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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Land of Song, Book II, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Land of Song, Book II
+ For lower grammar grades
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Larkin Dunton
+
+Release Date: February 14, 2012 [EBook #38880]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAND OF SONG, BOOK II ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE LAND OF SONG
+
+ BOOK II.
+
+ _FOR LOWER GRAMMAR GRADES_
+
+
+ SELECTED BY
+ KATHARINE H. SHUTE
+
+
+ EDITED BY
+ LARKIN DUNTON, LL.D.
+ HEAD MASTER OF THE BOSTON NORMAL SCHOOL
+
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+
+ SILVER, BURDETT & COMPANY
+ NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO
+ 1899
+
+
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1899,
+ BY SILVER, BURDETT & COMPANY.
+
+ BOSTON:
+ C. J. PETERS & SON, TYPOGRAPHERS.
+ Plimpton Press
+ H. M. PLIMPTON & CO., PRINTERS & BINDERS,
+ NORWOOD, MASS., U.S.A.
+
+
+
+
+_COMPILERS' PREFACE._
+
+
+The inestimable value of literature in supplying healthful recreation,
+in opening the mind to larger views of life, and in creating ideals that
+shall mold the spiritual nature, is conceded now by every one who has
+intelligently considered the problems of education. But the basis upon
+which literature shall be selected and arranged is still a matter of
+discussion.
+
+Chronology, race-correspondence, correlation, and ethical training
+should all be recognized incidentally; but the main purpose of the
+teacher of literature is to send children on into life with a genuine
+love for good reading. To accomplish this, three things should be true
+of the reading offered: first, it should be _literature_; second, it
+should be literature of some scope, not merely some small phase of
+literature, such as the fables or the poetry of one of the less eminent
+poets; and third, it should appeal to children's natural interests.
+Children's interests, varied as they seem, center in the marvelous and
+the preternatural; in the natural world; and in human life, especially
+child life and the romantic and heroic aspects of mature life. In the
+selections made for each grade, we have recognized these different
+interests.
+
+To grade poetry perfectly for different ages is an impossibility; much
+of the greatest verse is for all ages--that is one reason why it _is_
+great. A child of five will lisp the numbers of Horatius with delight;
+and Scott's _Lullaby of an Infant Chief_, with its romantic color and
+its exquisite human tenderness, is dear to childhood, to manhood, and to
+old age. But the Land of Song is a great undiscovered country to the
+little child; by some road or other he must find his way into it; and
+these volumes simply attempt to point out a path through which he may be
+led into its happy fields.
+
+Our earnest thanks are due to the following publishers for permission
+to use copyrighted poems: to Houghton, Mifflin & Co. for poems by
+Longfellow, Whittier, Emerson, Holmes, Lowell, Aldrich, Bayard Taylor,
+James T. Fields, Phoebe Cary, Lucy Larcom, Celia Thaxter, and Sarah Orne
+Jewett; to D. Appleton & Co. for a large number of Bryant's poems; to
+Charles Scribner's Sons for two poems by Stevenson, from _Underwoods_,
+and _A Child's Garden of Verse_; to J. B. Lippincott & Co. for two poems
+by Thomas Buchanan Read; and to Henry T. Coates & Co. for a poem by
+Charles Fenno Hoffman.
+
+The present volume is intended for the fourth, fifth, and sixth school
+years, or lower grammar grades. It is the second of three books prepared
+for use in the grades below the high school. As no collection of this
+size can supply as much poetry as may be used to advantage, and as many
+desirable poems by American writers have necessarily been omitted, we
+have noted at the end of this volume lists of poems which it would be
+well to add to the material given here, that our children may realize
+the scope and beauty of the poetry of their own land.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ PAGE
+ ALICE BRAND 64
+ AT SEA 60
+
+ BANKS O' DOON, THE 217
+ BATTLE OF BLENHEIM, THE 141
+ BATTLE OF THE BALTIC, THE 103
+ BELEAGUERED CITY, THE 133
+ BELSHAZZAR 221
+ BOY AND THE ANGEL, THE 118
+ BRIGHTEST AND BEST OF THE SONS OF THE MORNING 157
+ BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE 22
+ BY COOL SILOAM'S SHADY RILL 30
+
+ CALM ON THE LISTENING EAR OF NIGHT 93
+ CA' THE YOWES 81
+ CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE, THE 89
+ CHILDREN IN THE WOOD, THE 71
+ CHORAL SONG OF ILLYRIAN PEASANTS 125
+ COMPANIONSHIP WITH NATURE 227
+ CONCORD HYMN 161
+ CORAL GROVE, THE 63
+ COUNCIL OF HORSES, THE 114
+ CORONACH 200
+ CRICKET, THE 193
+
+ DAFFODILS 15
+ DAFFODILS, THE 13
+ DEATH OF NELSON, THE 164
+ DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB 18
+ DEWDROP, THE 207
+
+ ELIXIR, THE 117
+ ENGLAND 170
+ EPITAPH ON A HARE 112
+ EVENING (John Fletcher) 150
+ EVENING (John Keble) 206
+ EVENING WIND, THE 123
+ EXILE OF ERIN 215
+
+ FAREWELL, A 152
+ FIDELITY 108
+ FINE DAY, A 35
+ FISHERMAN, THE 211
+ FOR A' THAT, AND A' THAT 69
+
+ GLADIATOR, THE 228
+ GOOD-NIGHT 207
+ GRASSHOPPER, THE 192
+ GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD, THE 121
+ GREEN CORNFIELD, A 41
+
+ HALLOWED GROUND 145
+ HERITAGE, THE 208
+ HOHENLINDEN 21
+ HOLY, HOLY, HOLY 19
+ HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD 27
+ HONEY-BEE, THE 15
+ HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE 104
+ "HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX" 229
+ HYMN OF THE NATIVITY 234
+ HURRICANE, THE 175
+
+ INCHCAPE ROCK, THE 43
+ INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 147
+ INGRATITUDE 57
+
+ JOCK OF HAZELDEAN 213
+ JERUSALEM, THE GOLDEN 204
+
+ KINGDOM OF GOD, THE 178
+ KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY 126
+
+ LADY CLARE 218
+ LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS 28
+ LIFE'S "GOOD-MORNING" 201
+ LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG 105
+ LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER 211
+ LOVE OF GOD, THE 31
+
+ MARCH 42
+ MONTEREY 162
+ MOONRISE, A SELECTION 201
+ MORNING 149
+ MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD 37
+
+ NEW YEAR, THE 237
+ NIGHT 101
+ NOBLE NATURE, THE 179
+ NORTHERN SEAS, THE 61
+
+ ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND 167
+ OH! WEEP FOR THOSE 17
+ O MOTHER DEAR, JERUSALEM 205
+ ON A FAVORITE CAT DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLDFISHES 197
+ ON A SPANIEL CALLED "BEAU" KILLING A YOUNG BIRD 78
+ ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET (Leigh Hunt) 111
+ ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET (John Keats) 110
+ O WAD SOME POWER 37
+
+ PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU 24
+ PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN, THE 46
+ PILGRIM FATHERS, THE 84
+ PIPES AT LUCKNOW, THE 224
+ PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE 32
+
+ QUIET, LORD, MY FROWARD HEART 149
+
+ REBECCA'S HYMN 20
+ REST 191
+ REVENGE, THE 143
+ RHYMED LESSON, A 82
+ ROYAL GEORGE, THE 91
+ RUTH 116
+
+ SAILOR'S WIFE, THE 135
+ SANDALPHON 231
+ SELECTION FROM CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, A 155
+ SELKIRK GRACE, THE 31
+ SHEPHERD'S HOME, THE 77
+ SHERIDAN'S RIDE 172
+ SKYLARK, THE 39
+ SOLDIER AND SAILOR 137
+ SOLDIER'S DREAM, THE 26
+ SOLITARY REAPER, THE 199
+ SONG FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE 216
+ SONG OF MARION'S MEN 99
+ SONG OF THE GREEKS 170
+ SONG OF THE SEA, A 58
+ SONG: "ORPHEUS WITH HIS LUTE MADE TREES" 151
+ SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL 125
+ SPRING 38
+ STARS 101
+ STORM, THE 190
+ SUMMER SHOWER, THE 36
+ SWEET PEAS 80
+
+ THY VOICE IS HEARD THROUGH ROLLING DRUMS 148
+ TO A MOUSE 153
+ TO A WATERFOWL 202
+ TO DAFFODILS 14
+ TO THE CUCKOO 40
+ TO THE SMALL CELANDINE 131
+
+ UNION AND LIBERTY 97
+ UPON THE MOUNTAIN'S DISTANT HEAD 16
+
+ VIRTUE 208
+
+ WHEN ALL THY MERCIES, O MY GOD 177
+ WHEN WILT THOU SAVE THE PEOPLE? 94
+ WINSTANLEY 180
+ WIVES OF BRIXHAM, THE 86
+ WREN'S NEST, A 194
+
+ YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND 163
+
+
+
+
+_Index of Authors._
+
+
+ ADDISON, JOSEPH.
+ When all thy Mercies, O my God 177
+
+ ANONYMOUS.
+ O Mother Dear, Jerusalem 205
+ The Children in the Wood 71
+ The Wives of Brixham 86
+
+ ARNOLD.
+ The Death of Nelson 164
+
+ BARBAULD, ANNA LETITIA.
+ Life's "Good-Morning" 201
+
+ BLAKE, WILLIAM.
+ Night 101
+
+ BROWNING, ROBERT.
+ An Incident of the French Camp 147
+ "How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix" 229
+ The Boy and the Angel 118
+ The Pied Piper of Hamelin 46
+
+ BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN.
+ March 42
+ Song of Marion's Men 99
+ The Evening Wind 123
+ The Hurricane 175
+ The Love of God 31
+ The Planting of the Apple Tree 32
+ To a Waterfowl 202
+ Upon the Mountain's Distant Head 16
+
+ BURNS, ROBERT.
+ Ca' the Yowes 81
+ For A' That, and A' That 69
+ Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots 28
+ O wad some Power 37
+ The Banks o' Doon 217
+ The Selkirk Grace 31
+ To a Mouse 153
+
+ BYRON, LORD (GEORGE NOEL GORDON).
+ A Selection from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage 155
+ Companionship with Nature, A Selection 227
+ Moonrise, A Selection 201
+ Oh! weep for Those 17
+ The Destruction of Sennacherib 18
+ The Gladiator, A Selection 228
+
+ CAMPBELL, THOMAS.
+ Exile of Erin 215
+ Hallowed Ground 145
+ Hohenlinden 21
+ Lord Ullin's Daughter 211
+ Soldier and Sailor 137
+ Song of the Greeks 170
+ The Battle of the Baltic 103
+ The Soldier's Dream 26
+ Ye Mariners of England 163
+
+ COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR.
+ Choral Song of Illyrian Peasants 125
+
+ COLLINS, WILLIAM.
+ How Sleep the Brave 104
+
+ CORNWALL, BARRY. (See PROCTER.)
+
+ COWLEY, ABRAHAM.
+ The Grasshopper 192
+
+ COWPER, WILLIAM.
+ Epitaph on a Hare 112
+ On a Spaniel called "Beau" killing a Young Bird 78
+ The Cricket 193
+ The Royal George 91
+
+ CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN.
+ At Sea 60
+
+ DRAYTON, MICHAEL.
+ A Fine Day 35
+
+ ELLIOTT, EBENEZER.
+ When Wilt Thou save the People 94
+
+ EMERSON, RALPH WALDO.
+ Concord Hymn 161
+
+ FLETCHER, JOHN.
+ Evening 150
+
+ GAY, JOHN.
+ The Council of Horses 114
+
+ GOETHE, JOHANN WOLFGANG.
+ Rest 191
+
+ GRAY, THOMAS.
+ On a Favorite Cat, drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes 197
+
+ HEBER, REGINALD.
+ Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning 157
+ By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill 30
+ Holy, Holy, Holy 19
+
+ HEMANS, FELICIA.
+ The Graves of a Household 121
+ The Pilgrim Fathers 84
+
+ HERBERT, GEORGE.
+ The Elixir 117
+ Virtue 208
+
+ HERRICK, ROBERT.
+ To Daffodils 14
+
+ HOFFMAN, CHARLES FENNO.
+ Monterey 162
+
+ HOGG, JAMES.
+ The Skylark 39
+
+ HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL.
+ A Rhymed Lesson, Selections 82
+ Union and Liberty 97
+
+ HOOD, THOMAS.
+ Ruth 116
+
+ HOWITT, MARY.
+ The Northern Seas 61
+
+ HUNT, LEIGH.
+ On the Grasshopper and Cricket 111
+
+ INGELOW, JEAN.
+ Winstanley 180
+
+ JONSON, BEN.
+ The Noble Nature 179
+
+ KEATS, JOHN.
+ On the Grasshopper and Cricket 110
+ Sweet Peas, A Selection 80
+
+ KEBLE, JOHN.
+ Evening 206
+ Morning 149
+
+ KINGSLEY, CHARLES.
+ Ode to the North-East Wind 167
+
+ LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH.
+ Sandalphon 231
+ The Beleaguered City 133
+
+ LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL.
+ The Heritage 208
+
+ MICKLE, WILLIAM J.
+ The Sailor's Wife 135
+
+ MILTON, JOHN.
+ Hymn of the Nativity, A Selection 234
+
+ MOORE, THOMAS.
+ Sound the Loud Timbrel 125
+
+ NASH, THOMAS.
+ Spring 38
+
+ NEWTON, JOHN.
+ Quiet, Lord, my Froward Heart 149
+
+ PERCIVAL, JAMES G.
+ The Coral Grove 63
+
+ PERCY, THOMAS.
+ King John and the Abbot of Canterbury 126
+
+ PROCTER, ADELAIDE.
+ The Storm 190
+
+ PROCTER, BRYAN WALLER (BARRY CORNWALL).
+ A Song of the Sea 58
+ Belshazzar 221
+ Stars 101
+ The Fisherman 211
+
+ QUARLES, FRANCIS.
+ Good-Night 207
+
+ READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN.
+ Sheridan's Ride 172
+ The Summer Shower 36
+
+ ROSSETTI, CHRISTINA G.
+ A Green Cornfield 41
+
+ ST. BERNARD.
+ Jerusalem, the Golden 204
+
+ SCOTT, SIR WALTER.
+ Alice Brand 64
+ Coronach 200
+ Jock of Hazeldean 213
+ Pibroch of Donald Dhu 24
+ Rebecca's Hymn 20
+ Song From "The Lady of the Lake" 216
+
+ SEARS, EDMUND H.
+ Calm on the Listening Ear of Night 93
+
+ SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM.
+ Daffodils, A Selection 15
+ England, A Selection 170
+ Ingratitude, A Selection 57
+ Song: "Orpheus with his lute made trees" 151
+ The Honey-bee, A Selection 15
+
+ SHENSTONE, WILLIAM.
+ The Shepherd's Home 77
+
+ SOUTHEY, ROBERT.
+ Llewellyn and his Dog 105
+ The Battle of Blenheim 141
+ The Inchcape Rock 43
+
+ TENNYSON, ALFRED.
+ A Farewell 152
+ Home they brought her Warrior dead 27
+ Lady Clare 218
+ The Charge of the Light Brigade 89
+ The New Year 237
+ The Revenge, A Selection 143
+ Thy Voice is heard through Rolling Drums 148
+
+ TRENCH, RICHARD C.
+ The Dewdrop 207
+ The Kingdom of God 178
+
+ WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF.
+ The Pipes at Lucknow 224
+
+ WOLFE, CHARLES.
+ The Burial of Sir John Moore 22
+
+ WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM.
+ A Wren's Nest 194
+ Fidelity 108
+ My heart leaps up when I behold 37
+ The Daffodils 13
+ The Solitary Reaper 199
+ To the Cuckoo 40
+ To the Small Celandine 131
+
+
+
+
+THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK II.
+
+_PART I._
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: AUTUMN.
+
+E. SEMENOWSKY.]
+
+
+
+
+_THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK II._
+
+PART ONE.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE DAFFODILS.
+
+
+ I wandered lonely as a cloud
+ That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
+ When all at once I saw a crowd,
+ A host, of golden daffodils;
+ Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
+ Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
+
+ Continuous as the stars that shine
+ And twinkle on the milky way,
+ They stretched in never-ending line
+ Along the margin of a bay:
+ Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
+ Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
+
+ The waves beside them danced; but they
+ Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
+ A poet could not but be gay
+ In such a jocund company;
+ I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
+ What wealth the show to me had brought:
+
+ For oft, when on my couch I lie
+ In vacant or in pensive mood,
+ They flash upon that inward eye
+ Which is the bliss of solitude;
+ And then my heart with pleasure fills,
+ And dances with the daffodils.
+
+ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+
+
+TO DAFFODILS.
+
+
+ Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
+ You haste away so soon;
+ As yet the early-rising Sun
+ Has not attained his noon;
+ Stay, stay,
+ Until the hasting day
+ Has run
+ But to the evensong;
+ And, having prayed together, we
+ Will go with you along.
+ We have short time to stay, as you;
+ We have as short a spring;
+ As quick a growth to meet decay
+ As you, or anything:
+ We die,
+ As your hours do, and dry
+ Away
+ Like to the summer's rain;
+ Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
+ Ne'er to be found again.
+
+ ROBERT HERRICK.
+
+
+
+
+DAFFODILS.
+
+
+ Daffodils
+ That come before the swallow dares, and take
+ The winds of March with beauty.
+
+"_A Winter's Tale._"
+
+ WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
+
+
+
+
+THE HONEY-BEE.
+
+
+ For so work the honey-bees,
+ Creatures that by a rule in nature teach
+ The act of order to a peopled kingdom.
+ They have a king and officers of sorts;
+ Where some, like magistrates, correct at home,
+ Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad,
+ Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,
+ Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds,
+ Which pillage they with merry march bring home
+ To the tent-royal of their emperor;
+ Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
+ The singing masons building roofs of gold,
+ The civil citizens, kneading up the honey,
+ The poor mechanic porters crowding in
+ Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate.
+
+"_King Henry V._"
+
+ WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+UPON THE MOUNTAIN'S DISTANT HEAD.
+
+
+ Upon the mountain's distant head,
+ With trackless snows forever white,
+ Where all is still, and cold, and dead,
+ Late shines the day's departing light.
+
+ But far below those icy rocks,
+ The vales in summer bloom arrayed,
+ Woods full of birds, and fields of flocks,
+ Are dim with mist and dark with shade.
+
+ 'Tis thus, from warm and kindly hearts,
+ And eyes whose generous meanings burn,
+ Earliest the light of life departs,
+ But lingers with the cold and stern.
+
+ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: LORD BYRON.]
+
+OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.
+
+
+ Oh! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
+ Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream;
+ Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;
+ Mourn--where their God hath dwelt, the godless dwell!
+
+ And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
+ And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?
+ And Judah's melody once more rejoice
+ The hearts that leaped before its heavenly voice?
+
+ Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
+ How shall ye flee away and be at rest!
+ The wild dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
+ Mankind their country--Israel but the grave.
+
+ LORD GEORGE NOEL GORDON BYRON.
+
+
+
+
+THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
+
+
+ The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
+ And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
+ And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
+ When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
+
+ Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
+ That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
+ Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
+ That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
+
+ For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
+ And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
+ And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
+ And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!
+
+ And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
+ But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
+ And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
+ And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
+
+ And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
+ With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
+ And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
+ The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
+
+ And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
+ And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
+ And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
+ Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
+
+ LORD GEORGE NOEL GORDON BYRON.
+
+
+
+
+HOLY, HOLY, HOLY.
+
+
+ Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty!
+ Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee;
+ Holy, holy, holy! merciful and mighty!
+ All Thy works shall praise Thy name in earth and sky and sea.
+
+ Holy, holy, holy! all the saints adore Thee,
+ Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
+ Cherubim and Seraphim falling down before Thee,
+ Which wert and art and evermore shalt be!
+
+ Holy, holy, holy! Though the darkness hide Thee,
+ Though the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see,
+ Only Thou art holy, there is none beside Thee,
+ Perfect in power, in love, and purity!
+
+ _Altered from_ REGINALD HEBER.
+
+
+
+
+REBECCA'S HYMN.
+
+
+ When Israel, of the Lord beloved,
+ Out of the land of bondage came,
+ Her father's God before her moved,
+ An awful guide, in smoke and flame.
+ By day, along the astonished lands
+ The cloudy pillar glided slow;
+ By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands
+ Returned the fiery column's glow.
+
+ There rose the choral hymn of praise,
+ And trump and timbrel answered keen,
+ And Zion's daughters poured their lays,
+ With priest's and warrior's voice between.
+ No portents now our foes amaze,
+ Forsaken Israel wanders lone;
+ Our fathers would not know Thy ways,
+ And Thou hast left them to their own.
+
+ But, present still, though now unseen,
+ When brightly shines the prosperous day,
+ Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen
+ To temper the deceitful ray.
+ And oh, when stoops on Judah's path
+ In shade and storm the frequent night,
+ Be Thou long-suffering, slow to wrath,
+ A burning and a shining light!
+
+ Our harps we left by Babel's streams,
+ The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn;
+ No censer round our altar beams,
+ And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn.
+ But Thou hast said, the blood of goat,
+ The flesh of rams I will not prize;
+ A contrite heart, an humble thought,
+ Are mine accepted sacrifice.
+
+_From "Ivanhoe."_
+
+ SIR WALTER SCOTT.
+
+
+
+
+HOHENLINDEN.
