The Chrissenmas to Mayday 
Beside them, pointing upward to the skies. 
And evergreen, to mark their names should live, 
Tall cypress stand, as silent sentries rise, 
And, for a brother’s sake who shared this lot, 
A woman’s tender hand was found at last 
To rail around and mark with stone the spot, 
And tho’ the dust of rank and file could not 
Be gathered in from all the slopes around, 
Where’er they fell — yet they were not forgot. 
Amid the rest a “ Sixtieth Rifle ” lay, 
Buried among the Guards by some kind hand ; 
He too had fallen on that fated day. 
And — in a corner, stands a little stone, 
In memory of a Colour-Sergeant, placed 
By some one of his comrades, now unknown ! 
His name and corps, and then “ Adue, my friend,” 
Thus quaintly spelt, in black old letters carved, 
And faltering somewhat, near the bitter end, 
A few steps further, on the moorland slope, 
Three of the gallant Scots Guards fell on sleep : 
Left in an alien land, to rest in hope, 
Until a louder trumpet call shall sound 
Than that which woke them from their well-earned rest, 
To a death-struggle o’er each inch of ground, 
Here and below by yonder chain of lakes, 
Weedy and willow-grown and wet and wild ; 
Give one poor thought to all their gallant sakes, 
They whom these loved are dead or waxen old. 
The echo of their deeds grown faint and far, 
For these all love and sorrow hath grown cold. 
Oh ! while ye honour soldiers of to-day 
Forget not quite these soldiers passed away. 
Waiting the trumpet call ! 
Sleep, silent soldiers, sleep ! 
Rest ye in Hope until a fairer morn 
Than brought you Death shall surely dawn. 
April 30. — Grand fishing weather. Nearly every one of 
these wet days some trout has been caught in the little river; 
lovely little spotted trout, which remind me of speckled 
beauties in the Italian mountain streams. How I should like 
to be like Thoreau, who is said to have had only to put his 
hand into the water to be able to bring out a fish lying cosily, 
and quite undismayed, in the palm of it ! The rain turned to 
snow this afternoon ; but, luckily, did not last long, nor did 
it lie. But the rain has beaten down some of my lovely 
hyacinths ; happily the tulip-bed of mixed beauties does not 
hi 
