day by Henry Wilson, No. 1Oo, Market Street.

rhe Tartan arrows fell like rain,
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The Tartan arrows fell like rain,
They clank'd on helm, OH mail, on chain;
In blood, in hate, in death, we're tWined
Savage and Greek, mad, bleeding, blnd
And still on flank, on front, and rear,
Ragged, Constantine, thy thirstiest spear
Brassy and pale, a type Of doom,


Laboured the moon, through deepening gloom .
Down plunged her orb--hWas pitchy night
Now Turkman, turn thy relns for fight
On rush'd their thousands through the dark
But in their camp ruddy spark,
Like an uncertain meteor, reePd
Thy hand, brave king, that frebrand wheeld
Wild burst the burning element


O'er man and courser, flag and tent
And through the blaze the Greeks outsprang,
Like tigers, bloody, foot and fang,


With daggers' stab and falchion's sweep
Deying the stunnd and staggering heap
Till lay the slave by chief and Khan,
And all was gore that once was man.
There's wailing on the Euxine shore
Her Ghivalry shall ride no more.


There's wailing on thy hills, Altai,


For chiefs-the Grecian vutures' prey.
But Bosphorus, thy silver wave


Hears shouts for the returning brave.
The kingliest Of her kingly line,
For there comes glorious Constantnes