+
+
+ On Linden, when the sun was low,
+ All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
+ And dark as winter was the flow
+ Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
+
+ But Linden saw another sight,
+ When the drum beat, at dead of night,
+ Commanding fires of death to light
+ The darkness of her scenery.
+
+ By torch and trumpet fast arrayed
+ Each horseman drew his battle blade,
+ And furious every charger neighed
+ To join the dreadful revelry.
+
+ Then shook the hills, with thunder riven
+ Then rushed the steed, to battle driven;
+ And louder than the bolts of Heaven,
+ Far flashed the red artillery.
+
+ But redder yet that light shall glow
+ On Linden's hills of stained snow;
+ And bloodier yet the torrent flow
+ Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
+
+ 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
+ Can pierce the war clouds, rolling dun,
+ Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
+ Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
+
+ The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
+ Who rush to glory, or the grave!
+ Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!
+ And charge with all thy chivalry!
+
+ Few, few shall part, where many meet!
+ The snow shall be their winding sheet;
+ And every turf beneath their feet
+ Shall be a soldier's sepulcher.
+
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL.
+
+
+
+
+THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.
+
+
+ Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
+ As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
+ Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
+ O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
+
+ We buried him darkly at dead of night,
+ The sods with our bayonets turning;
+ By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
+ And the lantern dimly burning.
+
+ No useless coffin inclosed his breast,
+ Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;
+ But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
+ With his martial cloak around him.
+
+ Few and short were the prayers we said,
+ And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
+ But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,
+ And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
+
+ We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed,
+ And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
+ That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
+ And we far away on the billow!
+
+ Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
+ And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,--
+ But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
+ In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
+
+ But half of our heavy task was done
+ When the clock struck the hour for retiring;
+ And we heard the distant and random gun
+ That the foe was sullenly firing.
+
+ Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
+ From the field of his fame, fresh and gory;
+ We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone--
+ But we left him alone with his glory!
+
+ CHARLES WOLFE.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: SIR WALTER SCOTT.]
+
+PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU.
+
+
+ Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,
+ Pibroch of Donuil,
+ Wake thy wild voice anew,
+ Summon Clan Conuil.
+ Come away, come away,
+ Hark to the summons!
+ Come in your war array,
+ Gentles and commons.
+
+ Come from deep glen, and
+ From mountains so rocky;
+ The war pipe and pennon
+ Are at Inverlocky.
+ Come every hill plaid, and
+ True heart that wears one,
+ Come every steel blade, and
+ Strong hand that bears one.
+
+ Leave untended the herd,
+ The flock without shelter;
+ Leave the corpse uninterred,
+ The bride at the altar;
+ Leave the deer, leave the steer,
+ Leave nets and barges;
+ Come with your fighting gear,
+ Broadswords and targes.
+
+ Come as the winds come, when
+ Forests are rended;
+ Come as the waves come, when
+ Navies are stranded;
+ Faster come, faster come,
+ Faster and faster,
+ Chief, vassal, page, and groom,
+ Tenant and master.
+
+ Fast they come, fast they come;
+ See how they gather!
+ Wide waves the eagle plume
+ Blended with heather.
+ Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
+ Forward each man set!
+ Pibroch of Donuil Dhu
+ Knell for the onset!
+
+ SIR WALTER SCOTT.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
+
+
+ Our bugles sang truce, for the night cloud had lowered,
+ And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
+ And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,
+ The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
+
+ When reposing that night on my pallet of straw
+ By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain,
+ At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw;
+ And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
+
+ Methought from the battlefield's dreadful array
+ Far, far, I had roamed on a desolate track;
+ 'Twas autumn,--and sunshine arose on the way
+ To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
+
+ I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft
+ In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;
+ I heard my own mountain goats bleating aloft,
+ And knew the sweet strain that the corn reapers sung.
+
+ Then pledged we the wine cup, and fondly I swore
+ From my home and my weeping friends never to part;
+ My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
+ And my wife sobbed aloud in her fullness of heart.
+
+ "Stay, stay with us!--rest! thou art weary and worn!"
+ And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;--
+ But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
+ And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
+
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL.
+
+
+
+
+HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD.
+
+
+ Home they brought her warrior dead:
+ She nor swooned, nor uttered cry;
+ All her maidens, watching, said,
+ "She must weep or she will die."
+
+ Then they praised him, soft and low,
+ Called him worthy to be loved,
+ Truest friend and noblest foe;
+ Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
+
+ Stole a maiden from her place,
+ Lightly to the warrior stept,
+ Took the face cloth from the face;
+ Yet she neither moved nor wept.
+
+ Rose a nurse of ninety years,
+ Set his child upon her knee--
+ Like summer tempest came her tears--
+ "Sweet my child, I live for thee."
+
+ ALFRED TENNYSON.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
+
+ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.
+
+
+ Now Nature hangs her mantle green
+ On every blooming tree,
+ And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
+ Out o'er the grassy lea:
+ Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,
+ And glads the azure skies;
+ But nought can glad the weary wight
+ That fast in durance lies.
+
+ Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,
+ Aloft on dewy wing;
+ The merle, in his noon-tide bower,
+ Makes woodland echoes ring;
+ The mavis wild wi' mony a note
+ Sings drowsy day to rest:
+ In love and freedom they rejoice,
+ Wi' care nor thrall opprest.
+
+ Now blooms the lily by the bank,
+ The primrose down the brae;
+ The hawthorne's budding in the glen,
+ And milk-white is the slae;
+ The meanest hind in fair Scotland
+ May rove their sweets amang;
+ But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,
+ Maun lie in prison strang!
+
+ I was the Queen o' bonnie France,
+ Where happy I hae been;
+ Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,
+ As blythe lay down at e'en:
+ And I'm the sov'reign o' Scotland,
+ And mony a traitor there;
+ Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
+ And never-ending care.
+
+ My son! my son! may kinder stars
+ Upon thy fortune shine;
+ And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
+ That ne'er wad blink on mine!
+ God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
+ Or turn their hearts to thee:
+ And, where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
+ Remember him for me!
+
+ Oh! soon, to me, may summer suns
+ Nae mair light up the morn!
+ Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds
+ Wave o'er the yellow corn!
+ And in the narrow house o' death
+ Let winter round me rave;
+ And the next flow'rs that deck the spring
+ Bloom on my peaceful grave!
+
+ ROBERT BURNS.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+BY COOL SILOAM'S SHADY RILL.
+
+
+ By cool Siloam's shady rill
+ How sweet the lily grows!
+ How sweet the breath beneath the hill
+ Of Sharon's dewy rose!
+
+ Lo, such the child whose early feet
+ The paths of peace have trod;
+ Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,
+ Is upward drawn to God.
+
+ By cool Siloam's shady rill
+ The lily must decay;
+ The rose that blooms beneath the hill
+ Must shortly fade away.
+
+ REGINALD HEBER.
+
+
+
+
+THE SELKIRK GRACE.
+
+
+ Some hae meat and canna eat,
+ And some wad eat that want it;
+ But we hae meat and we can eat,
+ And sae the Lord be thankit.
+
+ ROBERT BURNS.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVE OF GOD.
+
+
+ All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away,
+ Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.
+ The forms of men shall be as they had never been;
+ The blasted groves shall lose their fresh and tender green;
+ The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant song,
+ And the nightingale shall cease to chant the evening long.
+ The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that kills,
+ And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the hills.
+ The goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the fox,
+ The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of the rocks,
+ And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden dust shall lie;
+ And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty whale, shall die.
+ And realms shall be dissolved, and empires be no more,
+ And they shall bow to death, who ruled from shore to shore;
+ And the great globe itself, so the holy writings tell,
+ With the rolling firmament, where the starry armies dwell,
+ Shall melt with fervent heat--they shall all pass away,
+ Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.
+
+ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
+
+_From the Provencal of Bernard Rascas._
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE.
+
+
+ Come, let us plant the apple tree.
+ Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;
+ Wide let its hollow bed be made;
+ There gently lay the roots, and there
+ Sift the dark mold with kindly care,
+ And press it o'er them tenderly,
+ As, round the sleeping infant's feet
+ We softly fold the cradle sheet;
+ So plant we the apple tree.
+
+ What plant we in this apple tree?
+ Buds, which the breath of summer days
+ Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;
+ Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast,
+ Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest;
+ We plant, upon the sunny lea,
+ A shadow for the noontide hour,
+ A shelter from the summer shower,
+ When we plant the apple tree.
+
+ What plant we in this apple tree?
+ Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
+ To load the May wind's restless wings,
+ When, from the orchard row, he pours
+ Its fragrance through our open doors;
+ A world of blossoms for the bee,
+ Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
+ For the glad infant sprigs of bloom,
+ We plant with the apple tree.
+
+ What plant we in this apple tree?
+ Fruits that shall swell in sunny June,
+ And redden in the August noon,
+ And drop, when gentle airs come by,
+ That fan the blue September sky,
+ While children come, with cries of glee,
+ And seek them where the fragrant grass
+ Betrays their bed to those who pass,
+ At the foot of the apple tree.
+
+ And when, above this apple tree,
+ The winter stars are quivering bright,
+ And winds go howling through the night,
+ Girls, whose young eyes overflow with mirth,
+ Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth,
+ And guests in prouder homes shall see,
+ Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine
+ And golden orange of the line,
+ The fruit of the apple tree.
+
+ The fruitage of this apple tree
+ Winds, and our flag of stripe and star,
+ Shall bear to coasts that lie afar,
+ Where men shall wonder at the view,
+ And ask in what fair groves they grew;
+ And sojourners beyond the sea
+ Shall think of childhood's careless day
+ And long, long hours of summer play,
+ In the shade of the apple tree.
+
+ Each year shall give this apple tree
+ A broader flush of roseate bloom,
+ A deeper maze of verdurous gloom,
+ And loosen, when the frost clouds lower,
+ The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower.
+ The years shall come and pass, but we
+ Shall hear no longer, where we lie,
+ The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh,
+ In the boughs of the apple tree.
+
+ And time shall waste this apple tree.
+ Oh, when its aged branches throw
+ Thin shadows on the ground below,
+ Shall fraud and force and iron will
+ Oppress the weak and helpless still?
+ What shall the tasks of mercy be,
+ Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears,
+ Of those who live when length of years
+ Is wasting this apple tree?
+
+ "Who planted this old apple tree?"
+ The children of that distant day
+ Thus to some aged man shall say;
+ And, gazing on its mossy stem,
+ The gray-haired man shall answer them:
+ "A poet of the land was he,
+ Born in the rude but good old times;
+ 'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes
+ On planting the apple tree."
+
+ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+A FINE DAY.
+
+
+ Clear had the day been from the dawn,
+ All chequer'd was the sky,
+ Thin clouds like scarfs of cobweb lawn
+ Veiled heaven's most glorious eye.
+ The wind had no more strength than this,
+ That leisurely it blew,
+ To make one leaf the next to kiss,
+ That closely by it grew.
+
+ MICHAEL DRAYTON.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE SUMMER SHOWER.
+
+
+ Before the stout harvesters falleth the grain,
+ As when the strong storm wind is reaping the plain;
+ And loiters the boy in the briery lane;
+ But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain,
+ Like a long line of spears brightly burnished and tall.
+
+ Adown the white highway like cavalry fleet,
+ It dashes the dust with its numberless feet.
+ Like a murmurless school, in their leafy retreat,
+ The wild birds sit listening, the drops round them beat;
+ And the boy crouches close to the blackberry wall.
+
+ The swallows alone take the storm on their wing,
+ And, taunting the tree-sheltered laborers, sing;
+ Like pebbles the rain breaks the face of the spring,
+ While a bubble darts up from each widening ring;
+ And the boy in dismay hears the loud shower fall.
+
+ But soon are the harvesters tossing their sheaves;
+ The robin darts out from his bower of leaves;
+ The wren peereth forth from the moss-covered eaves;
+ And the rain-spattered urchin now gladly perceives
+ That the beautiful bow bendeth over them all.
+
+ THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
+
+
+
+
+MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD.
+
+
+ My heart leaps up when I behold
+ A rainbow in the sky:
+ So was it when my life began;
+ So is it now I am a man;
+ So be it when I shall grow old,
+ Or let me die!
+ The Child is father of the Man;
+ And I could wish my days to be
+ Bound each to each by natural piety.
+
+ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+
+
+O WAD SOME POWER.
+
+
+ O Wad some Power the giftie gie us
+ To see oursel's as others see us!
+ It wad frae mony a blunder free us
+ An' foolish notion;
+ What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
+ And ev'n devotion!
+
+ ROBERT BURNS.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+SPRING.
+
+
+ Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king;
+ Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring;
+ Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
+ Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
+
+ The palm and may make country houses gay,
+ Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day;
+ And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
+ Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.
+
+ The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
+ Young lovers meet, old wives a sunning sit;
+ In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
+ Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
+ Spring! the sweet spring!
+
+ THOMAS NASH.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE SKYLARK.
+
+
+ Bird of the wilderness,
+ Blithesome and cumberless,
+ Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
+ Emblem of happiness,
+ Blest is thy dwelling-place--
+ Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!
+
+ Wild is thy lay and loud,
+ Far in the downy cloud,
+ Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
+ Where, on thy dewy wing,
+ Where art thou journeying?
+ Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
+
+ O'er fell and fountain sheen,
+ O'er moor and mountain green,
+ O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,
+ Over the cloudlet dim,
+ Over the rainbow's rim,
+ Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!
+
+ Then, when the gloaming comes,
+ Low in the heather blooms
+ Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
+ Emblem of happiness,
+ Best is thy dwelling-place--
+ Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!
+
+ JAMES HOGG.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE CUCKOO.
+
+
+ O Blithe newcomer! I have heard,
+ I hear thee and rejoice.
+ O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
+ Or but a wandering voice?
+
+ While I am lying on the grass
+ Thy twofold shout I hear,
+ From hill to hill it seems to pass,
+ At once far off and near!
+
+ Though babbling only to the vale,
+ Of sunshine and of flowers,
+ Thou bringest unto me a tale
+ Of visionary hours.
+
+ Thrice welcome, darling of the spring!
+ Even yet thou art to me
+ No bird, but an invisible thing,
+ A voice, a mystery;
+
+ The same whom in my schoolboy days
+ I listened to; that cry
+ Which made me look a thousand ways
+ In bush, and tree, and sky.
+
+ To seek thee did I often rove
+ Through woods and on the green;
+ And thou wert still a hope, a love;
+ Still longed for, never seen.
+
+ And I can listen to thee yet;
+ Can lie upon the plain
+ And listen, till I do beget
+ That golden time again.
+
+ O blessed bird! the earth we pace
+ Again appears to be
+ An unsubstantial, fairy place:
+ That is fit home for thee!
+
+ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+
+
+A GREEN CORNFIELD.
+
+"And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest."
+
+
+ The earth was green, the sky was blue:
+ I saw and heard one sunny morn
+ A skylark hang between the two,
+ A singing speck above the corn;
+
+ A stage below, in gay accord,
+ White butterflies danced on the wing,
+ And still the singing skylark soared
+ And silent sank, and soared to sing.
+
+ The cornfield stretched a tender green
+ To right and left beside my walks;
+ I knew he had a nest unseen
+ Somewhere among the million stalks:
+
+ And as I paused to hear his song
+ While swift the sunny moments slid,
+ Perhaps his mate sat listening long,
+ And listened longer than I did.
+
+ CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+MARCH.
+
+
+ The stormy March is come at last
+ With wind, and cloud, and changing skies;
+ I hear the rushing of the blast,
+ That through the snowy valley flies.
+
+ Ah, passing few are those who speak,
+ Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee;
+ Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak,
+ Thou art a welcome month to me.
+
+ For thou, to northern lands, again
+ The glad and glorious sun dost bring,
+ And thou hast joined the gentle train
+ And wear'st the gentle name of spring.
+
+ And, in thy reign of blast and storm,
+ Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day,
+ When the changed winds are soft and warm,
+ And Heaven puts on the blue of May.
+
+ Then sing aloud the gushing rills
+ In joy that they again are free,
+ And, brightly leaping down the hills,
+ Begin their journey to the sea.
+
+ The year's departing beauty hides
+ Of wintry storms the sullen threat;
+ But in thy sternest frown abides
+ A look of kindly promise yet.
+
+ Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies,
+ And that soft time of sunny showers,
+ When the wide bloom, on earth that lies,
+ Seems of a brighter world than ours.
+
+ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
+
+
+
+
+THE INCHCAPE ROCK.
+
+
+ No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
+ The ship was still as she could be;
+ Her sails from heaven received no motion,
+ Her keel was steady in the ocean.
+
+ Without either sign or sound of their shock
+ The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock;
+ So little they rose, so little they fell,
+ They did not move the Inchcape bell.
+
+ The good old Abbot of Aberbrothok
+ Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
+ On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
+ And over the waves its warning rung.
+
+ When the Rock was hid by the surges' swell,
+ The mariners heard the warning bell;
+ And then they knew the perilous Rock,
+ And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.
+
+ The sun in heaven was shining gay,
+ All things were joyful on that day;
+ The seabirds screamed as they wheeled around,
+ And there was joyance in their sound.
+
+ The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen
+ A darker speck on the ocean green;
+ Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck,
+ And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.
+
+ He felt the cheering power of spring,
+ It made him whistle, it made him sing;
+ His heart was mirthful to excess,
+ But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.
+
+ His eye was on the Inchcape float;
+ Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat,
+ And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
+ And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok."
+
+ The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,
+ And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
+ Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
+ And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.
+
+ Down sunk the bell, with a gurgling sound,
+ The bubbles rose and burst around;
+ Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the Rock
+ Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."
+
+ Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away;
+ He scoured the seas for many a day;
+ And now grown rich with plunder's store,
+ He steers his course for Scotland's shore.
+
+ So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky,
+ They cannot see the sun on high;
+ The wind hath blown a gale all day,
+ At evening it hath died away.
+
+ On the deck the Rover takes his stand;
+ So dark it is they see no land.
+ Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon,
+ For there is the dawn of the rising moon."
+
+ "Can'st hear," said one, "the breakers roar?
+ For methinks we should be near the shore;
+ Now where we are I cannot tell,
+ But I wish I could hear the Inchcape bell."
+
+ They hear no sound, the swell is strong;
+ Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along,
+ Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock;
+ Cried they, "It is the Inchcape Rock!"
+
+ Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
+ And curst himself in his despair;
+ The waves rush in on every side,
+ The ship is sinking beneath the tide.
+
+ But even in his dying fear
+ One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
+ A sound as if with the Inchcape bell
+ The fiends below were ringing his knell.
+
+ ROBERT SOUTHEY.
+
+
+
+
+THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN.
+
+
+ Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,
+ By famous Hanover city;
+ The river Weser deep and wide
+ Washes its walls on the southern side;
+ A pleasanter spot you never spied;
+ But, when begins my ditty,
+ Almost five hundred years ago,
+ To see the townsfolk suffer so
+ From vermin, was a pity.
+
+ Rats!
+ They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
+ And bit the babies in their cradles,
+ And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
+ And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,
+ Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
+ Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
+ And even spoiled the women's chats,
+ By drowning their speaking
+ With shrieking and squeaking
+ In fifty different sharps and flats.
+
+[Illustration: ROBERT BROWNING.]
+
+ At last the people in a body
+ To the town hall came flocking:
+ "'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy:
+ And as for our Corporation--shocking
+ To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
+ For dolts that can't or won't determine
+ What's best to rid us of our vermin!
+ You hope, because you're old and obese,
+ To find in the furry civic robe ease!
+ Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking
+ To find the remedy we're lacking,
+ Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!
+ At this the Mayor and Corporation
+ Quaked with a mighty consternation.
+
+ An hour they sat in council;
+ At length the Mayor broke silence:
+ "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell;
+ I wish I were a mile hence!
+ It's easy to bid one rack one's brain--
+ I'm sure my poor head aches again,
+ I've scratched it so, and all in vain.
+ Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap!"
+ Just as he said this, what should hap
+ At the chamber door but a gentle tap?
+ "Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?
+ Anything like the sound of a rat
+ Makes my heart go pitapat!
+
+ "Come in!" the Mayor cried, looking bigger;
+ And in did come the strangest figure!
+ His queer long coat from heel to head
+ Was half of yellow and half of red;
+ And he himself was tall and thin,
+ With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,
+ And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,
+ No tuft on cheek, nor beard on chin,
+ But lips where smiles went out and in--
+ There was no guessing his kith and kin!
+ And nobody could enough admire
+ The tall man and his quaint attire:
+ Quoth one, "It's as my great-grandsire,
+ Starting up at the trump of Doom's tone,
+ Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"
+
+ He advanced to the council table:
+ And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able,
+ By means of a secret charm, to draw
+ All creatures living beneath the sun,
+ That creep, or swim, or fly, or run,
+ After me so as you never saw!
+ And I chiefly use my charm
+ On creatures that do people harm,
+ The mole, the toad, the newt, the viper;
+ And people call me the Pied Piper."
+ And here they noticed round his neck
+ A scarf of red and yellow stripe,
+ To match with his coat of the selfsame check;
+ And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;
+ And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying,
+ As if impatient to be playing
+ Upon this pipe, as low it dangled
+ Over his vesture so old fangled.
+ "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am,
+ In Tartary I freed the Cham,
+ Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats;
+ I eased in Asia the Nizam
+ Of a monstrous brood of vampire bats:
+ And as for what your brain bewilders,
+ If I can rid your town of rats
+ Will you give me a thousand guilders?"
+ "One? fifty thousand!" was the exclamation
+ Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.
