float the stars.

Ages ago just such a glow

Woke Agamemnon's house to joy,

Its red and gold to Argos told

The long-expected fate of Troy.

So, on these heights, that flame delights

The Allies thundering at the wall,

Forewrit they see the land set free

And Albion's short-lived Ilium fall!

Then as the Lilies turn to red

Dipped in the battles’ wine

Another picture is outspread

Where still the figures shine —

The picture of a deadly fray

Worthy the pencil of Vernet!