“On the Eve of Bunker Hill,” while recording no thrilling story, has a note of pensive beauty in its quiet description of the preparation for battle before that memorable day, and of the prayer offered in the presence of the soldiers, “ranged a-row” in the open night. The initial stanza gives the setting and key:
’Twas June on the face of the earth, June with the rose’s breath, When life is a gladsome thing, and a distant dream is death; There was gossip of birds in the air, and the lowing of herds by the wood, And a sunset gleam in the sky that the heart of a man holds good; Then the nun-like twilight came, violet-vestured and still, And the night’s first star outshone afar on the eve of Bunker Hill.
Taking the volume throughout, it is a stirringly sung _résumé_ of all the chief deeds in American history to which attach valor and romance, and is not only attractive reading, but should be in the hands of every lad as a stimulus to patriotism, and to focus in his mind, as textbooks could never do, the exploits of the brave and the strong.
In the lyrical narrative poem, such as “Guiraut, the Troubadour,” Mr. Scollard has one of his most characteristic vehicles. The adventures of the singer who sought a maid in Carcassonne are, no doubt, romantically enhanced by association of the name with that of the hapless one who “had not been to Carcassonne;” but it is certain that one follows the troubadour in his “russet raimentry,” drawn by his charm as
Unto the gate of Carcassonne (Ah, how his blithe lips smiled upon The warded gate of Carcassonne!) As light of foot as Love he strode; The budding flowers along the road Bloomed sudden, with his song for lure; And softlier the river flowed Before Guiraut, the troubadour.
Unto a keep in Carcassonne (No sweeter voice e’er drifted on That frowning keep in Carcassonne!) Anon the singer drew anigh,—
but we may not follow his propitious fortunes, glimpsed but to show the manner of their telling. The parenthetical lines, recurring in each stanza, impart a peculiar charm to the recital, but the diction and phrasing, while pleasant and in harmony, have no especial distinction in themselves, and this illustrates a frequent characteristic of Mr. Scollard’s work that the melody often carries the charm rather than the expression or basic theme. He is primarily a singer, he has the “lute in tune,” and the song is so spontaneous as sometimes to outsing the motive. There is always a felicitous, and often unique, turn of phrase and a most imaginative fancy, but one feels in a good deal of the work a lack of acid; it is too bland to bite as deeply as it ought. Just a bit sharper tang is needful.