+
+ Into the street the Piper stept,
+ Smiling first a little smile,
+ As if he knew what magic slept
+ In his quiet pipe the while;
+ Then like a musical adept,
+ To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,
+ And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,
+ Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled;
+ And ere three shrill notes the pipe had uttered,
+ You heard as if an army muttered;
+ And the muttering grew into a grumbling;
+ And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
+ And out of the houses the rats came tumbling--
+ Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
+ Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,
+ Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
+ Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
+ Curling tails, and pricking whiskers,
+ Families by tens and dozens,
+ Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives,--
+ Followed the Piper for their lives.
+ From street to street he piped, advancing,
+ And step for step they followed, dancing,
+ Until they came to the river Weser
+ Wherein all plunged and perished,
+ Save one, who stout as Julius Caesar,
+ Swam across, and lived to carry
+ (As he the manuscript he cherished)
+ To Rat-land home his commentary,
+ Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe,
+ I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,
+ And putting apples wondrous ripe
+ Into a cider press's gripe;
+ And a moving away of pickle-tub boards,
+ And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards,
+ And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks,
+ And a breaking the hoops of butter casks;
+ And it seemed as if a voice
+ (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery
+ Is breathed) called out, O rats, rejoice!
+ The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!
+ So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,
+ Breakfast, dinner, supper, luncheon!
+ And just as a bulky sugar puncheon,
+ All ready staved, like a great sun shone
+ Glorious, scarce an inch before me,
+ Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!'
+ --I found the Weser rolling o'er me."
+
+ You should have heard the Hamelin people
+ Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple;
+ "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!
+ Poke out the nests, and block up the holes!
+ Consult with carpenters and builders,
+ And leave in town not even a trace
+ Of the rats!" When suddenly up the face
+ Of the Piper perked in the market place,
+ With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"
+
+ A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;
+ So did the Corporation too.
+ For council dinners made rare havoc
+ With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;
+ And half the money would replenish
+ Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.
+ To pay this sum to a wandering fellow
+ With a gypsy coat of red and yellow!
+ "Besides," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink,
+ "Our business was done at the river's brink;
+ We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,
+ And what's dead can't come to life, I think.
+ So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink
+ From the duty of giving you something for drink,
+ And a matter of money to put in your poke;
+ But, as for the guilders, what we spoke
+ Of them, as you very well know, was in joke--
+ Beside, our losses have made us thrifty:
+ A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"
+
+ The Piper's face fell, and he cried,
+ "No trifling! I can't wait; beside
+ I've promised to visit by dinner time
+ Bagdat, and accept the prime
+ Of the head cook's pottage, all he's rich in,
+ For having left in the Caliph's kitchen,
+ Of a nest of scorpions no survivor.
+ With him I proved no bargain-driver;
+ With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!
+ And folks who put me in a passion
+ May find me pipe to another fashion."
+ "How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook
+ Being worse treated than a cook?
+ Insulted by a lazy ribald
+ With idle pipe and vesture piebald?
+ You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,
+ Blow your pipe there till you burst!"
+
+ Once more he stept into the street,
+ And to his lips again
+ Laid his long pipe of smooth, straight cane;
+ And ere he blew three notes (such sweet
+ Soft notes as yet musician's cunning
+ Never gave the enraptured air),
+ There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling,
+ Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,
+ Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
+ Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering,
+ And, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering,
+ Out came the children running:
+ All the little boys and girls,
+ With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
+ And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
+ Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
+ The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.
+
+ The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood
+ As if they were changed into blocks of wood,
+ Unable to move a step, or cry
+ To the children merrily skipping by,--
+ And could only follow with the eye
+ That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.
+ And now the Mayor was on the rack,
+ And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,
+ As the Piper turned from the High Street
+ To where the Weser rolled its waters
+ Right in the way of their sons and daughters!
+ However, he turned from south to west,
+ And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,
+ And after him the children pressed;
+ Great was the joy in every breast.
+ "He never can cross that mighty top!
+ He's forced to let the piping drop,
+ And we shall see our children stop!"
+ When, lo! as they reached the mountain's side,
+ A wondrous portal opened wide,
+ As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;
+ And the Piper advanced, and the children followed;
+ And when all were in to the very last,
+ The door in the mountain side shut fast.
+ Did I say, all? No! one was lame,
+ And could not dance the whole of the way;
+ And in after years, if you would blame
+ His sadness, he was used to say,--
+ "It's dull in our town since my playmates left!
+ I can't forget that I'm bereft
+ Of all the pleasant sights they see,
+ Which the Piper also promised me:
+ For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
+ Joining the town and just at hand,
+ Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew,
+ And flowers put forth a fairer hue,
+ And everything was strange and new;
+ The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,
+ And their dogs outran our fallow deer,
+ And honeybees had lost their stings,
+ And horses were born with eagles' wings;
+ And just as I became assured
+ My lame foot would be speedily cured,
+ The music stopped and I stood still,
+ And found myself outside the hill,
+ Left alone against my will,
+ To go now limping as before,
+ And never hear of that country more!"
+
+[Illustration: THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN.
+
+H. KAULBACH.]
+
+ The Mayor sent east, west, north, and south,
+ To offer the Piper by word of mouth,
+ Wherever it was man's lot to find him,
+ Silver and gold to his heart's content,
+ If he'd only return the way he went,
+ And bring the children behind him.
+ But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor,
+ And Piper and dancers were gone forever,
+ They made a decree that lawyers never
+ Should think their records dated duly,
+ If after the day of the month and year
+ These words did not as well appear,
+ "And so long after what happened here
+ On the twenty-second of July,
+ Thirteen hundred and seventy-six."
+ And the better in memory to fix
+ The place of the children's last retreat,
+ They called it the Pied Piper's Street--
+ Where any one playing on pipe or tabor,
+ Was sure for the future to lose his labor.
+ Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern
+ To shock with mirth a street so solemn;
+ But opposite the place of the cavern
+ They wrote the story on a column,
+ And on the great church window painted
+ The same, to make the world acquainted
+ How their children were stolen away;
+ And there it stands to this very day.
+
+ And I must not omit to say
+ That in Transylvania there's a tribe
+ Of alien people, that ascribe
+ The outlandish ways and dress
+ On which their neighbors lay such stress,
+ To their fathers and mothers having risen
+ Out of some subterraneous prison,
+ Into which they were trepanned
+ Long ago in a mighty band,
+ Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land;
+ But how or why, they don't understand.
+
+ So, Willy, let you and me be wipers
+ Of scores out with all men,--especially pipers;
+ And whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice,
+ If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.
+
+ ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+
+
+
+INGRATITUDE.
+
+
+ Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
+ Thou art not so unkind
+ As man's ingratitude;
+ Thy tooth is not so keen,
+ Because thou art not seen,
+ Although thy breath be rude.
+
+ Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
+ Thou dost not bite so nigh
+ As benefits forgot:
+ Though thou the waters warp,
+ Thy sting is not so sharp
+ As friend remembered not.
+
+ WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
+
+_From "As You Like It."_
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A SONG OF THE SEA.
+
+
+ The sea! the sea! the open sea!
+ The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
+ Without a mark, without a bound,
+ It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round;
+ It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,
+ Or like a cradled creature lies.
+
+ I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea!
+ I am where I would ever be;
+ With the blue above, and the blue below,
+ And silence wheresoe'er I go;
+ If a storm should come and awake the deep,
+ What matter? I shall ride and sleep.
+
+ I love (O! how I love) to ride
+ On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,
+ When every mad wave drowns the moon,
+ Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
+ And tells how goeth the world below,
+ And why the southwest blasts do blow.
+
+ I never was on the dull, tame shore,
+ But I loved the great sea more and more,
+ And backwards flew to her billowy breast,
+ Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;
+ And a mother she was and is to me;
+ For I was born on the open sea!
+
+ The waves were white, and red the morn,
+ In the noisy hour when I was born;
+ And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
+ And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
+ And never was heard such an outcry wild
+ As welcomed to life the ocean child!
+
+ I've lived since then, in calm and strife,
+ Full fifty summers a sailor's life,
+ With wealth to spend, and a power to range,
+ But never have sought, nor sighed for change;
+ And Death, whenever he come to me,
+ Shall come on the wide, unbounded sea!
+
+ BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (_Barry Cornwall_).
+
+
+
+
+AT SEA.
+
+
+ A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
+ A wind that follows fast
+ And fills the white and rustling sail
+ And bends the gallant mast;
+ And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
+ While like the eagle free
+ Away the good ship flies, and leaves
+ Old England on the lee.
+
+ "Oh for a soft and gentle wind!"
+ I heard a fair one cry;
+ But give to me the snoring breeze
+ And white waves heaving high;
+ And white waves heaving high, my lads,
+ The good ship tight and free:--
+ The world of waters is our home,
+ And merry men are we.
+
+ There's tempest in yon horned moon,
+ And lightning in yon cloud;
+ But hark the music, mariners!
+ The wind is piping loud;
+ The wind is piping loud, my boys,
+ The lightning flashes free:--
+ While the hollow oak our palace is,
+ Our heritage the sea.
+
+ ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE NORTHERN SEAS.
+
+
+ Up! up! let us a voyage take;
+ Why sit we here at ease?
+ Find us a vessel tight and snug,
+ Bound for the northern seas.
+
+ I long to see the northern lights
+ With their rushing splendors fly,
+ Like living things with flaming wings,
+ Wide o'er the wondrous sky.
+
+ I long to see those icebergs vast,
+ With heads all crowned with snow,
+ Whose green roots sleep in the awful deep,
+ Two hundred fathoms low.
+
+ I long to hear the thundering crash
+ Of their terrific fall,
+ And the echoes from a thousand cliffs
+ Like lonely voices call.
+
+ There shall we see the fierce white bear,
+ The sleepy seals aground,
+ And the spouting whales that to and fro
+ Sail with a dreary sound.
+
+ There may we tread on depths of ice,
+ That the hairy mammoth hide;
+ Perfect as when, in times of old,
+ The mighty creature died.
+
+ And while the unsetting sun shines on
+ Through the still heaven's deep blue,
+ We'll traverse the azure waves, the herds
+ Of the dread sea horse to view.
+
+ We'll pass the shores of solemn pine,
+ Where wolves and black bears prowl;
+ And away to the rocky isles of mist,
+ To rouse the northern fowl.
+
+ Up there shall start ten thousand wings
+ With a rustling, whistling din;
+ Up shall the auk and fulmar start,
+ All but the fat penguin.
+
+ And there in the wastes of the silent sky,
+ With the silent earth below,
+ We shall see far off to his lonely rock
+ The lonely eagle go.
+
+ Then softly, softly will we tread
+ By inland streams, to see
+ Where the pelican of the silent North
+ Sits there all silently.
+
+ MARY HOWITT.
+
+
+
+
+THE CORAL GROVE.
+
+
+ Deep in the wave is a coral grove,
+ Where the purple mullet and goldfish rove;
+ Where the sea flower spreads its leaves of blue,
+ That never are wet with the falling dew;
+ But in bright and changeful beauty shine,
+ Far down in the green and glassy brine.
+ The floor is of sand, like the mountain's drift,
+ And the pearl shells spangle the flinty snow;
+ From coral rocks the sea plants lift
+ Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow.
+ The water is calm and still below,
+ For the winds and waves are absent there,
+ And the sands are bright as the stars that glow
+ In the motionless fields of upper air.
+ There, with its waving blade of green,
+ The sea flag streams through the silent water,
+ And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen
+ To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter;
+ There, with a light and easy motion,
+ The fan coral sweeps through the clear, deep sea;
+ And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean
+ Are bending like corn on the upland lea:
+ And life in rare and beautiful forms
+ Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
+ And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms
+ Has made the top of the waves his own:
+ And when the ship from his fury flies,
+ When the myriad voices of ocean roar,
+ When the wind god frowns in the murky skies,
+ And demons are waiting the wreck on shore,
+ Then, far below, in the peaceful sea,
+ The purple mullet and goldfish rove,
+ Where the waters murmur tranquilly
+ Through the bending twigs of the coral grove.
+
+ JAMES GATES PERCIVAL.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ALICE BRAND.
+
+
+ Merry it is in the good greenwood,
+ When the mavis and merle are singing,
+ When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,
+ And the hunter's horn is ringing.
+
+ "O Alice Brand, my native land
+ Is lost for love of you;
+ And we must hold by wood and wold,
+ As outlaws wont to do!
+
+ "O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright,
+ And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue,
+ That on the night of our luckless flight,
+ Thy brother bold I slew.
+
+ "Now I must teach to hew the beech
+ The hand that held the glaive,
+ For leaves to spread our lowly bed,
+ And stakes to fence our cave.
+
+ "And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,
+ That wont on harp to stray,
+ A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer,
+ To keep the cold away."
+
+ "O Richard! if my brother died,
+ 'Twas but a fatal chance:
+ For darkling was the battle tried,
+ And fortune sped the lance.
+
+ "If pall and vair no more I wear,
+ Nor thou the crimson sheen,
+ As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray;
+ As gay the forest green.
+
+ "And, Richard, if our lot be hard,
+ And lost thy native land,
+ Still Alice has her own Richard,
+ And he his Alice Brand."
+
+
+II.
+
+ 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood,
+ So blithe Lady Alice is singing;
+ On the beech's pride and oak's brown side,
+ Lord Richard's ax is ringing.
+
+ Up spoke the moody Elfin King,
+ Who wonn'd within the hill,--
+ Like wind in the porch of a ruined church,
+ His voice was ghostly shrill.
+
+ "Why sounds yon stroke on beach and oak,
+ Our moonlight circle's screen?
+ Or who comes here to chase the deer,
+ Beloved of our Elfin Queen?
+ Or who may dare on wold to wear
+ The fairies' fatal green?
+
+ "Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
+ For thou wert christened man:
+ For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
+ For muttered word or ban.
+
+ "Lay on him the curse of the withered heart,
+ The curse of the sleepless eye;
+ Till he wish and pray that his life would part,
+ Nor yet find leave to die!"
+
+
+III.
+
+ 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood,
+ Though the birds have stilled their singing;
+ The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
+ And Richard is fagots bringing.
+
+ Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,
+ Before Lord Richard stands,
+ And as he crossed and blessed himself,
+ "I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf,
+ "That is made with bloody hands."
+
+ But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,
+ That woman void of fear,--
+ "And if there's blood upon his hand,
+ 'Tis but the blood of deer."
+
+ "Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood!
+ It cleaves unto his hand,
+ The stain of thine own kindly blood,
+ The blood of Ethert Brand."
+
+ Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand,
+ And made the holy sign,--
+ "And if there's blood on Richard's hand,
+ A spotless hand is mine.
+
+ "And I conjure thee, Demon elf,
+ By Him whom Demons fear,
+ To show us whence thou art thyself,
+ And what thine errand here?"
+
+
+IV.
+
+ "'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairyland,
+ When fairy birds are singing,
+ When the court doth ride by their monarch's side,
+ With bit and bridle ringing:
+
+ "And gayly shines the Fairyland--
+ But all is glistening show,
+ Like the idle gleam that December's beam
+ Can dart on ice and snow.
+
+ "And fading, like that varied gleam,
+ Is our inconstant shape,
+ Who now like knight and lady seem,
+ And now like dwarf and ape.
+
+ "It was between the night and day,
+ When the Fairy King has power,
+ That I sunk down in a sinful fray,
+ And 'twixt life and death, was snatched away,
+ To the joyless Elfin bower.
+
+ "But wist I of a woman bold,
+ Who thrice my brow durst sign,
+ I might regain my mortal mold,
+ As fair a form as thine."
+
+ She crossed him once--she crossed him twice--
+ That lady was so brave;
+ The fouler grew his goblin hue,
+ The darker grew the cave.
+
+ She crossed him thrice, that lady bold!
+ He rose beneath her hand
+ The fairest knight on Scottish mold,
+ Her brother, Ethert Brand!
+
+ Merry it is in good greenwood,
+ When the mavis and merle are singing;
+ But merrier were they in Dumfermline gray
+ When all the bells were ringing.
+
+ SIR WALTER SCOTT.
+
+
+
+
+FOR A' THAT, AND A' THAT.
+
+
+ Is there, for honest poverty,
+ That hangs his head, and a' that?
+ The coward slave, we pass him by,
+ We dare be poor for a' that!
+ For a' that, and a' that,
+ Our toils obscure, and a' that;
+ The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
+ The man's the gowd for a' that!
+
+ What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
+ Wear hoddin gray, and a' that;
+ Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
+ A man's a man, for a' that!
+ For a' that, and a' that,
+ Their tinsel show, and a' that;
+ The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
+ Is king o' men for a' that!
+
+ Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
+ Wha struts, and stares, and a' that:
+ Though hundreds worship at his word,
+ He's but a coof for a' that:
+ For a' that, and a' that,
+ His riband, star, and a' that;
+ The man of independent mind,
+ He looks and laughs at a' that.
+
+[Illustration: ROBERT BURNS.]
+
+ A king can make a belted knight,
+ A marquis, duke, and a' that;
+ But an honest man's aboon his might!
+ Guid faith, he mauna fa' that;
+ For a' that, and a' that,
+ Their dignities, and a' that;
+ The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
+ Are higher ranks than a' that.
+
+ Then let us pray that come it may--
+ As come it will, for a' that--
+ That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
+ May bear the gree, and a' that!
+ For a' that, and a' that,
+ It's comin' yet for a' that;
+ That man to man, the warld o'er,
+ Shall brothers be for a' that!
+
+ ROBERT BURNS.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.
+
+
+ Now ponder well, you parents dear,
+ These words which I shall write;
+ A doleful story you shall hear,
+ In time brought forth to light.
+ A gentleman of good account
+ In Norfolk dwelt of late,
+ Who did in honor far surmount
+ Most men of his estate.
+
+ Sore sick he was, and like to die,
+ No help his life could save;
+ His wife by him as sick did lie,
+ And both possessed one grave.
+ No love between these two was lost,
+ Each was to other kind;
+ In love they lived, in love they died,
+ And left two babes behind.
+
+ The one, a fine and pretty boy,
+ Not passing three years old;
+ The other, a girl more young than he,
+ And framed in beauty's mold.
+ The father left his little son,
+ As plainly doth appear,
+ When he to perfect age should come,
+ Three hundred pounds a year.
+
+ And to his little daughter Jane,
+ Five hundred pounds in gold,
+ To be paid down on her marriage day,
+ Which might not be controlled:
+ But if the children chanced to die
+ Ere they to age should come,
+ Their uncle should possess their wealth;
+ For so the will did run.
+
+ "Now, brother," said the dying man,
+ "Look to my children dear;
+ Be good unto my boy and girl,
+ No friends else have they here:
+ To God and you I recommend
+ My children dear this day;
+ But little while be sure we have
+ Within this world to stay.
+
+ "You must be father and mother both,
+ And uncle all in one;
+ God knows what will become of them
+ When I am dead and gone."
+ With that bespake their mother dear,
+ "O brother kind," quoth she,
+ "You are the man must bring our babes
+ To wealth or misery.
+
+ "And if you keep them carefully,
+ Then God will you reward;
+ But if you otherwise should deal,
+ God will your deeds regard."
+ With lips as cold as any stone,
+ They kissed their children small:
+ "God bless you both, my children dear;"
+ With that their tears did fall.
+
+ These speeches then their brother spake
+ To this sick couple there:
+ "The keeping of your little ones,
+ Sweet sister, do not fear.
+ God never prosper me or mine,
+ Nor aught else that I have,
+ If I do wrong your children dear
+ When you are laid in grave."
+
+ The parents being dead and gone,
+ The children home he takes,
+ And brings them straight unto his house,
+ Where much of them he makes.
+ He had not kept these pretty babes
+ A twelvemonth and a day,
+ But, for their wealth, he did devise
+ To make them both away.
+
+ He bargained with two ruffians strong
+ Which were of furious mood,
+ That they should take these children young
+ And slay them in a wood.
+ He told his wife an artful tale:
+ He would the children send
+ To be brought up in fair London,
+ With one that was his friend.
+
+ Away then went those pretty babes,
+ Rejoicing at that tide,
+ Rejoicing with a merry mind,
+ They should on cockhorse ride.
+ They prate and prattle pleasantly,
+ As they rode on the way,
+ To those that should their butchers be
+ And work their lives' decay.
+
+ So that the pretty speech they had,
+ Made murder's heart relent;
+ And they that undertook the deed
+ Full sore did now repent.
+ Yet one of them, more hard of heart,
+ Did vow to do his charge,
+ Because the wretch that hired him
+ Had paid him very large.
+
+ The other won't agree thereto,
+ So here they fall to strife;
+ With one another they did fight
+ About the children's life:
+ And he that was of mildest mood,
+ Did slay the other there,
+ Within an unfrequented wood:
+ The babes did quake for fear!
+
+ He took the children by the hand,
+ Tears standing in their eye,
+ And bade them straightway follow him,
+ And look they did not cry;
+ And two long miles he led them on,
+ While they for food complain:
+ "Stay here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread,
+ When I come back again."
+
+ These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
+ Went wandering up and down;
+ But never more could see the man
+ Approaching from the town:
+ Their pretty lips with blackberries
+ Were all besmeared and dyed,
+ And when they saw the darksome night,
+ They sat them down and cried.
+
+ Thus wandered these poor innocents
+ Till death did end their grief,
+ In one another's arms they died,
+ As wanting due relief.
+ No burial this pretty pair
+ Of any man received,
+ Till Robin Redbreast piously
+ Did cover them with leaves.
+
+ And now the heavy wrath of God
+ Upon their uncle fell;
+ Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,
+ His conscience felt an hell:
+ His barns were fired, his goods consumed,
+ His lands were barren made,
+ His cattle died within the field,
+ And nothing with him stayed.
+
+ And in the voyage to Portugal
+ Two of his sons did die;
+ And to conclude, himself was brought
+ To want and misery.
+ He pawned and mortgaged all his land
+ Ere seven years came about.
+ And now at length this wicked act
+ Did by this means come out:
+
+ The fellow that did take in hand
+ These children for to kill,
+ Was for a robbery judged to die,
+ Such was God's blessed will.
+ Who did confess the very truth,
+ As here hath been displayed:
+ Their uncle having died in gaol,
+ Where he for debt was laid.
+
+ You that executors be made,
+ And overseers eke
+ Of children that be fatherless,
+ And infants mild and meek;
+ Take you example by this thing,
+ And yield to each his right,
+ Lest God with such like misery
+ Your wicked minds requite.
+
+ _Old Ballad._
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE SHEPHERD'S HOME.
+
+
+ My banks they are furnished with bees,
+ Whose murmur invites one to sleep;
+ My grottoes are shaded with trees,
+ And my hills are white over with sheep.
+ I seldom have met with a loss,
+ Such health do my fountains bestow;
+ My fountains all bordered with moss,
+ Where the harebells and violets blow.
+
+ Not a pine in the grove is there seen,
+ But with tendrils of woodbine is bound;
+ Not a beech's more beautiful green,
+ But a sweetbrier entwines it around.
+ Not my fields in the prime of the year,
+ More charms than my cattle unfold;
+ Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
+ But it glitters with fishes of gold.
+
+ I have found out a gift for my fair,
+ I have found where the wood pigeons breed,
+ But let me such plunder forbear,
+ She will say 'twas a barbarous deed;
+ For he ne'er could be true, she averred,
+ Who would rob a poor bird of its young;
+ And I loved her the more when I heard
+ Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
+
+ WILLIAM SHENSTONE.
+
+
+
+
+ON A SPANIEL CALLED "BEAU" KILLING A YOUNG BIRD.
+
+
+ A spaniel, Beau, that fares like you,
+ Well fed, and at his ease,--
+ Should wiser be than to pursue
+ Each trifle that he sees.
+
+ But you have killed a tiny bird,
+ Which flew not till to-day,
+ Against my orders, whom you heard
+ Forbidding you the prey.
+
+ Nor did you kill that you might eat,
+ And ease a doggish pain;
+ For him, though chased with furious heat,
+ You left where he was slain.
+
+ Nor was he of the thievish sort,
+ Or one whom blood allures;
+ But innocent was all his sport
+ Whom you have torn for yours.
+
+ My dog! what remedy remains,
+ Since, teach you all I can,
+ I see you, after all my pains,
+ So much resemble man?
+
+
+BEAU'S REPLY.
+
+ Sir, when I flew to seize the bird
+ In spite of your command,
+ A louder voice than yours I heard,
+ And harder to withstand.
+
+ You cried--"Forbear!" but in my breast
+ A mightier cried--"Proceed!"--
+ 'Twas Nature, sir, whose strong behest
+ Impelled me to the deed.
+
+ Yet much as Nature I respect,
+ I ventured once to break
+ (As you perhaps may recollect)
+ Her precept for your sake;
+
+ And when your linnet on a day,
+ Passing his prison door,
+ Had fluttered all his strength away,
+ And panting pressed the floor:
+
+ Well knowing him a sacred thing,
+ Not destined to my tooth,
+ I only kissed his ruffled wing,
+ And licked the feathers smooth.
+
+ Let my obedience then excuse
+ My disobedience now,
+ Nor some reproof yourself refuse
+ From your aggrieved Bow-wow;
+
+ If killing birds be such a crime,
+ (Which I can hardly see),
+ What think you, sir, of killing Time
+ With verse addressed to me!
+
+ WILLIAM COWPER.
+
+
+
+
+SWEET PEAS.
+
+A SELECTION.
+
+
+ Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight:
+ With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,
+ And taper fingers catching at all things,
+ To bind them all about with tiny rings.
+ Linger awhile upon some bending planks
+ That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks,
+ And watch intently Nature's gentle doings:
+ They will be found softer than ringdove's cooings.
+ How silent comes the water round that bend!
+ Not the minutest whisper does it send
+ To the o'erhanging sallows: blades of grass
+ Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pass.
+
+ JOHN KEATS.
+
+
+
+
+CA' THE YOWES.
+
+
+ Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
+ Ca' them where the heather grows,
+ Ca' them where the burnie rowes--
+ My bonnie dearie!
+
+ Hark the mavis' evening sang
+ Sounding Cluden's woods amang!
+ Then a faulding let us gang,
+ My bonnie dearie!
+
+ We'll gae down by Cluden side,
+ Thro' the hazels spreading wide,
+ O'er the waves that sweetly glide
+ To the moon sae clearly.
+
+ Yonder Cluden's silent towers,
+ Where at moonshine midnight hours,
+ O'er the dewy bending flowers,
+ Fairies dance so cheery.
+
+ Ghaist nor bogie shalt thou fear;
+ Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear,
+ Nocht of ill may come thee near,
+ My bonnie dearie!
+
+ Fair and lovely as thou art,
+ Thou hast stown my very heart;
+ I can die--but canna part--
+ My bonnie dearie!
+
+ Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
+ Ca' them where the heather grows;
+ Ca' them where the burnie rowes--
+ My bonnie dearie!
+
+ ROBERT BURNS.
+
+
+
+
+SELECTIONS FROM A RHYMED LESSON.
+
+
+ Shalt thou be honest? Ask the worldly schools,
+ And all will tell thee knaves are busier fools;
+ Prudent? Industrious? Let not modern pens
+ Instruct "Poor Richard's" fellow citizens.
+
+ Be firm! one constant element in luck
+ Is genuine, solid, old Teutonic pluck;
+ See yon tall shaft; it felt the earthquake's thrill,
+ Clung to its base, and greets the sunrise still.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ Yet in opinions look not always back;
+ Your wake is nothing, mind the coming track;
+ Leave what you've done for what you have to do;
+ Don't be "consistent," but be simply true.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ Once more; speak clearly, if you speak at all;
+ Carve every word before you let it fall;
+ Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star,
+ Try over hard to roll the British R;
+ Do put your accents in the proper spot;
+ Don't,--let me beg you,--don't say "How?" for "What?"
+ And, when you stick on conversation's burrs,
+ Don't strew your pathway with those dreadful _urs_.
+
+ OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
+
+[Illustration: OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.]
+
+
+
+
+THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
+
+
+ The breaking waves dashed high
+ On a stern and rock-bound coast,
+ And the woods against a stormy sky
+ Their giant branches tossed;
+
+ And the heavy night hung dark
+ The hills and waters o'er,
+ When a band of exiles moored their bark
+ On the wild New England shore.
+
+ Not as the conqueror comes,
+ They, the true-hearted, came;
+ Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
+ And the trumpet that sings of fame;
+
+ Not as the flying come,
+ In silence and in fear;--
+ They shook the depths of the desert gloom
+ With their hymns of lofty cheer.
+
+ Amidst the storm they sang,
+ And the stars heard, and the sea;
+ And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
+ To the anthem of the free!
+
+ The ocean eagle soared
+ From his nest by the white wave's foam;
+ And the rocking pines of the forest roared--
+ This was their welcome home!
+
+ There were men with hoary hair
+ Amidst that pilgrim band;
+ Why had they come to wither there
+ Away from their childhood's land?
+
+ There was woman's fearless eye,
+ Lit by her deep love's truth;
+ There was manhood's brow, serenely high,
+ And the fiery heart of youth.
+
+ What sought they thus afar?
+ Bright jewels of the mine?
+ The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
+ They sought a faith's pure shrine!
+
+ Ay, call it holy ground,
+ The soil where first they trod.
+ They have left unstained what there they found--
+ Freedom to worship God.
+
+ FELICIA HEMANS.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE WIVES OF BRIXHAM.
+
+A TRUE STORY.
+
+
+ The merry boats of Brixham
+ Go out to search the seas;
+ A stanch and sturdy fleet are they,
+ Who love a swinging breeze;
+ And before the woods of Devon,
+ And the silver cliffs of Wales,
+ You may see, when summer evenings fall,
+ The light upon their sails.
+
+ But when the year grows darker,
+ And gray winds hunt the foam,
+ They go back to Little Brixham,
+ And ply their toil at home.
+ And thus it chanced one winter's night,
+ When a storm began to roar,
+ That all the men were out at sea,
+ And all the wives on shore.
+
+ Then as the wind grew fiercer,
+ The women's cheeks grew white,--
+ It was fiercer in the twilight,
+ And fiercest in the night.
+ The strong clouds set themselves like ice,
+ Without a star to melt;
+ The blackness of the darkness
+ Was darkness to be felt.
+
+ The old men they were anxious,
+ They dreaded what they knew;
+ What do you think the women did?
+ Love taught them what to do!
+ Out spake a wife, "We've beds at home,
+ We'll burn them for a light,--
+ Give us the men and the bare ground,
+ We want no more to-night."
+
+ They took the grandame's blanket,
+ Who shivered and bade them go;
+ They took the baby's pillow,
+ Who could not say them no;
+ And they heaped a great fire on the pier,
+ And knew not all the while
+ If they were heaping a bonfire,
+ Or only a funeral pile.
+
+ And fed with precious food, the flame
+ Shone bravely on the black,
+ Till a cry rang through the people,
+ "A boat is coming back!"
+ Staggering dimly through the fog
+ Come shapes of fear and doubt,
+ But when the first prow strikes the pier,
+ Cannot you hear them shout?
+
+ Then all along the breath of flame,
+ Dark figures shrieked and ran,
+ With "Child, here comes your father!"
+ Or, "Wife, is this your man?"
+ And faint feet touch the welcome shore,
+ And wait a little while;
+ And kisses drop from frozen lips,
+ Too tired to speak or smile.
+
+ So, one by one, they struggled in
+ All that the sea would spare;
+ We will not reckon through our tears
+ The names that were not there;
+ But some went home without a bed,
+ When all the tale was told,
+ Who were too cold with sorrow
+ To know the night was cold.
+
+ And this is what the men must do
+ Who work in wind and foam;
+ And this is what the women bear
+ Who watch for them at home.
+ So when you see a Brixham boat
+ Go out to face the gales,
+ Think of the love that travels
+ Like light upon her sails.
+
+ _Selected._
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: ALFRED TENNYSON.]
+
+THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
+
+
+ Half a league, half a league,
+ Half a league onward,
+ All in the valley of Death
+ Rode the six hundred.
+ "Forward the Light Brigade!
+ Charge for the guns!" he said:
+ Into the valley of Death
+ Rode the six hundred.
+
+ "Forward the Light Brigade!"
+ Was there a man dismayed?
+ Not tho' the soldier knew
+ Some one had blundered:
+ Theirs not to make reply,
+ Theirs not to reason why,
+ Theirs but to do and die:
+ Into the valley of Death
+ Rode the six hundred.
+
+ Cannon to right of them,
+ Cannon to left of them,
+ Cannon in front of them
+ Volleyed and thundered;
+ Stormed at with shot and shell,
+ Boldly they rode and well,
+ Into the jaws of Death,
+ Into the mouth of Hell
+ Rode the six hundred.
+
+ Flashed all their sabers bare,
+ Flashed as they turned in air
+ Sab'ring the gunners there,
+ Charging an army, while
+ All the world wondered:
+ Plunged in the battery smoke,
+ Right thro' the line they broke;
+ Cossack and Russian
+ Reeled from the saber stroke
+ Shattered and sundered.
+ Then they rode back, but not
+ Not the six hundred.
+
+ Cannon to right of them,
+ Cannon to left of them,
+ Cannon behind them
+ Volleyed and thundered;
+ Stormed at with shot and shell,
+ While horse and hero fell,
+ They that had fought so well
+ Came thro' the jaws of Death,
+ Back from the mouth of Hell,
+ All that was left of them,
+ Left of six hundred.
+
+ When can their glory fade?
+ O the wild charge they made!
+ All the world wondered.
+ Honor the charge they made!
+ Honor the Light Brigade,
+ Noble six hundred!
+
+ ALFRED TENNYSON.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE ROYAL GEORGE.
+
+
+ Toll for the brave!
+ The brave that are no more!
+ All sunk beneath the wave
+ Fast by their native shore!
+
+ Eight hundred of the brave,
+ Whose courage well was tried,
+ Had made the vessel heel
+ And laid her on her side.
+
+ A land breeze shook the shrouds,
+ And she was overset;
+ Down went the Royal George
+ With all her crew complete.
+
+ Toll for the brave!
+ Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
+ His last sea fight is fought,
+ His work of glory done.
+
+ It was not in the battle;
+ No tempest gave the shock;
+ She sprang no fatal leak,
+ She ran upon no rock.
+
+ His sword was in its sheath,
+ His fingers held the pen,
+ When Kempenfelt went down
+ With twice four hundred men.
+
+ Weigh the vessel up,
+ Once dreaded by our foes!
+ And mingle with our cup
+ The tear that England owes.
+
+ Her timbers yet are sound,
+ And she may float again
+ Full charged with England's thunder,
+ And plow the distant main:
+
+ But Kempenfelt is gone,
+ His victories are o'er;
+ And he and his eight hundred
+ Shall plow the wave no more.
+
+ WILLIAM COWPER.
+
+
+
+
+CALM ON THE LISTENING EAR OF NIGHT.
+
+
+ Calm on the listening ear of night
+ Come heaven's melodious strains,
+ Where wild Judea stretches far
+ Her silver-mantled plains.
+
+ Celestial choirs from courts above
+ Shed sacred glories there;
+ And angels, with their sparkling lyres,
+ Make music on the air.
+
+ The answering hills of Palestine
+ Send back the glad reply;
+ And greet, from all their holy heights,
+ The Dayspring from on high.
+
+ O'er the blue depths of Galilee
+ There comes a holier calm,
+ And Sharon waves in solemn praise
+ Her silent groves of palm.
+
+ "Glory to God!" the sounding skies
+ Loud with their anthems ring,
+ "Peace to the earth, good-will to men,
+ From heaven's eternal King!"
+
+ Light on thy hills, Jerusalem!
+ The Savior now is born!
+ And bright on Bethlehem's joyous plains
+ Breaks the first Christmas morn.
+
+ EDMUND H. SEARS.
+
+
+
+
+WHEN WILT THOU SAVE THE PEOPLE?
+
+
+ When wilt Thou save the people?
+ O God of mercy, when?
+ Not kings and lords, but nations!
+ Not thrones and crowns, but men!
+ Flowers of Thy heart, O God, are they;
+ Let them not pass, like weeds, away,
+ Their heritage, a sunless day.
+ God, save the people!
+
+ Shall crime bring crime forever,
+ Strength aiding still the strong?
+ Is it Thy will, O Father,
+ That man shall toil for wrong?
+ No, say Thy mountains; No, Thy skies;
+ Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise,
+ And songs ascend, instead of sighs.
+ God, save the people!
+
+ When wilt Thou save the people?
+ O God of mercy, when?
+ The people, Lord, the people,
+ Not thrones and crowns, but men!
+ God save the people; Thine they are,
+ Thy children, as Thine angels fair.
+ From vice, oppression, and despair,
+ God, save the people!
+
+ EBENEZER ELLIOTT.
+
+
+
+
+THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK II.
+
+_PART II._
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: DANIEL C. FRENCH.
+
+THE MINUTE MAN.]
+
+
+
+
+PART TWO.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+UNION AND LIBERTY.
+
+
+ Flag of the heroes who left us their glory,
+ Borne through their battlefields' thunder and flame,
+ Blazoned in song and illumined in story,
+ Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame!
+ Up with our banner bright,
+ Sprinkled with starry light,
+ Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
+ While through the sounding sky
+ Loud rings the Nation's cry,--
+ UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE!
+
+ Light of our firmament, guide of our Nation,
+ Pride of her children, and honored afar,
+ Let the wide beams of thy full constellation
+ Scatter each cloud that would darken a star!
+ Up with our banner bright,
+ Sprinkled with starry light,
+ Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
+ While through the sounding sky
+ Loud rings the Nation's cry,--
+ UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE!
+
+ Empire unsceptered! what foe shall assail thee,
+ Bearing the standard of Liberty's van?
+ Think not the God of thy fathers shall fail thee,
+ Striving with men for the birthright of man!
+ Up with our banner bright,
+ Sprinkled with starry light,
+ Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
+ While through the sounding sky
+ Loud rings the Nation's cry,--
+ UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE!
+
+ Yet if, by madness and treachery blighted,
+ Dawns the dark hour when the sword thou must draw,
+ Then with the arms of thy millions united,
+ Smite the bold traitors to Freedom and Law!
+ Up with our banner bright,
+ Sprinkled with starry light,
+ Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
+ While through the sounding sky
+ Loud rings the Nation's cry,--
+ UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE!
+
+ Lord of the Universe! shield us and guide us,
+ Trusting Thee always, through shadow and sun!
+ Thou hast united us, who shall divide us?
+ Keep us, O keep us, the MANY IN ONE!
+ Up with our banner bright,
+ Sprinkled with starry light,
+ Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,
+ While through the sounding sky
+ Loud rings the Nation's cry,--
+ UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVERMORE!
+
+ OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF MARION'S MEN.
+
+
+ Our band is few, but true and tried,
+ Our leader frank and bold;
+ The British soldier trembles
+ When Marion's name is told.
+ Our fortress is the good greenwood,
+ Our tent the cypress tree;
+ We know the forest round us,
+ As seamen know the sea.
+ We know its walls of thorny vines,
+ Its glades of reedy grass,
+ Its safe and silent islands
+ Within the dark morass.
+
+ Woe to the English soldiery
+ That little dread us near,
+ On them shall light at midnight
+ A strange and sudden fear:
+ When, waking to their tents on fire,
+ They grasp their arms in vain,
+ And they who stand to face us
+ Are beat to earth again;
+ And they who fly in terror deem
+ A mighty host behind,
+ And hear the tramp of thousands
+ Upon the hollow wind.
+
+ Then sweet the hour that brings release
+ From danger and from toil:
+ We talk the battle over,
+ And share the battle's spoil.
+ The woodland rings with laugh and shout,
+ As if a hunt were up,
+ And woodland flowers are gathered
+ To crown the soldier's cup.
+ With merry songs we mock the wind
+ That in the pine-top grieves,
+ And slumber long and sweetly
+ On beds of oaken leaves.
+
+ Well knows the fair and friendly moon
+ The band that Marion leads--
+ The glitter of their rifles,
+ The scampering of their steeds.
+ 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb
+ Across the moonlight plain;
+ 'Tis life to feel the night wind
+ That lifts his tossing mane.
+ A moment in the British camp--
+ A moment--and away
+ Back to the pathless forest,
+ Before the peep of day.
+
+ Grave men there are by broad Santee,
+ Grave men with hoary hairs,
+ Their hearts are all with Marion,
+ For Marion are their prayers.
+ And lovely ladies greet our band
+ With kindliest welcoming,
+ With smiles like those of summer,
+ And tears like those of spring.
+ For them we wear these trusty arms,
+ And lay them down no more
+ Till we have driven the Briton,
+ Forever, from our shore.
+
+ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
+
+
+
+
+STARS.
+
+
+ They glide upon their endless way,
+ Forever calm, forever bright;
+ No blind hurry, no delay,
+ Mark the Daughters of the Night;
+ They follow in the track of Day,
+ In divine delight.
+
+ Shine on, sweet-orbed Souls for aye,
+ Forever calm, forever bright;
+ We ask not whither lies your way,
+ Nor whence ye came, nor what your light.
+ Be--still a dream throughout the day,
+ A blessing through the night.
+
+ BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (BARRY CORNWALL).
+
+
+
+
+NIGHT.
+
+
+ The sun descendeth in the west,
+ The evening star does shine;
+ The birds are silent in their nest,
+ And I must seek for mine.
+ The moon, like a flower,
+ In heaven's high bower,
+ With silent delight
+ Sits and smiles on the night.
+
+ Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
+ Where flocks have ta'en delight;
+ Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
+ The feet of angels bright;
+ Unseen, they pour blessing,
+ And joy without ceasing,
+ On each bud and blossom,
+ And each sleeping bosom.
+
+ They look in every thoughtless nest,
+ Where birds are covered warm,
+ They visit caves of every beast,
+ To keep them all from harm.
+ If they see any weeping
+ That should have been sleeping,
+ They pour sleep on their head,
+ And sit down by their bed.
+
+ WILLIAM BLAKE.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
+
+
+ Of Nelson and the North
+ Sing the glorious day's renown,
+ When to battle fierce came forth
+ All the might of Denmark's crown,
+ And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
+ By each gun the lighted brand
+ In a bold determined hand,
+ And the Prince of all the land
+ Led them on.--
+
+ Like leviathans afloat,
+ Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
+ While the sign of battle flew
+ On the lofty British line:
+ It was ten of April morn by the chime:
+ As they drifted on their path,
+ There was silence deep as death;
+ And the boldest held his breath,
+ For a time.--
+
+ But the might of England flushed
+ To anticipate the scene;
+ And her van the fleeter rushed
+ O'er the deadly space between.
+ "Hearts of oak!" our captains cried; when each gun
+ From its adamantine lips
+ Spread a death shade round the ships,
+ Like the hurricane eclipse
+ Of the sun.
+
+ Again! again! again!
+ And the havoc did not slack,
+ Till a feeble cheer the Dane,
+ To our cheering sent us back;--
+ Their shots along the deep slowly boom:--
+ Then cease--and all is wail,
+ As they strike the shattered sail;
+ Or, in conflagration pale,
+ Light the gloom.--
+
+ Now joy, Old England, raise
+ For the tidings of thy might,
+ By the festal cities' blaze,
+ Whilst the wine cup shines in light;
+ And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
+ Let us think of them that sleep
+ Full many a fathom deep
+ By thy wild and stormy steep,
+ Elsinore.
+
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL.
+
+
+
+
+HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE.
+
+
+ How sleep the brave who sink to rest
+ By all their Country's wishes blest!
+ When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
+ Returns to deck their hallowed mold,
+ She there shall dress a sweeter sod
+ Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
+
+ By fairy hands their knell is rung,
+ By forms unseen their dirge is sung:
+ There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
+ To bless the turf that wraps their clay,
+ And Freedom shall awhile repair
+ To dwell a weeping hermit there!
+
+ WILLIAM COLLINS.
+
+
+
+
+LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG.
+
+
+ The spearmen heard the bugle sound,
+ And cheer'ly smiled the morn;
+ And many a dog, and many a hound,
+ Attend Llewellyn's horn.
+
+ And still he blew a louder blast,
+ And gave a louder cheer;
+ "Come, Gelert! why art thou the last
+ Llewellyn's horn to hear?
+
+ "Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam,
+ The flower of all his race?
+ So true, so brave--a lamb at home,
+ A lion in the chase."
+
+ That day Llewellyn little loved
+ The chase of hart or hare,
+ And scant and small the booty proved,
+ For Gelert was not there.
+
+ Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied,
+ When, near the portal seat,
+ His truant Gelert he espied,
+ Bounding his lord to greet.
+
+ But when he gained the castle door,
+ Aghast the chieftain stood;
+ The hound was smeared with gouts of gore,
+ His lips and fangs ran blood!
+
+ Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise;
+ Unused such looks to meet,
+ His fav'rite checked his joyful guise,
+ And crouched, and licked his feet.
+
+ Onward in haste Llewellyn passed
+ (And on went Gelert too),
+ And still, where'er his eyes were cast,
+ Fresh blood gouts shocked his view.
+
+ O'erturned his infant's bed he found,
+ The bloodstained cover rent;
+ And all around the walls and ground
+ With recent blood besprent.
+
+ He called his child--no voice replied;
+ He searched with terror wild;
+ Blood! blood! he found on every side,
+ But nowhere found his child!
+
+ "Hell-hound! by thee my child's devoured!"
+ The frantic father cried;
+ And to the hilt his vengeful sword
+ He plunged in Gelert's side.
+
+ His suppliant, as to earth he fell,
+ No pity could impart;
+ But still his Gelert's dying yell
+ Passed heavy o'er his heart.
+
+ Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,
+ Some slumberer wakened nigh;
+ What words the parent's joy can tell,
+ To hear his infant cry!
+
+ Concealed beneath a mangled heap,
+ His hurried search had missed,
+ All glowing from his rosy sleep,
+ His cherub boy he kissed!
+
+ Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread,
+ But the same couch beneath
+ Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead,--
+ Tremendous still in death!
+
+ Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain!
+ For now the truth was clear;
+ The gallant hound the wolf had slain,
+ To save Llewellyn's heir.
+
+ Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe;
+ "Best of thy kind, adieu!
+ The frantic deed which laid thee low
+ This heart shall ever rue!"
+
+ And now a gallant tomb they raised,
+ With costly sculpture decked;
+ And marbles storied with his praise
+ Poor Gelert's bones protect.
+
+ Here never could the spearman pass,
+ Or forester, unmoved,
+ Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass
+ Llewellyn's sorrow proved.
+
+ And here he hung his horn and spear,
+ And oft, as evening fell,
+ In fancy's piercing sounds would hear,
+ Poor Gelert's dying yell.
+
+ ROBERT SOUTHEY.
+
+
+
+
+FIDELITY.
+
+
+ A barking sound the shepherd hears,
+ A cry as of a dog or fox;
+ He halts--and searches with his eyes
+ Among the scattered rocks:
+ And now at distance can discern
+ A stirring in a brake of fern;
+ And instantly a dog is seen,
+ Glancing through that covert green.
+
+ The dog is not of mountain breed;
+ Its motions, too, are wild and shy;
+ With something, as the shepherd thinks,
+ Unusual in its cry:
+ Nor is there anyone in sight
+ All round, in hollow or on height;
+ Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;
+ What is the creature doing here?
+
+ It was a cove, a huge recess,
+ That keeps, till June, December's snow;
+ A lofty precipice in front,
+ A silent tarn below!
+ Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
+ Remote from public road or dwelling,
+ Pathway, or cultivated land;
+ From trace of human foot or hand.
+
+ There sometimes doth a leaping fish
+ Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;
+ The crags repeat the raven's croak,
+ In symphony austere;
+ Thither the rainbow comes--the cloud--
+ And mists that spread the flying shroud;
+ And sunbeams; and the sounding blast,
+ That, if it could, would hurry past;
+ But that enormous barrier holds it fast.
+
+ Not free from boding thoughts, a while
+ The shepherd stood; then makes his way
+ O'er rocks and stones, following the dog
+ As quickly as he may;
+ Nor far had gone before he found
+ A human skeleton on the ground;
+ The appalled discoverer with a sigh
+ Looks round, to learn the history.
+
+ From those abrupt and perilous rocks
+ The man had fallen, that place of fear!
+ At length upon the shepherd's mind
+ It breaks, and all is clear:
+ He instantly recalled the name,
+ And who he was, and whence he came;
+ Remembered, too, the very day
+ On which the traveler passed this way.
+
+ But hear a wonder, for whose sake
+ This lamentable tale I tell!
+ A lasting monument of words
+ This wonder merits well.
+ The dog, which still was hovering nigh,
+ Repeating the same timid cry,
+ This dog, had been through three months' space
+ A dweller in that savage place.
+
+ Yes, proof was plain that, since the day
+ When this ill-fated traveler died,
+ The dog had watched about the spot,
+ Or by his master's side:
+ How nourished here through such long time
+ He knows, who gave that love sublime;
+ And gave that strength of feeling, great
+ Above all human estimate!
+
+ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.
+
+
+ The poetry of earth is never dead:
+ When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
+ And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
+ From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
+ That is the grasshopper's--he takes the lead
+ In summer luxury,--he has never done
+ With his delights, for when tired out with fun,
+ He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
+ The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
+ On a lone winter evening, when the frost
+ Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
+ The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
+ And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
+ The grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
+
+ JOHN KEATS.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.
+
+
+ Green little vaulter in the sunny grass,
+ Catching your heart up at the feel of June,
+ Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon,
+ When ev'n the bees lag at the summoning brass;
+ And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
+ With those who think the candles come too soon,
+ Loving the fire and with your tricksome tune
+ Nick the glad silent moments as they pass;
+ Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,
+ One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
+ Both have your sunshine; both, though small are strong
+ At your dear hearts; and both were sent on earth
+ To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song,--
+ Indoors and out, summer and winter, mirth!
+
+ LEIGH HUNT.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+EPITAPH ON A HARE.
+
+
+ Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
+ Nor swifter greyhound follow,
+ Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
+ Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo!
+
+ Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
+ Who, nursed with tender care,
+ And to domestic bounds confined,
+ Was still a wild Jack hare.
+
+ Though duly from my hand he took
+ His pittance every night,
+ He did it with a jealous look,
+ And, when he could, would bite.
+
+ His diet was of wheaten bread,
+ And milk, and oats, and straw;
+ Thistles, or lettuces instead,
+ With sand to scour his maw.
+
+ On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
+ On pippin's russet peel,
+ And when his juicy salads failed,
+ Sliced carrot pleased him well.
+
+ A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
+ Whereon he loved to bound,
+ To skip and gambol like a fawn,
+ And swing himself around.
+
+ His frisking was at evening hours,
+ For then he lost his fear,
+ But most before approaching showers,
+ Or when a storm drew near.
+
+ Eight years and five round-rolling moons
+ He thus saw steal away,
+ Dozing out all his idle noons,
+ And every night at play.
+
+ I kept him for his humor's sake,
+ For he would oft beguile
+ My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
+ And force me to a smile.
+
+ But now, beneath this walnut shade,
+ He finds his long last home,
+ And waits, in snug concealment laid,
+ Till gentler Puss shall come.
+
+ He, still more aged, feels the shocks
+ From which no care can save,
+ And, partner once of Tiney's box,
+ Must soon partake his grave.
+
+ WILLIAM COWPER.
+
+
+
+
+THE COUNCIL OF HORSES.
+
+
+ Upon a time a neighing steed,
+ Who grazed among a numerous breed,
+ With mutiny had fired the train,
+ And spread dissension through the plain.
+ On matters that concerned the state,
+ The council met in grand debate.
+ A colt whose eyeballs flamed with ire,
+ Elate with strength and youthful fire,
+ In haste stept forth before the rest,
+ And thus the listening throng addressed:
+ "Goodness, how abject is our race,
+ Condemned to slavery and disgrace!
+ Shall we our servitude retain,
+ Because our sires have borne the chain?
+ Consider, friends! your strength and might;
+ 'Tis conquest to assert your right.
+ How cumbrous is the gilded coach!
+ The pride of man is our reproach.
+ Were we designed for daily toil,
+ To drag the plowshare through the soil,
+ To sweat in harness through the road,
+ To groan beneath the carrier's load?
+ How feeble are the two-legg'd kind!
+ What force is in our nerves combined!
+ Shall then our nobler jaws submit
+ To foam and champ the galling bit?
+ Shall haughty man my back bestride?
+ Shall the sharp spur provoke my side?
+ Forbid it, heavens! reject the rein;
+ Your shame, your infamy, disdain.
+ Let him the lion first control,
+ And still the tiger's famished growl.
+ Let us, like them, our freedom claim,
+ And make him tremble at our name."
+ A general nod approved the cause,
+ And all the circle neighed applause.
+ When, lo! with grave and solemn pace,
+ A steed advanced before the race,
+ With age and long experience wise;
+ Around he cast his thoughtful eyes,
+ And, to the murmurs of the train,
+ Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain.
+ "When I had health and strength like you
+ The toils of servitude I knew;
+ Now grateful man rewards my pains,
+ And gives me all these wide domains.
+ At will I crop the year's increase;
+ My latter life is rest and peace.
+ I grant, to man we lend our pains,
+ And aid him to correct the plains;
+ But doth he not divide the care,
+ Through all the labors of the year?
+ How many thousand structures rise,
+ To fence us from inclement skies!
+ For us he bears the sultry day,
+ And stores up all our winter's hay.
+ He sows, he reaps the harvest's gain;
+ We share the toil and share the grain.
+ Since every creature was decreed
+ To aid each other's mutual need,
+ Appease your discontented mind,
+ And act the part by heaven assigned."
+ The tumult ceased, the colt submitted,
+ And, like his ancestors, was bitted.
+
+ JOHN GAY.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+RUTH.
+
+
+ She stood breast high amid the corn,
+ Clasped by the golden light of morn,
+ Like the sweetheart of the sun,
+ Who many a glowing kiss had won.
+
+ On her cheek an autumn flush,
+ Deeply ripened;--such a blush
+ In the midst of brown was born,
+ Like red poppies grown with corn.
+
+ Round her eyes her tresses fell,
+ Which were blackest none could tell,
+ But long lashes veiled a light,
+ That had else been all too bright.
+
+ And her hat, with shady brim,
+ Made her tressy forehead dim;--
+ Thus she stood amid the stocks,
+ Praising God with sweetest looks:--
+
+ Sure, I said, heav'n did not mean,
+ Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
+ Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
+ Share my harvest and my home.
+
+ THOMAS HOOD.
+
+
+
+
+THE ELIXIR.
+
+
+ Teach me, my God and King,
+ In all things Thee to see,
+ And what I do in anything,
+ To do it as for Thee.
+
+ All may of Thee partake:
+ Nothing can be so mean
+ Which with this tincture, for Thy sake,
+ Will not grow bright and clean.
+
+ A servant with this clause
+ Makes drudgery divine;
+ Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws,
+ Makes that and the action fine.
+
+ This is the famous stone
+ That turneth all to gold;
+ For that which God doth touch and own
+ Cannot for less be told.
+
+ GEORGE HERBERT.
+
+
+
+
+THE BOY AND THE ANGEL.
+
+
+ Morning, evening, noon, and night,
+ "Praise God!" sang Theocrite.
+
+ Then to his poor trade he turned,
+ Whereby the daily meal was earned.
+
+ Hard he labored, long and well;
+ O'er his work the boy's curls fell.
+
+ But ever, at each period,
+ He stopped and sang, "Praise God!"
+
+ Then back again his curls he threw,
+ And cheerful turned to work anew.
+
+ Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done;
+ I doubt not thou art heard, my son:
+
+ "As well as if thy voice to-day
+ Were praising God, the Pope's great way.
+
+ "This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome
+ Praises God from Peter's dome."
+
+ Said Theocrite, "Would God that I
+ Might praise Him that great way, and die!"
+
+ Night passed, day shone,
+ And Theocrite was gone.
+
+ With God a day endures alway,
+ A thousand years are but a day.
+
+ God said in heaven, "Nor day nor night
+ Now brings the voice of my delight."
+
+ Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth,
+ Spread his wings and sank to earth;
+
+ Entered, in flesh, the empty cell,
+ Lived there, and played the craftsman well;
+
+ And morning, evening, noon, and night,
+ Praised God in place of Theocrite.
+
+ And from a boy, to youth he grew:
+ The man put off the stripling's hue:
+
+ The man matured and fell away
+ Into the season of decay:
+
+ And ever o'er the trade he bent,
+ And ever lived on earth content.
+
+ (He lived God's will; to him, all one
+ If on the earth or in the sun.)
+
+ God said, "A praise is in mine ear;
+ There is no doubt in it, no fear:
+
+ "So sing old worlds, and so
+ New worlds that from my footstool go.
+
+ "Clearer loves sound other ways:
+ I miss my little human praise."
+
+ Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell
+ The flesh disguise, remained the cell.
+
+ 'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome,
+ And paused above Saint Peter's dome.
+
+ In the tiring-room close by
+ The great outer gallery,
+
+ With his holy vestments dight,
+ Stood the new Pope Theocrite:
+
+ And all his past career
+ Came back upon him clear,
+
+ Since when, a boy, he plied his trade,
+ Till on his life the sickness weighed;
+
+ And in his cell, when death drew near,
+ An angel in a dream brought cheer:
+
+ And, rising from the sickness drear,
+ He grew a priest, and now stood here.
+
+ To the East with praise he turned,
+ And on his sight the angel burned.
+
+ "I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell,
+ And set thee here; I did not well.
+
+ "Vainly I left my angel sphere,
+ Vain was thy dream of many a year.
+
+ "Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped--
+ Creation's chorus stopped!
+
+ "Go back and praise again
+ The early way, while I remain.
+
+ "With that weak voice of our disdain,
+ Take up creation's pausing strain.
+
+ "Back to the cell and poor employ:
+ Resume the craftsman and the boy!"
+
+ Theocrite grew old at home;
+ A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome.
+
+ One vanished as the other died:
+ They sought God side by side.
+
+ ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+
+
+
+THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.
+
+
+ They grew in beauty, side by side,
+ They filled one home with glee;
+ Their graves are severed far and wide,
+ By mount, and stream, and sea.
+
+ The same fond mother bent at night
+ O'er each fair, sleeping brow;
+ She had each folded flower in sight:
+ Where are those sleepers now?
+
+ One, midst the forest of the West,
+ By a dark stream is laid;
+ The Indian knows his place of rest,
+ Far in the cedar shade.
+
+ The sea, the blue, lone sea, hath one;
+ He lies where pearls lie deep;
+ He was the loved of all, yet none
+ O'er his low bed may weep.
+
+ One sleeps where southern vines are dressed
+ Above the noble slain;
+ He wrapped the colors round his breast
+ On a blood-red field of Spain.
+
+ And one--o'er her the myrtle showers
+ Its leaves by soft winds fanned;
+ She faded midst Italian flowers--
+ The last of that fair band.
+
+ And parted thus, they rest who played
+ Beneath the same green tree;
+ Whose voices mingled as they prayed
+ Around one parent knee.
+
+ They that with smiles lit up the hall,
+ And cheered with song the hearth;
+ Alas for love! if thou wert all,
+ And nought beyond, O earth!
+
+ FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.]
+
+THE EVENING WIND.
+
+
+ Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou
+ That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day,
+ Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow:
+ Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,
+ Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,
+ Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray,
+ And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee
+ To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!
+
+ Nor I alone--a thousand bosoms round
+ Inhale thee in the fullness of delight;
+ And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound
+ Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
+ And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound,
+ Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.
+ Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth,
+ God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!
+
+ Go, rock the little wood bird in his nest,
+ Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse
+ The wide old wood from his majestic rest,
+ Summoning from the innumerable boughs
+ The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast:
+ Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows
+ The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass,
+ And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass.
+
+ The faint old man shall lean his silver head
+ To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
+ And dry the moistened curls that overspread
+ His temples, while his breathing grows more deep;
+ And they who stand about the sick man's bed,
+ Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
+ And softly part his curtains to allow
+ Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.
+
+ Go--but the circle of eternal change,
+ Which is the life of nature, shall restore,
+ With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range,
+ Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more;
+ Sweet odors in the sea air, sweet and strange,
+ Shall tell the homesick mariner of the shore;
+ And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem
+ He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.
+
+ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
+
+
+
+
+SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL
+
+
+ Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
+ Jehovah has triumphed,--His people are free!
+ Sing,--for the pride of the tyrant is broken,
+ His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave,--
+ How vain was their boasting! the Lord hath but spoken,
+ And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.
+ Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
+ Jehovah has triumphed,--His people are free!
+
+ Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord!
+ His word was our arrow, His breath was our sword.
+ Who shall return to tell Egypt the story
+ Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride?
+ For the Lord hath looked out from His pillar of glory,
+ And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide.
+ Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
+ Jehovah hath triumphed,--His people are free!
+
+ THOMAS MOORE.
+
+
+
+
+CHORAL SONG OF ILLYRIAN PEASANTS.
+
+
+ Up! up! ye dames, ye lasses gay!
+ To the meadows trip away,
+ 'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn,
+ And scare the small birds from the corn.
+ Not a soul at home may stay:
+ For the shepherds must go
+ With lance and bow
+ To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.
+
+ Leave the hearth and leave the house
+ To the cricket and the mouse:
+ Find grannam out a sunny seat,
+ With babe and lambkin at her feet.
+ Not a soul at home may stay:
+ For the shepherds must go
+ With lance and bow
+ To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.
+
+ SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
+
+
+
+
+KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.
+
+
+ An ancient story I'll tell you anon
+ Of a notable prince, that was called King John;
+ And he ruled England with main and with might,
+ For he did great wrong and maintained little right.
+
+ And I'll tell you a story, a story so merry,
+ Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury;
+ How for his housekeeping and high renown,
+ They rode post for him to fair London town.
+
+ An hundred men, the king did hear say,
+ The Abbot kept in his house every day;
+ And fifty gold chains, without any doubt,
+ In velvet coats waited the Abbot about.
+
+ "How now, father Abbot, I hear it of thee,
+ Thou keepest a far better house than me;
+ And for thy housekeeping and high renown,
+ I fear thou work'st treason against my crown."
+
+ "My liege," quoth the Abbot, "I would it were known
+ I never spend nothing but what is my own;
+ And I trust your Grace will do me no deere
+ For spending of my own true gotten geere."
+
+[Illustration: KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.]
+
+ "Yes, yes, father Abbot, thy fault it is high,
+ And now for the same thou needest must die;
+ For except thou canst answer me questions three,
+ Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.
+
+ "And first," quoth the king, "when I'm in this stead,
+ With my crown of gold so fair on my head,
+ Among all my liegemen so noble of birth,
+ Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worth.
+
+ "Secondly tell me, without any doubt,
+ How soon I may ride the whole world about;
+ And at the third question thou must not shrink,
+ But tell me here truly what I do think."
+
+ "O these are hard questions for my shallow wit,
+ Nor I cannot answer your Grace as yet;
+ But if you will give me but three weeks' space,
+ I'll do my endeavor to answer your Grace."
+
+ "Now three weeks' space to thee will I give,
+ And that is the longest time thou hast to live;
+ For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
+ Thy land and thy livings are forfeit to me."
+
+ Away rode the Abbot all sad at that word,
+ And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford;
+ But never a doctor there was so wise,
+ That could with his learning an answer devise.
+
+ Then home rode the Abbot of comfort so cold,
+ And he met his shepherd a-going to fold:
+ "How now, my lord Abbot, you are welcome home;
+ What news do you bring us from good King John?"
+
+ "Sad news, sad news, shepherd, I must give,
+ That I have but three days more to live;
+ For if I do not answer him questions three,
+ My head will be smitten from my bodie.
+
+ "The first is to tell him there in that stead,
+ With his crown of gold so fair on his head,
+ Among all his liegemen so noble of birth,
+ To within one penny of what he is worth.
+
+ "The second to tell him without any doubt,
+ How soon he may ride this whole world about;
+ And at the third question I must not shrink,
+ But tell him there truly what he does think."
+
+ "Now cheer up, sir Abbot, did you never hear yet
+ That a fool he may learn a wise man wit?
+ Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,
+ And I'll ride to London to answer your quarrel.
+
+ "Nay, frown not, if it hath been told unto me,
+ I am like your lordship as ever may be;
+ And if you will but lend me your gown
+ There is none shall know us in fair London town."
+
+ "Now horses and serving men thou shalt have,
+ With sumptuous array most gallant and brave,
+ With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
+ Fit to appear 'fore our father the Pope."
+
+ "Now welcome, sir Abbot," the king he did say,
+ "'Tis well thou'rt come back to keep thy day:
+ For and if thou canst answer my questions three,
+ Thy life and thy living both saved shall be.
+
+ "And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
+ With my crown of gold so fair on my head,
+ Among all my liegemen so noble of birth,
+ Tell me to one penny what I am worth."
+
+ "For thirty pence our Savior was sold
+ Among the false Jews, as I have been told:
+ And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,
+ For I think thou art one penny worser than he."
+
+ The King he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,
+ "I did not think I had been worth so little!
+ Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
+ How soon I may ride this whole world about."
+
+ "You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,
+ Until the next morning he riseth again;
+ And then your Grace need not make any doubt
+ But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."
+
+ The King he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
+ "I did not think it could be gone so soon.
+ Now from the third question thou must not shrink,
+ But tell me here truly what do I think."
+
+ "Yea, that I shall do and make your Grace merry;
+ You think I'm the Abbot of Canterbury;
+ But I'm his poor shepherd, as plain you may see,
+ That am come to beg pardon for him and for me."
+
+ The King he laughed, and swore by the mass,
+ "I'll make thee lord abbot this day in his place!"
+ "Nay, nay, my liege, be not in such speed,
+ For alack, I can neither write nor read."
+
+ "Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee,
+ For this merry jest thou hast shown unto me;
+ And tell the old Abbot, when thou com'st home,
+ Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John."
+
+ THOMAS PERCY.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE SMALL CELANDINE.
+
+
+ Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies,
+ Let them live upon their praises;
+ Long as there's a sun that sets,
+ Primroses will have their glory;
+ Long as there are violets,
+ They will have a place in story:
+ There's a flower that shall be mine,
+ 'Tis the little Celandine.
+
+ Eyes of some men travel far
+ For the finding of a star;
+ Up and down the heavens they go,
+ Men that keep a mighty rout!
+ I'm as great as they, I trow,
+ Since the day I found thee out,
+ Little flower!--I'll make a stir,
+ Like a sage astronomer.
+
+ Modest, yet withal an elf
+ Bold, and lavish of thyself;
+ Since we needs must first have met
+ I have seen thee, high and low,
+ Thirty years or more, and yet
+ 'Twas a face I did not know;
+ Thou hast now, go where I may,
+ Fifty greetings in a day.
+
+ Ere a leaf is on a bush,
+ In the time before the thrush
+ Has a thought about her nest,
+ Thou wilt come with half a call,
+ Spreading out thy glossy breast
+ Like a careless prodigal;
+ Telling tales about the sun,
+ When we've little warmth, or none.
+
+ Poets, vain men in their mood!
+ Travel with the multitude:
+ Never heed them; I aver
+ That they are all wanton wooers;
+ But the thrifty cottager,
+ Who stirs little out of doors,
+ Joys to spy thee near her home;
+ Spring is coming, thou art come!
+
+ Comfort have thou of thy merit,
+ Kindly, unassuming spirit!
+ Careless of thy neighborhood,
+ Thou dost show thy pleasant face
+ On the moor, and in the wood,
+ In the lane;--there's not a place,
+ Howsoever mean it be,
+ But 'tis good enough for thee.
+
+ Ill befall the yellow flowers,
+ Children of the flaring hours!
+ Buttercups, that will be seen,
+ Whether we will see or no;
+ Others, too, of lofty mien;
+ They have done as worldlings do,
+ Taken praise that should be thine,
+ Little, humble Celandine!
+
+ Prophet of delight and mirth,
+ Ill requited upon earth;
+ Herald of a mighty band,
+ Of a joyous train ensuing,
+ Serving at my heart's command,
+ Tasks that are no tasks renewing,
+ I will sing, as doth behove,
+ Hymns in praise, of what I love!
+
+ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+
+
+THE BELEAGUERED CITY.
+
+
+ I have read, in some old, marvelous tale,
+ Some legend strange and vague,
+ That a midnight host of specters pale
+ Beleaguered the walls of Prague.
+
+ Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
+ With the wan moon overhead,
+ There stood, as in an awful dream,
+ The army of the dead.
+
+ White as a sea fog, landward bound,
+ The spectral camp was seen,
+ And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
+ The river flowed between.
+
+ No other voice nor sound was there,
+ No drum, nor sentry's pace;
+ The mistlike banners clasped the air,
+ As clouds with clouds embrace.
+
+ But, when the old cathedral bell
+ Proclaimed the morning prayer,
+ The white pavilions rose and fell
+ On the alarmed air.
+
+[Illustration: HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.]
+
+ Down the broad valley, fast and far
+ The troubled army fled;
+ Up rose the glorious morning star,
+ The ghastly host was dead.
+
+ I have read, in the marvelous heart of man,
+ That strange and mystic scroll,
+ That an army of phantoms vast and wan
+ Beleaguer the human soul.
+
+ Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
+ In Fancy's misty light,
+ Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
+ Portentous through the night.
+
+ Upon its midnight battle ground
+ The spectral camp is seen,
+ And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
+ Flows the River of Life between.
+
+ No other voice, nor sound is there,
+ In the army of the grave;
+ No other challenge breaks the air,
+ But the rushing of Life's wave.
+
+ And, when the solemn and deep church bell
+ Entreats the soul to pray,
+ The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
+ The shadows sweep away.
+
+ Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
+ The spectral camp is fled;
+ Faith shineth as a morning star,
+ Our ghastly fears are dead.
+
+ HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
+
+
+
+
+THE SAILOR'S WIFE.
+
+
+ And are ye sure the news is true?
+ And are ye sure he's weel?
+ Is this a time to think o' wark?
+ Ye jades, lay by your wheel;
+ Is this the time to spin a thread,
+ When Colin's at the door?
+ Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay,
+ And see him come ashore.
+ For there's nae luck about the house,
+ There's nae luck at a';
+ There's little pleasure in the house
+ When our gudeman's awa.
+
+ And gie to me my bigonet,
+ My bishop's satin gown;
+ For I maun tell the baillie's wife
+ That Colin's in the town.
+ My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
+ My stockins pearly blue;
+ It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
+ For he's baith leal and true.
+
+ Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside,
+ Put on the muckle pot;
+ Gie little Kate her button gown
+ And Jock his Sunday coat;
+ And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
+ Their hose as white as snaw;
+ It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
+ For he's been long awa.
+
+ There's twa fat hens upo' the coop
+ Benn fed this month and mair;
+ Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
+ That Colin weel may fare;
+ And spread the table neat and clean,
+ Gar ilka thing look braw,
+ For wha can tell how Colin fared
+ When he was far awa?
+
+ Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,
+ His breath like caller air;
+ His very foot has music in't
+ As he comes up the stair.
+ And will I see his face again?
+ And will I hear him speak?
+ I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
+ In troth I'm like to greet!
+
+ If Colin's well, and weel content,
+ I hae nae mair to crave;
+ And gin I live to keep him sae,
+ I'm blest aboon the lave:
+ And will I see his face again?
+ And will I hear him speak?
+ I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
+ In troth I'm like to greet.
+ For there's nae luck about the house,
+ There's nae luck at a';
+ There's little pleasure in the house
+ When our gudeman's awa.
+
+ WILLIAM J. MICKLE.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+SOLDIER AND SAILOR.
+
+
+ I love contemplating, apart
+ From all his homicidal glory,
+ The traits that soften to our heart
+ Napoleon's story!
+
+ 'Twas when his banners at Boulogne
+ Armed in our island every freeman,
+ His navy chanced to capture one
+ Poor British seaman.
+
+ They suffered him, I know not how,
+ Unprisoned on the shore to roam;
+ And aye was bent his longing brow
+ On England's home.
+
+ His eye, methinks, pursued the flight
+ Of birds to Britain halfway over
+ With envy; _they_ could reach the white
+ Dear cliffs of Dover.
+
+ A stormy midnight watch, he thought,
+ Than this sojourn would have been dearer,
+ If but the storm his vessel brought
+ To England nearer.
+
+ At last, when care had banished sleep,
+ He saw one morning--dreaming--doating,
+ An empty hogshead from the deep
+ Come shoreward floating;
+
+ He hid it in a cave, and wrought
+ The livelong day laborious; lurking
+ Until he launched a tiny boat
+ By mighty working.
+
+ Heaven help us! 'Twas a thing beyond
+ Description, wretched: such a wherry
+ Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond,
+ Or crossed a ferry.
+
+ For plowing in the salt sea field,
+ It would have made the boldest shudder;
+ Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled,
+ No sail--no rudder.
+
+ From neighb'ring woods he interlaced
+ His sorry skiff with wattled willows;
+ And thus equipped he would have passed
+ The foaming billows--
+
+ But Frenchmen caught him on the beach,
+ His little Argo sorely jeering;
+ Till tidings of him chanced to reach
+ Napoleon's hearing.
+
+ With folded arms Napoleon stood,
+ Serene alike in peace and danger;
+ And, in his wonted attitude,
+ Addressed the stranger:--
+
+ "Rash man, that wouldst yon Channel pass
+ On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned;
+ Thy heart with some sweet British lass
+ Must be impassioned."
+
+ "I have no sweetheart," said the lad;
+ "But--absent long from one another--
+ Great was the longing that I had
+ To see my mother."
+
+ "And so thou shalt," Napoleon said,
+ "Ye've both my favor fairly won;
+ A noble mother must have bred
+ So brave a son."
+
+ He gave the tar a piece of gold,
+ And, with a flag of truce, commanded
+ He should be shipped to England Old,
+ And safely landed.
+
+ Our sailor oft could scantly shift
+ To find a dinner, plain and hearty;
+ But _never_ changed the coin and gift
+ Of Bonaparte.
+
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL.
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.
+
+
+ It was a summer's evening,
+ Old Kaspar's work was done,
+ And he before his cottage door
+ Was sitting in the sun;
+ And by him sported on the green
+ His little grandchild Wilhelmine.
+
+ She saw her brother Peterkin
+ Roll something large and round,
+ Which he beside the rivulet,
+ In playing there, had found.
+ He came to ask what he had found,
+ That was so large, and smooth, and round.
+
+ Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
+ Who stood expectant by;
+ And then the old man shook his head,
+ And, with a natural sigh,
+ "'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
+ "Who fell in the great victory!
+
+ "I find them in the garden,
+ For there's many here about;
+ And often when I go to plow,
+ The plowshare turns them out;
+ For many thousand men," said he,
+ "Were slain in that great victory!"
+
+ "Now, tell us what 'twas all about,"
+ Young Peterkin he cries;
+ And little Wilhelmine looks up
+ With wonder-waiting eyes;
+ "Now tell us all about the war,
+ And what they killed each other for."
+
+ "It was the English," Kaspar cried,
+ "Who put the French to rout;
+ But what they killed each other for
+ I could not well make out.
+ But everybody said," quoth he,
+ "That 'twas a famous victory!
+
+ "My father lived at Blenheim then,
+ Yon little stream hard by;
+ They burned his dwelling to the ground,
+ And he was forced to fly;
+ So with his wife and child he fled,
+ Nor had he where to rest his head.
+
+ "With fire and sword the country round
+ Was wasted far and wide;
+ And many a childing mother then
+ And new-born baby died.
+ But things, like that, you know, must be
+ At every famous victory.
+
+ "They say it was a shocking sight
+ After the field was won;
+ For many thousand bodies here
+ Lay rotting in the sun.
+ But things like that, you know, must be
+ After a famous victory.
+
+ "Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won,
+ And our good Prince Eugene."
+ "Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"
+ Said little Wilhelmine.
+ "Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,
+ "It was a famous victory!
+
+ "And everybody praised the Duke
+ Who this great fight did win."
+ "But what good came of it at last?"
+ Quoth little Peterkin.
+ "Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
+ "But 'twas a famous victory!"
+
+ ROBERT SOUTHEY.
+
+
+
+
+THE REVENGE.
+
+
+ And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer
+ sea,
+ And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring;
+ But they dared not touch us again, for they feared that we still
+ could sting;
+ So they watched what the end would be.
+ And we had not fought them in vain,
+ But in perilous plight were we,
+ Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain,
+ And half of the rest of us maimed for life
+ In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife;
+ And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold,
+ And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it
+ spent;
+ And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side;
+ But Sir Richard cried in his English pride,
+ "We have fought such a fight for a day and a night
+ As may never be fought again!
+ We have won great glory, my men!
+ And a day less or more
+ At sea or ashore,
+ We die--does it matter when?
+ Sink me the ship, Master Gunner--sink her, split her in twain!
+ Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain!"
+
+ And the gunner said, "Ay, ay," but the seamen made reply:
+ "We have children, we have wives,
+ And the Lord hath spared our lives.
+ We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go;
+ We shall live to fight again, and to strike another blow."
+ And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe.
+
+ And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then,
+ Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last,
+ And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace;
+ But he rose upon their decks, and he cried:
+ "I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true;
+ I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do:
+ With a joyful spirit I, Sir Richard Grenville, die!"
+ And he fell upon their decks, and he died.
+
+ ALFRED TENNYSON.
+
+_From "The Revenge."_
+
+
+
+
+HALLOWED GROUND.
+
+
+ What's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
+ Its maker meant not should be trod
+ By man, the image of his God,
+ Erect and free,
+ Unscourged by Superstition's rod
+ To bow the knee?
+
+ That's hallowed ground--where, mourned and missed,
+ The lips repose our love has kissed:--
+ But where's their memory's mansion? Is't
+ Yon churchyard's bowers?
+ No! in ourselves their souls exist,
+ A part of ours.
+
+ What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
+ 'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap!
+ In dews that heavens far distant weep
+ Their turf may bloom;
+ Or Genii twine beneath the deep
+ Their coral tomb:
+
+ But strew his ashes to the wind
+ Whose sword or voice has served mankind--
+ And is he dead, whose glorious mind
+ Lifts thine on high?--
+ To live in hearts we leave behind,
+ Is not to die.
+
+ Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?
+ He's dead alone that lacks her light!
+ And murder sullies in Heaven's sight
+ The sword he draws:--
+ What can alone ennoble fight?
+ A noble cause!
+
+ What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth
+ To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!--
+ Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth
+ Earth's compass round;
+ And your high priesthood shall make earth
+ _All hallowed ground_.
+
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.
+
+
+ You know we French stormed Ratisbon:
+ A mile or so away
+ On a little mound, Napoleon
+ Stood on our storming-day;
+ With neck out thrust, you fancy how,
+ Legs wide, arms locked behind,
+ As if to balance the prone brow
+ Oppressive with its mind.
+
+ Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans
+ That soar, to earth may fall,
+ Let once my army leader Lannes
+ Waver at yonder wall,--"
+ Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew
+ A rider, bound on bound
+ Full galloping; nor bridle drew
+ Until he reached the mound.
+
+ Then off there flung in smiling joy,
+ And held himself erect
+ By just his horse's mane, a boy:
+ You hardly could suspect--
+ (So tight he kept his lips compressed,
+ Scarce any blood came through),
+ You looked twice ere you saw his breast
+ Was all but shot in two.
+
+ "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace
+ We've got you Ratisbon!
+ The Marshal's in the market place,
+ And you'll be there anon
+ To see your flag-bird flap his vans
+ Where I, to heart's desire,
+ Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans
+ Soared up again like fire.
+
+ The chief's eye flashed; but presently
+ Softened itself, as sheathes
+ A film the mother eagle's eye
+ When her bruised eaglet breathes.
+ "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride
+ Touched to the quick, he said:
+ "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,
+ Smiling, the boy fell dead.
+
+ ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+
+
+
+THY VOICE IS HEARD THRO' ROLLING DRUMS.
+
+
+ Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums,
+ That beat to battle where he stands;
+ Thy face across his fancy comes,
+ And gives the battle to his hands:
+ A moment, while the trumpets blow,
+ He sees his brood about thy knee;
+ The next, like fire he meets the foe,
+ And strikes him dead for thine and thee.
+
+ ALFRED TENNYSON.
+
+
+
+
+QUIET, LORD, MY FROWARD HEART.
+
+
+ Quiet, Lord, my froward heart:
+ Make me teachable and mild,
+ Upright, simple, free from art,--
+ Make me as a weaned child:
+ From distrust and envy free,
+ Pleased with all that pleaseth Thee.
+
+ What Thou shalt to-day provide,
+ Let me as a child receive;
+ What to-morrow may betide,
+ Calmly to Thy wisdom leave;
+ 'Tis enough that Thou wilt care:
+ Why should I the burden bear?
+
+ As a little child relies
+ On a care beyond his own,
+ Knows he's neither strong nor wise,
+ Fears to stir a step alone;
+ Let me thus with Thee abide,
+ As my Father, Guard, and Guide.
+
+ JOHN NEWTON.
+
+
+
+
+MORNING.
+
+
+ Oh! timely happy, timely wise,
+ Hearts that with rising morn arise!
+ Eyes that the beam celestial view,
+ Which evermore makes all things new!
+
+ New every morning is the love
+ Our wakening and uprising prove;
+ Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
+ Restored to life, and power, and thought.
+
+ New mercies, each returning day,
+ Hover around us while we pray;
+ New perils past, new sins forgiven,
+ New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven.
+
+ JOHN KEBLE.
+
+
+
+
+EVENING.
+
+
+ Shepherds all, and maidens fair,
+ Fold your flocks up, for the air
+ 'Gins to thicken, and the sun
+ Already his great course has run.
+ See the dewdrops how they kiss
+ Every little flower that is,
+ Hanging on their velvet heads,
+ Like a rope of crystal beads.
+ See the heavy clouds low falling,
+ And bright Hesperus down calling
+ The dead night from underground,
+ At whose rising, mists unsound,
+ Damps and vapors fly apace,
+ Hovering o'er the wanton face
+ Of these pastures, where they come
+ Striking dead both bud and bloom.
+ Therefore from such danger lock
+ Every one of his loved flock;
+ And let your dogs lie loose without,
+ Lest the wolf come, as a scout
+ From the mountain, and ere day
+ Bear a kid or lamb away;
+ Or the crafty thievish fox
+ Break upon your simple flocks.
+ To secure yourselves from these,
+ Be not too secure in ease.
+ So shall you good shepherds prove,
+ And deserve your master's love.
+ Now, good night! may sweetest slumbers
+ And soft silence fall in numbers
+ On your eyelids; so, farewell;
+ Thus I end my evening knell.
+
+ JOHN FLETCHER.
+
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+
+ Orpheus with his lute made trees
+ And the mountain tops that freeze
+ Bow themselves when he did sing:
+ To his music, plants and flowers
+ Ever sprung; as sun and showers
+ There had made a lasting spring.
+
+ Everything that heard him play,
+ Even the billows of the sea,
+ Hung their heads, and then lay by.
+ In sweet music is such art,
+ Killing care and grief of heart
+ Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.
+
+ WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A FAREWELL.
+
+
+ Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
+ Thy tribute wave deliver:
+ No more by thee my steps shall be,
+ For ever and for ever.
+
+ Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
+ A rivulet, then a river:
+ Nowhere by thee my steps shall be,
+ For ever and for ever.
+
+ But here will sigh thine alder tree,
+ And here thine aspen shiver;
+ And here by thee will hum the bee,
+ For ever and for ever.
+
+ A thousand suns will stream on thee.
+ A thousand moons will quiver;
+ But not by thee my steps shall be,
+ For ever and for ever.
+
+ ALFRED TENNYSON.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+TO A MOUSE.
+
+ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOW.
+
+
+ Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
+ O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
+ Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
+ Wi' bickering brattle!
+ I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
+ Wi' murd'ring pattle!
+
+ I'm truly sorry man's dominion
+ Has broken nature's social union,
+ An' justifies that ill opinion,
+ Which makes thee startle
+ At me, thy poor earthborn companion,
+ An' fellow mortal!
+
+ I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
+ What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
+ A daimen icker in a thrave
+ 'S a sma' request:
+ I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
+ And never miss't!
+
+ Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin;
+ Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'!
+ An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
+ O' foggage green!
+ An' bleak December's winds ensuin',
+ Baith snell and keen!
+
+ Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
+ An' weary winter comin' fast,
+ An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
+ Thou thought to dwell,
+ Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
+ Out thro' thy cell.
+
+ That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
+ Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
+ Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
+ But house or hald,
+ To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
+ An' cranreuch cauld!
+
+ But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
+ In proving foresight may be vain:
+ The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
+ Gang aft a-gley,
+ An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain,
+ For promis'd joy.
+
+ Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!
+ The present only toucheth thee:
+ But, och! I backward cast my e'e,
+ On prospects drear!
+ An' forward, tho' I canna see,
+ I guess an' fear.
+
+ ROBERT BURNS.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A SELECTION FROM CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
+
+
+ There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
+ There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
+ There is society where none intrudes,
+ By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
+ I love not man the less, but Nature more,
+ From these our interviews, in which I steal
+ From all I may be, or have been before,
+ To mingle with the Universe, and feel
+ What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
+
+ Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!
+ Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;--
+ Man marks the earth with ruin--his control
+ Stops with the shore;--upon the watery plain
+ The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
+ A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
+ When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
+ He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
+ Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
+
+ The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
+ Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
+ And monarchs tremble in their capitals,
+ The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
+ Their clay creator the vain title take
+ Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;
+ These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
+ They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
+ Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
+
+ Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee--
+ Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
+ Thy waters washed them power while they were free,
+ And many a tyrant since: their shores obey
+ The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
+ Has dried up realms to deserts:--not so thou,
+ Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play--
+ Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow--
+ Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
+
+ Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
+ Glasses itself in tempests; in all time
+ Calm or convulsed--in breeze, or gale, or storm,
+ Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
+ Dark-heaving;--boundless, endless, and sublime--
+ The image of Eternity--the throne
+ Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
+ The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
+ Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
+
+ And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
+ Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
+ Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy
+ I wantoned with thy breakers--they to me
+ Were a delight; and if the freshening sea
+ Made them a terror--'twas a pleasing fear,
+ For I was as it were a child of thee,
+ And trusted to thy billows far and near,
+ And laid my hand upon thy mane--as I do here.
+
+ LORD GEORGE NOEL GORDON BYRON.
+
+
+
+
+BRIGHTEST AND BEST OF THE SONS OF THE MORNING.
+
+
+ Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning!
+ Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid!
+ Star of the East, the horizon adorning,
+ Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid!
+
+ Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are shining,
+ Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall;
+ Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,
+ Maker and Monarch and Savior of all!
+
+ Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion,
+ Odors of Edom and offerings divine?
+ Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean,
+ Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine?
+
+ Vainly we offer each ample oblation;
+ Vainly with gifts would His favor secure:
+ Richer by far is the heart's adoration;
+ Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
+
+ Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning!
+ Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid!
+ Star of the East, the horizon adorning,
+ Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid!
+
+ REGINALD HEBER.
+
+
+
+
+THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK II.
+
+_PART III._
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: CONCORD BRIDGE.]
+
+
+
+
+PART THREE.
+
+
+
+
+CONCORD HYMN.
+
+SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE BATTLE MONUMENT, APRIL 19, 1836.
+
+
+ By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
+ Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
+ Here once the embattled farmers stood,
+ And fired the shot heard round the world.
+
+ The foe long since in silence slept;
+ Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
+ And Time the ruined bridge has swept
+ Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.
+
+ On this green bank, by this soft stream,
+ We set to-day a votive stone;
+ That memory may their deed redeem,
+ When, like our sires, our sons are gone.
+
+ Spirit, that made those heroes dare
+ To die, and leave their children free,
+ Bid Time and Nature gently spare
+ The shaft we raise to them and thee.
+
+ RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
+
+
+
+
+MONTEREY.
+
+
+ We were not many--we who stood
+ Before the iron sleet that day--
+ Yet many a gallant spirit would
+ Give half his years if he but could
+ Have been with us at Monterey.
+
+ Now here, now there, the shot, it hailed
+ In deadly drifts of fiery spray,
+ Yet not a single soldier quailed
+ When wounded comrades round them wailed
+ Their dying shout at Monterey.
+
+ And on--still on our column kept
+ Through walls of flame its withering way;
+ Where fell the dead, the living stept,
+ Still charging on the guns that swept
+ The slippery streets of Monterey.
+
+ The foe himself recoiled aghast,
+ When, striking where he strongest lay,
+ We swooped his flanking batteries past
+ And braving full their murderous blast
+ Stormed home the towers of Monterey.
+
+ Our banners on those turrets wave,
+ And there our evening bugles play;
+ Where orange boughs above their grave
+ Keep green the memory of the brave
+ Who fought and fell at Monterey.
+
+ We are not many--we who pressed
+ Beside the brave who fell that day;
+ But who of us has not confessed
+ He'd rather share their warrior rest,
+ Than not have been at Monterey?
+
+ CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.
+
+
+
+
+YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
+
+
+ Ye mariners of England
+ That guard our native seas!
+ Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
+ The battle and the breeze!
+ Your glorious standard launch again
+ To match another foe:
+ And sweep through the deep,
+ While the stormy winds do blow;
+ While the battle rages loud and long
+ And the stormy winds do blow.
+
+ The spirits of your fathers
+ Shall start from every wave--
+ For the deck it was their field of fame,
+ And Ocean was their grave:
+ Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
+ Your manly hearts shall glow,
+ As ye sweep through the deep,
+ While the stormy winds do blow;
+ While the battle rages loud and long
+ And the stormy winds do blow.
+
+ Britannia needs no bulwarks
+ No towers along the steep;
+ Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
+ Her home is on the deep.
+ With thunders from her native oak
+ She quells the floods below--
+ As they roar on the shore,
+ When the stormy winds do blow;
+ When the battle rages loud and long,
+ And the stormy winds do blow.
+
+ The meteor flag of England
+ Shall yet terrific burn;
+ Till danger's troubled night depart
+ And the star of peace return.
+ Then, then, ye ocean warriors!
+ Our song and feast shall flow
+ To the fame of your name,
+ When the storm has ceased to blow;
+ When the fiery fight is heard no more,
+ And the storm has ceased to blow.
+
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: ADMIRAL HORATIO NELSON.]
+
+THE DEATH OF NELSON.
+
+
+ 'Twas in Trafalgar's bay
+ We saw the Frenchmen lay;
+ Each heart was bounding then.
+ We scorned the foreign yoke,
+ Our ships were British oak,
+ And hearts of oak our men.
+ Our Nelson marked them on the wave,
+ Three cheers our gallant seamen gave,
+ Nor thought of home and beauty.
+ Along the line this signal ran,--
+ "England expects that every man
+ This day will do his duty."
+
+ And now the cannons roar
+ Along the affrighted shore;
+ Brave Nelson led the way:
+ His ship the Victory named;
+ Long be that victory famed!
+ For victory crowned the day.
+ But dearly was that conquest bought,
+ Too well the gallant hero fought
+ For England, home, and beauty.
+ He cried, as 'midst the fire he ran,--
+ "England shall find that every man
+ This day will do his duty!"
+
+ At last the fatal wound
+ Which shed dismay around,
+ The hero's breast received.
+ "Heaven fights on our side;
+ The day's our own!" he cried;
+ "Now long enough I've lived.
+ In honor's cause my life was passed,
+ In honor's cause I fall at last,
+ For England, home, and beauty!"
+ Thus ending life as he began;
+ England confessed that every man
+ That day had done his duty.
+
+ ARNOLD.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: CHARLES KINGSLEY.]
+
+ODE TO THE NORTHEAST WIND.
+
+
+ Welcome, wild Northeaster!
+ Shame it is to see
+ Odes to every zephyr;
+ Ne'er a verse to thee.
+ Welcome, black Northeaster!
+ O'er the German foam;
+ O'er the Danish moorlands,
+ From thy frozen home.
+ Tired we are of summer,
+ Tired of gaudy glare,
+ Showers soft and steaming,
+ Hot and breathless air.
+ Tired of listless dreaming,
+ Through the lazy day;
+ Jovial wind of winter
+ Turn us out to play!
+ Sweep the golden reed beds;
+ Crisp the lazy dike;
+ Hunger into madness
+ Every plunging pike.
+ Fill the lake with wild fowl;
+ Fill the marsh with snipe;
+ While on dreary moorlands
+ Lonely curlew pipe.
+ Through the black fir forest
+ Thunder harsh and dry,
+ Shattering down the snowflakes
+ Off the curdled sky.
+ Hark! the brave Northeaster!
+ Breast high lies the scent,
+ On by bolt and headland,
+ Over heath and bent.
+ Chime, ye dappled darlings,
+ Through the sleet and snow,
+ Who can override you?
+ Let the horses go!
+ Chime, ye dappled darlings,
+ Down the roaring blast;
+ You shall see a fox die
+ Ere an hour be past.
+ Go! and rest to-morrow,
+ Hunting in your dreams,
+ While our skates are ringing
+ O'er the frozen streams.
+ Let the luscious South wind
+ Breathe in lovers' sighs,
+ While the lazy gallants
+ Bask in ladies' eyes.
+ What does he but soften
+ Heart alike and pen?
+ 'Tis the hard gray weather
+ Breeds hard English men.
+ What's the soft Southwester?
+ 'Tis the ladies' breeze,
+ Bringing home their true loves
+ Out of all the seas;
+ But the black Northeaster,
+ Through the snowstorm hurled,
+ Drives our English hearts of oak
+ Seaward round the world!
+ Come! as came our fathers,
+ Heralded by thee,
+ Conquering from the eastward,
+ Lords by land and sea.
+ Come! and strong within us
+ Stir the Vikings' blood;
+ Bracing brain and sinew;
+ Blow, thou wind of God!
+
+ CHARLES KINGSLEY.
+
+
+
+
+ENGLAND.
+
+
+ This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle,
+ This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
+ This other Eden, demi-paradise,
+ This fortress built by Nature for herself
+ Against infection and the hand of war,
+ This happy breed of men, this little world,
+ This precious stone set in the silver sea,
+ Which serves it in the office of a wall
+ Or as a moat defensive to a house,
+ Against the envy of less happier lands,
+ This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
+
+ WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
+
+_From "Richard II."_
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF THE GREEKS.
+
+
+ Again to the battle, Achaians!
+ Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance!
+ Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree--
+ It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free.
+ For the cross of our faith is replanted,
+ The pale dying crescent is daunted,
+ And we march that the footprints of Mahomet's slaves
+ May be washed out in blood from our forefathers' graves.
+ Their spirits are hovering o'er us,
+ And the sword shall to glory restore us.
+
+ Ah! what though no succor advances,
+ Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances
+ Are stretched in our aid--be the combat our own!
+ And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone;
+ For we've sworn by our country's assaulters,
+ By the virgins they've dragged from our altars,
+ By our massacred patriots, our children in chains,
+ By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins,
+ That, living, we shall be victorious,
+ Or that, dying, our deaths shall be glorious.
+
+ A breath of submission we breathe not;
+ The sword that we've drawn we will sheathe not!
+ Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid,
+ And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade.
+ Earth may hide--waves engulf--fire consume us,
+ But they shall not to slavery doom us:
+ If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves;
+ But we've smote them already with fire on the waves,
+ And new triumphs on the land are before us,
+ To the charge!--Heaven's banner is o'er us.
+
+ This day shall ye blush for its story,
+ Or brighten your lives with its glory.
+ Our women, oh, say, shall they shriek in despair,
+ Or embrace us from conquest with wreaths in their hair?
+ Accursed may his memory blacken,
+ If a coward there be that would slacken
+ Till we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth
+ Being sprung from and named for the godlike of earth.
+ Strike home, and the world shall revere us
+ As heroes descended from heroes.
+
+ Old Greece lightens up with emotion
+ Her inlands, her isles of the Ocean;
+ Fanes rebuilt and fair towns shall with jubilee ring,
+ And the Nine shall new hallow their Helicon's spring:
+ Our hearths shall be kindled in gladness,
+ That were cold and extinguished in sadness;
+ Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white waving arms,
+ Singing joy to the brave that delivered their charms,
+ When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens
+ Shall have purpled the beaks of our ravens.
+
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL.
+
+
+
+
+SHERIDAN'S RIDE.
+
+OCTOBER 19, 1864.
+
+
+ Up from the South at break of day,
+ Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
+ The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
+ Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
+ The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar,
+ Telling the battle was on once more,
+ And Sheridan twenty miles away.
+
+ And wider still those billows of war
+ Thundered along the horizon's bar;
+ And louder yet into Winchester rolled
+ The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
+ Making the blood of the listener cold,
+ As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
+ And Sheridan twenty miles away.
+
+ But there is a road from Winchester town,
+ A good broad highway leading down;
+ And there, through the flash of the morning light,
+ A steed as black as the steeds of night
+ Was seen to pass as with eagle flight;
+ As if he knew the terrible need,
+ He stretched away with the utmost speed;
+ Hills rose and fell--but his heart was gay,
+ With Sheridan fifteen miles away.
+
+ Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South,
+ The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth;
+ On the tail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster,
+ Forboding to traitors the doom of disaster.
+ The heart of the steed and the heart of the master
+ Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
+ Impatient to be where the battlefield calls;
+ Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
+ With Sheridan only ten miles away.
+
+ Under his spurning feet the road
+ Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
+ And the landscape flowed away behind,
+ Like an ocean flying before the wind;
+ And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire,
+ Swept on with his wild eyes full of fire;
+ But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire,
+ He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
+ With Sheridan only five miles away.
+
+ The first that the General saw were the groups
+ Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops;
+ What was done--what to do--a glance told him both,
+ Then, striking his spurs, with a terrible oath,
+ He dashed down the lines 'mid a storm of huzzas,
+ And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because
+ The sight of the master compelled it to pause.
+ With foam and with dust the black charger was gray,
+ By the flash of his eye and the red nostril's play
+ He seemed to the whole great army to say:
+ "I've brought you Sheridan all the way
+ From Winchester down to save the day!"
+
+ Hurrah! hurrah! for Sheridan!
+ Hurrah! hurrah! for horse and man!
+ And when their statues are placed on high,
+ Under the dome of the Union sky--
+ The American soldier's temple of fame--
+ There with the glorious General's name,
+ Be it said, in letters both bold and bright:
+ "Here is the steed that saved the day
+ By carrying Sheridan into the fight
+ From Winchester, twenty miles away!"
+
+ THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE HURRICANE.
+
+
+ Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh,
+ I know thy breath in the burning sky!
+ And I wait, with a thrill in every vein,
+ For the coming of the hurricane!
+
+ And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales,
+ Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails;
+ Silent and slow, and terribly strong,
+ The mighty shadow is borne along,
+ Like the dark eternity to come;
+ While the world below, dismayed and dumb,
+ Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere,
+ Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear.
+
+ They darken fast; and the golden blaze
+ Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze,
+ And he sends through the shade a funeral ray--
+ A glare that is neither night nor day,
+ A beam that touches, with hues of death,
+ The clouds above and the earth beneath.
+ To its covert glides the silent bird,
+ While the hurricane's distant voice is heard
+ Uplifted among the mountains round,
+ And the forests hear and answer the sound.
+
+ He is come! he is come! do ye not behold
+ His ample robes on the winds unrolled?
+ Giant of air! we bid thee hail!--
+ How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale:
+ How his huge and writhing arms are bent,
+ To clasp the zone of the firmament,
+ And fold at length, in their dark embrace,
+ From mountain to mountain the visible space.
+
+ Darker--still darker! the whirlwinds bear
+ The dust of the plains to the middle air:
+ And hark to the crashing, long and loud,
+ Of the chariot of God in the thundercloud!
+ You may trace its path by the flashes that start
+ From the rapid wheels where'er they dart,
+ As the fire-bolts leap to the world below,
+ And flood the skies with a lurid glow.
+
+ What roar is that?--'tis the rain that breaks
+ In torrents away from the airy lakes,
+ Heavily poured on the shuddering ground,
+ And shedding a nameless horror round.
+ Ah! well-known woods, and mountains, and skies,
+ With the very clouds!--ye are lost to my eyes.
+ I seek ye vainly, and see in your place
+ The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space,
+ A whirling ocean that fills the wall
+ Of the crystal heaven, and buries all.
+ And I, cut off from the world, remain
+ Alone with the terrible hurricane.
+
+ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: JOSEPH ADDISON.]
+
+WHEN ALL THY MERCIES, O MY GOD.
+
+
+ When all Thy mercies, O my God,
+ My rising soul surveys;
+ Transported with the view, I'm lost
+ In wonder, love, and praise.
+
+ O how shall words with equal warmth
+ The gratitude declare
+ That glows within my ravished heart!
+ But Thou canst read it there.
+
+ Unnumbered comforts on my soul
+ Thy tender care bestowed,
+ Before my infant heart conceived
+ From whom these comforts flowed.
+
+ Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
+ My daily thanks employ;
+ Nor is the least a cheerful heart,
+ That tastes those gifts with joy.
+
+ Through every period of my life,
+ Thy goodness I'll pursue;
+ And after death in distant worlds,
+ The glorious theme renew.
+
+ Through all eternity, to Thee
+ A joyful song I'll raise;
+ For, oh! eternity's too short
+ To utter all Thy praise.
+
+ JOSEPH ADDISON.
+
+
+
+
+THE KINGDOM OF GOD.
+
+
+ I say to thee, do thou repeat
+ To the first man thou mayest meet
+ In lane, highway, or open street--
+
+ That he and we and all men move
+ Under a canopy of love,
+ As broad as the blue sky above;
+
+ That doubt and trouble, fear and pain
+ And anguish, all are shadows vain,
+ That death itself shall not remain;
+
+ That weary deserts we may tread,
+ A dreary labyrinth may thread,
+ Through dark ways underground be led;
+
+ Yet, if we will one Guide obey,
+ The dreariest path, the darkest way,
+ Shall issue out in heavenly day;
+
+ And we, on divers shores now cast,
+ Shall meet, our perilous voyage past,
+ All in our Father's house at last.
+
+ RICHARD C. TRENCH.
+
+
+
+
+THE NOBLE NATURE.
+
+
+ It is not growing like a tree
+ In bulk, doth make man better be;
+ Or standing long an oak three hundred year,
+ To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere;
+ A lily of a day
+ Is fairer far in May,
+ Although it fall and die that night--
+ It was the plant and flower of Light.
+ In small proportions we just beauty see;
+ And in short measures life may perfect be.
+
+ BEN JONSON.
+
+
+
+
+WINSTANLEY.
+
+
+ Winstanley's deed, you kindly folk,
+ With it I fill my lay,
+ And a nobler man ne'er walked the world,
+ Let his name be what it may.
+
+ The good ship Snowdrop tarried long;
+ Up at the vane looked he;
+ "Belike," he said, for the wind had dropped,
+ "She lieth becalmed at sea."
+
+ The lovely ladies flocked within,
+ And still would each one say,
+ "Good mercer, be the ships come up?"--
+ But still he answered, "Nay."
+
+ Then stepped two mariners down the street,
+ With looks of grief and fear:
+ "Now, if Winstanley be your name,
+ We bring you evil cheer!
+
+ "For the good ship Snowdrop struck,--she struck
+ On the rock,--the Eddystone,
+ And down she went with threescore men,
+ We two being left alone.
+
+ "Down in the deep with freight and crew,
+ Past any help she lies,
+ And never a bale has come to shore
+ Of all thy merchandise."
+
+ "For cloth o' gold and comely frieze,"
+ Winstanley said and sighed,
+ "For velvet coif, or costly coat,
+ They fathoms deep may bide.
+
+ "O thou brave skipper, blithe and kind,
+ O mariners, bold and true,
+ Sorry at heart, right sorry am I,
+ A-thinking of yours and you.
+
+ "Many long days Winstanley's breast
+ Shall feel a weight within,
+ For a waft of wind he shall be 'feared,
+ And trading count but sin.
+
+ "To him no more it shall be joy
+ To pace the cheerful town,
+ And see the lovely ladies gay
+ Step on in velvet gown."
+
+ The Snowdrop sank at Lammas tide,
+ All under the yeasty spray;
+ On Christmas Eve the brig Content
+ Was also cast away.
+
+ He little thought o' New Year's night,
+ So jolly as he sat then,
+ While drank the toast and praised the roast
+ The round-faced Aldermen,--
+
+ He little thought on Plymouth Hoe,
+ With every rising tide,
+ How the wave washed in his sailor lads,
+ And laid them by his side.
+
+ There stepped a stranger to the board:
+ "Now, stranger, who be ye?"
+ He looked to the right, he looked to the left,
+ And "Rest you merry," quoth he;
+
+ "For you did not see the brig go down,
+ Or ever a storm had blown;
+ For you did not see the white wave rear
+ At the rock,--the Eddystone.
+
+ "She drave at the rock with stern sails set;
+ Crash went the masts in twain;
+ She staggered back with her mortal blow,
+ Then leaped at it again.
+
+ "There rose a great cry, bitter and strong;
+ The misty moon looked out!
+ And the water swarmed with seamen's heads,
+ And the wreck was strewed about.
+
+ "I saw her mainsail lash the sea,
+ As I clung to the rock alone;
+ Then she heeled over, and down she went,
+ And sank like any stone.
+
+ "She was a fair ship, but all's one!
+ For naught could bide the shock."--
+ "I will take horse," Winstanley said,
+ "And see this deadly rock.
+
+ "For never again shall bark o' mine
+ Sail o'er the windy sea,
+ Unless, by the blessing of God, for this
+ Be found a remedy."
+
+ Winstanley rode to Plymouth town
+ All in the sleet and the snow;
+ And he looked around on shore and sound,
+ As he stood on Plymouth Hoe.
+
+ Till a pillar of spray rose far away,
+ And shot up its stately head,
+ Reared, and fell over, and reared again:
+ "'Tis the rock! the rock!" he said.
+
+ Straight to the Mayor he took his way:
+ "Good Master Mayor," quoth he,
+ "I am a mercer of London town,
+ And owner of vessels three.
+
+ "But for your rock of dark renown,
+ I had five to track the main."--
+ "You are one of many," the old Mayor said,
+ "That of the rock complain.
+
+ "An ill rock, mercer! your words ring right,
+ Well with my thoughts they chime,
+ For my two sons to the world to come
+ It sent before their time."
+
+ "Lend me a lighter, good Master Mayor,
+ And a score of shipwrights free;
+ For I think to raise a lantern tower
+ On this rock o' destiny."
+
+ The old Mayor laughed, but sighed also:
+ "Ah, youth," quoth he, "is rash;
+ Sooner, young man, thou'lt root it out
+ From the sea that doth it lash.
+
+ "Who sails too near its jagged teeth,
+ He shall have evil lot;
+ For the calmest seas that tumble there
+ Froth like a boiling pot.
+
+ "And the heavier seas few look on nigh,
+ But straight they lay him dead;
+ A seventy-gun-ship, sir!--they'll shoot
+ Higher than her masthead.
+
+ "Oh, beacons sighted in the dark,
+ They are right welcome things,
+ And pitch pots flaming on the shore
+ Show fair as angel wings.
+
+ "Hast gold in hand? then light the land,
+ It 'longs to thee and me;
+ But let alone the deadly rock
+ In God Almighty's sea."
+
+ Yet said he, "Nay,--I must away,
+ On the rock to set my feet;
+ My debts are paid, my will I made,
+ Or ever I did thee greet.
+
+ "If I must die, then let me die
+ By the rock and not elsewhere;
+ If I may live, Oh let me live
+ To mount my lighthouse stair."
+
+ The old Mayor looked him in the face,
+ And answered, "Have thy way;
+ Thy heart is stout, as if round about
+ It was braced with an iron stay:
+
+ "Have thy will, mercer! choose thy men,
+ Put off from the storm-rid shore;
+ God with thee be, or I shall see
+ Thy face and theirs no more."
+
+ Heavily plunged the breaking wave,
+ And foam flew up the lea;
+ Morning and even the drifted snow
+ Fell into the dark gray sea.
+
+ Winstanley chose him men and gear;
+ He said, "My time I waste,"
+ For the seas ran seething up the shore,
+ And the wrack drave on in haste.
+
+ But twenty days he waited and more,
+ Pacing the strand alone,
+ Or ever he sat his manly foot
+ On the rock,--the Eddystone.
+
+ Then he and the sea began their strife,
+ And worked with power and might;
+ Whatever the man reared up by day
+ The sea broke down by night.
+
+ He wrought at ebb with bar and beam,
+ He sailed to shore at flow;
+ And at his side, by that same tide,
+ Came bar and beam also.
+
+ "Give in, give in," the old Mayor cried,
+ "Or thou wilt rue the day."--
+ "Yonder he goes," the townsfolk sighed,
+ "But the rock will have its way.
+
+ "For all his looks that are so stout,
+ And his speeches brave and fair,
+ He may wait on the wind, wait on the wave,
+ But he'll build no lighthouse there."
+
+ In fine weather and foul weather
+ The rock his arts did flout,
+ Through the long days and the short days,
+ Till all that year ran out.
+
+ With fine weather and foul weather
+ Another year came in;
+ "To take his wage," the workmen said,
+ "We almost count a sin."
+
+ Now March was gone, came April in,
+ And a sea fog settled down,
+ And forth sailed he on a glassy sea,
+ He sailed from Plymouth town.
+
+ With men and stores he put to sea,
+ As he was wont to do:
+ They showed in the fog like ghosts full faint,--
+ A ghostly craft and crew.
+
+ And the sea fog lay and waxed alway,
+ For a long eight days and more;
+ "God help our men," quoth the women then
+ "For they bide long from shore."
+
+ They paced the Hoe in doubt and dread;
+ "Where may our mariners be?"
+ But the brooding fog lay soft as down
+ Over the quiet sea.
+
+ A Scottish schooner made the port,
+ The thirteenth day at e'en;
+ "As I am a man," the captain cried,
+ "A strange sight I have seen:
+
+ "And a strange sound heard, my masters all,
+ At sea, in the fog and the rain,
+ Like shipwrights' hammers tapping low,
+ Then loud, then low again.
+
+ "And a stately house one instant showed,
+ Through a rift on the vessel's lea;
+ What manner of creatures may be those
+ That build upon the sea."
+
+ Then sighed the folk, "The Lord be praised!"
+ And they flocked to the shore amain:
+ All over the Hoe that livelong night,
+ Many stood out in the rain.
+
+ It ceased; and the red sun reared his head,
+ And the rolling fog did flee;
+ And, lo! in the offing faint and far
+ Winstanley's house at sea!
+
+ In fair weather with mirth and cheer
+ The stately tower uprose;
+ In foul weather with hunger and cold
+ They were content to close;
+
+ Till up the stair Winstanley went,
+ To fire the wick afar;
+ And Plymouth in the silent night
+ Looked out and saw her star.
+
+ Winstanley set his foot ashore;
+ Said he, "My work is done;
+ I hold it strong to last as long
+ As aught beneath the sun.
+
+ "But if it fail, as fail it may,
+ Borne down with ruin and rout,
+ Another than I shall rear it high,
+ And brace the girders stout.
+
+ "A better than I shall rear it high,
+ For now the way is plain;
+ And though I were dead," Winstanley said,
+ "The light would shine again.
+
+ "Yet were I fain still to remain,
+ Watch in my tower to keep,
+ And tend my light in the stormiest night
+ That ever did move the deep;
+
+ "And if it stood, why then 'twere good,
+ Amid their tremulous stirs,
+ To count each stroke when the mad waves broke,
+ For cheers of mariners.
+
+ "But if it fell, then this were well,
+ That I should with it fall;
+ Since, for my part, I have built my heart
+ In the courses of its wall.
+
+ "Ay! I were fain, long to remain,
+ Watch in my tower to keep,
+ And tend my light in the stormiest night
+ That ever did move the deep."
+
+ With that Winstanley went his way,
+ And left the rock renowned,
+ And summer and winter his pilot star
+ Hung bright o'er Plymouth Sound.
+
+ But it fell out, fell out at last,
+ That he would put to sea,
+ To scan once more his lighthouse tower
+ On the rock o' destiny.
+
+ And the winds broke, and the storm broke,
+ And wrecks came plunging in;
+ None in the town that night lay down
+ Or sleep or rest to win.
+
+ The great mad waves were rolling graves,
+ And each flung up its dead;
+ The seething flow was white below,
+ And black the sky o'erhead.
+
+ And when the dawn, the dull, gray dawn,
+ Broke on the trembling town,
+ And men looked south to the harbor mouth,
+ The lighthouse tower was down.
+
+ Down in the deep, where he doth sleep
+ Who made it shine afar,
+ And then in the night that drowned its light,
+ Set, with his pilot star.
+
+ Many fair tombs in the glorious glooms
+ At Westminster they show;
+ The brave and the great lie there in state;
+ Winstanley lieth low.
+
+ JEAN INGELOW.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE STORM.
+
+
+ The tempest rages wild and high,
+ The waves lift up their voice and cry
+ Fierce answers to the angry sky,--
+ _Miserere Domine._
+
+ Through the black night and driving rain,
+ A ship is struggling, all in vain,
+ To live upon the stormy main;--
+ _Miserere Domine._
+
+ The thunders roar, the lightnings glare,
+ Vain is it now to strive or dare;
+ A cry goes up of great despair,--
+ _Miserere Domine._
+
+ The stormy voices of the main,
+ The moaning wind and pelting rain
+ Beat on the nursery window pane:--
+ _Miserere Domine._
+
+ Warm curtained was the little bed,
+ Soft pillowed was the little head;
+ "The storm will wake the child," they said:--
+ _Miserere Domine._
+
+ Cowering among his pillows white
+ He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright,
+ "Father, save those at sea to-night!"--
+ _Miserere Domine._
+
+ The morning shone all clear and gay,
+ On a ship at anchor in the bay,
+ And on a little child at play,--
+ _Gloria tibi Domine!_
+
+ ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.
+
+
+
+
+REST.
+
+
+ Rest is not quitting
+ The busy career;
+ Rest is the fitting
+ Of self to one's sphere:
+
+ 'Tis the brook's motion,
+ Clear without strife;
+ Fleeting to ocean,
+ After its life:
+
+ 'Tis loving and serving
+ The highest and best;
+ 'Tis onward, unswerving,
+ And this is true rest.
+
+ GOETHE.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE GRASSHOPPER.
+
+
+ Happy insect! what can be
+ In happiness compared to thee?
+ Fed with nourishment divine,
+ The dewy morning's gentle wine!
+ Nature waits upon thee still,
+ And thy verdant cup does fill;
+ 'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread,
+ Nature's self thy Ganymede.
+ Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing,
+ Happier than the happiest king!
+ All the fields which thou dost see,
+ All the plants belong to thee,
+ All that summer hours produce,
+ Fertile made with early juice:
+ Man for thee does sow and plow;
+ Farmer he and landlord thou!
+ Thou dost innocently joy,
+ Nor does thy luxury destroy.
+ The shepherd gladly heareth thee,
+ More harmonious than he.
+ Thee, country minds with gladness hear,
+ Prophet of the ripened year:
+ Thee Phoebus loves and does inspire;
+ Phoebus is himself thy sire.
+ To thee of all things upon earth,
+ Life is no longer than thy mirth.
+ Happy insect! happy thou,
+ Dost neither age nor winter know:
+ But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung
+ Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
+ (Voluptuous and wise withal,
+ Epicurean animal,)
+ Sated with the summer feast
+ Thou retir'st to endless rest.
+
+ ABRAHAM COWLEY.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRICKET.
+
+
+ Little inmate, full of mirth,
+ Chirping on my kitchen hearth,
+ Wheresoe'er be thine abode,
+ Always harbinger of good,
+ Pay me for thy warm retreat
+ With a song more soft and sweet;
+ In return thou shalt receive
+ Such a strain as I can give.
+
+ Thus thy praise shall be expressed,
+ Inoffensive, welcome guest!
+ While the rat is on the scout,
+ And the mouse with curious snout,
+ With what vermin else infest
+ Ev'ry dish, and spoil the best;
+ Frisking thus before the fire,
+ Thou hast all thine heart's desire.
+
+ Though in voice and shape they be
+ Formed as if akin to thee,
+ Thou surpassest, happier far,
+ Happiest grasshoppers that are;
+ Theirs is but a summer's song,
+ Thine endures the winter long,
+ Unimpaired, and shrill, and clear,
+ Melody throughout the year.
+
+ Neither night, nor dawn of day,
+ Puts a period to thy play:
+ Sing then--and extend thy span
+ Far beyond the date of man.
+ Wretched man, whose years are spent
+ In repining discontent,
+ Lives not, aged though he be,
+ Half a span, compared with thee.
+
+ WILLIAM COWPER.
+
+
+
+
+A WREN'S NEST.
+
+
+ Among the dwellings framed by birds
+ In field or forest with nice care,
+ Is none that with the little wren's
+ In snugness may compare.
+
+ No door the tenement requires,
+ And seldom needs a labored roof;
+ Yet is it to the fiercest sun
+ Impervious, and stormproof.
+
+ So warm, so beautiful withal,
+ In perfect fitness for its aim,
+ That to the kind by special grace
+ Their instinct surely came.
+
+ And when for their abodes they seek
+ An opportune recess,
+ The hermit has no finer eye
+ For shadowy quietness.
+
+ These find, 'mid ivied abbey walls,
+ A canopy in some still nook;
+ Others are penthoused by a brae
+ That overhangs a brook.
+
+ There to the brooding bird her mate
+ Warbles by fits his low clear song;
+ And by the busy streamlet both
+ Are sung to all day long.
+
+ Or in sequestered lanes they build,
+ Where, till the flitting bird's return,
+ Her eggs within the nest repose,
+ Like relics in an urn.
+
+ But still, where general choice is good,
+ There is a better and a best;
+ And, among fairest objects, some
+ Are fairer than the rest;
+
+ This, one of those small builders proved
+ In a green covert, where, from out
+ The forehead of a pollard oak,
+ The leafy antlers sprout;
+
+ For she who planned the mossy lodge,
+ Mistrusting her evasive skill,
+ Had to a primrose looked for aid
+ Her wishes to fulfill.
+
+ High on the trunk's projecting brow,
+ And fixed an infant's span above
+ The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest,
+ The prettiest of the grove!
+
+ The treasure proudly did I show
+ To some whose minds without disdain
+ Can turn to little things; but once
+ Looked up for it in vain:
+
+ 'Tis gone--a ruthless spoiler's prey,
+ Who heeds not beauty, love, or song,
+ 'Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved
+ Indignant at the wrong.
+
+ Just three days after, passing by
+ In clearer light the moss-built cell
+ I saw, espied its shaded mouth;
+ And felt that all was well.
+
+ The primrose for a veil had spread
+ The largest of her upright leaves;
+ And thus, for purposes benign,
+ A simple flower deceives.
+
+ Concealed from friends who might disturb
+ Thy quiet with no ill intent,
+ Secure from evil eyes and hands
+ On barbarous plunder bent,
+
+ Rest, mother bird! and when thy young
+ Take flight, and thou art free to roam,
+ When withered is the guardian flower,
+ And empty thy late home,
+
+ Think how ye prospered, thou and thine,
+ Amid the unviolated grove,
+ Housed near the growing primrose tuft
+ In foresight, or in love.
+
+ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+ON A FAVORITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLDFISHES.
+
+
+ 'Twas on a lofty vase's side
+ Where China's gayest art had dyed
+ The azure flowers that blow,
+ Demurest of the tabby kind,
+ The pensive Selima, reclined,
+ Gazed on the lake below.
+
+ Her conscious tail her joy declared:
+ The fair, round face, the snowy beard,
+ The velvet of her paws,
+ Her coat that with the tortoise vies,
+ Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,--
+ She saw, and purred applause.
+
+ Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide
+ Two angel forms were seen to glide,
+ The Genii of the stream:
+ Their scaly armor's Tyrian hue,
+ Through richest purple, to the view
+ Betrayed a golden gleam.
+
+ The hapless Nymph with wonder saw:
+ A whisker first, and then a claw,
+ With many an ardent wish,
+ She stretched, in vain, to reach the prize,--
+ What female heart can gold despise?
+ What cat's averse to fish?
+
+ Presumptuous maid! with looks intent,
+ Again she stretched, again she bent,
+ Nor knew the gulf between,--
+ Malignant Fate sat by and smiled,--
+ The slippery verge her feet beguiled;
+ She tumbled headlong in!
+
+ Eight times emerging from the flood,
+ She mewed to every watery god
+ Some speedy aid to send:
+ No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred,
+ Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard,--
+ A favorite has no friend!
+
+ From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived,
+ Know one false step is ne'er retrieved,
+ And be with caution bold:
+ Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
+ And heedless hearts is lawful prize,
+ Nor all that glitters gold!
+
+ THOMAS GRAY.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLITARY REAPER.
+
+
+ Behold her, single in the field,
+ Yon solitary Highland Lass!
+ Reaping and singing by herself;
+ Stop here, or gently pass!
+ Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
+ And sings a melancholy strain;
+ O listen! for the vale profound
+ Is overflowing with the sound.
+
+ No nightingale did ever chaunt
+ More welcome notes to weary bands
+ Of travelers in some shady haunt,
+ Among Arabian sands;
+ A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard,
+ In springtime from the cuckoo bird,
+ Breaking the silence of the seas
+ Among the farthest Hebrides.
+
+ Will no one tell me what she sings?--
+ Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
+ For old, unhappy, far-off things,
+ And battles long ago:
+ Or is it some more humble lay,
+ Familiar matter of to-day?
+ Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
+ That has been, and may be again?
+
+ Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang
+ As if her song could have no ending;
+ I saw her singing at her work,
+ And o'er the sickle bending;--
+ I listened, motionless and still;
+ And, as I mounted up the hill,
+ The music in my heart I bore,
+ Long after it was heard no more.
+
+ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+
+
+CORONACH.
+
+
+ He is gone on the mountain,
+ He is lost to the forest,
+ Like a summer-dried fountain,
+ When our need was the sorest.
+ The fount reappearing
+ From the raindrops shall borrow;
+ But to us comes no cheering,
+ To Duncan no morrow!
+
+ The hand of the reaper
+ Takes the ears that are hoary,
+ But the voice of the weeper
+ Wails manhood in glory.
+ The autumn winds, rushing,
+ Waft the leaves that are searest,
+ But our flower was in flushing
+ When blighting was nearest.
+
+ Fleet foot on the correi,
+ Sage counsel in cumber,
+ Red hand in the foray,
+ How sound is thy slumber!
+ Like the dew on the mountain,
+ Like the foam on the river,
+ Like the bubble on the fountain,
+ Thou art gone, and forever.
+
+ SIR WALTER SCOTT.
+
+
+
+
+LIFE'S "GOOD-MORNING."
+
+
+ Life! we have been long together,
+ Through pleasant and through cloudy weather.
+ 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear;
+ Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;
+ Then steal away, give little warning,
+ Choose thine own time;
+ Say not "Good-night," but in some brighter clime
+ Bid me "Good-morning."
+
+ ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD.
+
+
+
+
+MOONRISE.
+
+
+ The moon is up, and yet it is not night--
+ Sunset divides the sky with her--a sea
+ Of glory streams along the Alpine height
+ Of blue Friuli's mountains; Heaven is free
+ From clouds, but of all colors seems to be--
+ Melted to one vast Iris of the West,
+ Where the Day joins the past Eternity;
+ While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest
+ Floats through the azure air--an island of the blest.
+
+ A single star is at her side, and reigns
+ With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still
+ Yon sunny lea heaves brightly, and remains
+ Roll'd o'er the peak of the far Rhaetian hill,
+ As Day and Night contending were, until
+ Nature reclaim'd her order:--gently flows
+ The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instill
+ The odorous purple of a new-born rose,
+ Which streams upon her stream, and glassed within it glows.
+
+ LORD GEORGE NOEL GORDON BYRON.
+
+_From "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage."_
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+TO A WATERFOWL.
+
+
+ Whither, midst falling dew,
+ While glow the heavens with the last steps of day
+ Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
+ Thy solitary way?
+
+ Vainly the fowler's eye
+ Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
+ As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,
+ Thy figure floats along.
+
+ Seek'st thou the plashy brink
+ Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
+ Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
+ On the chafed ocean side?
+
+ There is a Power whose care
+ Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,--
+ The desert and illimitable air,--
+ Lone wandering, but not lost.
+
+ All day thy wings have fanned,
+ At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere;
+ Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
+ Though the dark night is near.
+
+ And soon that toil shall end;
+ Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
+ And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,
+ Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.
+
+ Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
+ Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
+ Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
+ And shall not soon depart.
+
+ He who, from zone to zone,
+ Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
+ In the long way that I must tread alone,
+ Will lead my steps aright.
+
+ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
+
+
+
+
+JERUSALEM, THE GOLDEN.
+
+
+ Jerusalem, the golden!
+ With milk and honey blest;
+ Beneath thy contemplation
+ Sink heart and voice opprest.
+ I know not, O I know not
+ What joys await us there;
+ What radiancy of glory,
+ What bliss beyond compare.
+
+ They stand, those halls of Zion,
+ All jubilant with song,
+ And bright with many an angel,
+ And all the martyr throng.
+ The Prince is ever in them,
+ The daylight is serene;
+ The pastures of the blessed
+ Are decked in glorious sheen.
+
+ There is the throne of David;
+ And there, from care released,
+ The shout of them that triumph,
+ The song of them that feast.
+ And they, who with their Leader,
+ Have conquered in the fight,
+ Forever and forever
+ Are clad in robes of white.
+
+ ST. BERNARD (translated by John M. Neale).
+
+
+
+
+O MOTHER DEAR, JERUSALEM.
+
+
+ O Mother dear, Jerusalem!
+ When shall I come to thee?
+ When shall my sorrows have an end?
+ Thy joys when shall I see?
+
+ O happy harbor of God's saints!
+ O sweet and pleasant soil!
+ In thee no sorrow can be found,
+ Nor grief, nor care, nor toil.
+
+ No murky cloud o'ershadows thee,
+ Nor gloom, nor darksome night;
+ But every soul shines as the sun;
+ For God Himself gives light.
+
+ O my sweet home, Jerusalem!
+ Thy joys when shall I see?
+ The King that sitteth on thy throne
+ In His felicity?
+
+ Thy gardens and thy goodly walks
+ Continually are green,
+ Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
+ As nowhere else are seen.
+
+ Right through thy streets, with pleasing sound
+ The living waters flow,
+ And on the banks, on either side,
+ The trees of life do grow.
+
+ Those trees each month yield ripened fruit;
+ For evermore they spring,
+ And all the nations of the earth
+ To thee their honors bring.
+
+ O Mother dear, Jerusalem!
+ When shall I come to thee?
+ When shall my sorrows have an end?
+ Thy joys when shall I see?
+
+ ANONYMOUS.
+
+
+
+
+EVENING.
+
+
+ Abide with me from morn till eve,
+ For without Thee I cannot live:
+ Abide with me when night is nigh,
+ For without Thee I dare not die.
+
+ Thou Framer of the light and dark,
+ Steer through the tempest Thine own ark:
+ Amid the howling wintry sea
+ We are in port if we have Thee.
+
+ If some poor wandering child of Thine
+ Have spurned, to-day, the voice divine,
+ Now, Lord, the gracious work begin;
+ Let him no more lie down in sin.
+
+ Watch by the sick: enrich the poor
+ With blessings from Thy boundless store:
+ Be every mourner's sleep to-night
+ Like infants' slumbers, pure and light.
+
+ Come near and bless us when we wake,
+ Ere through the world our way we take;
+ Till in the ocean of Thy love
+ We lose ourselves in Heaven above.
+
+ JOHN KEBLE.
+
+
+
+
+GOOD-NIGHT.
+
+
+ Close now thine eyes, and rest secure;
+ Thy soul is safe enough; thy body sure;
+ He that loves thee, He that keeps
+ And guards thee, never slumbers, never sleeps.
+ The smiling Conscience in a sleeping breast
+ Has only peace, has only rest:
+ The music and the mirth of kings
+ Are all but very discords, when she sings:
+ Then close thine eyes and rest secure;
+ No sleep so sweet as thine, no rest so sure.
+
+ FRANCIS QUARLES.
+
+
+
+
+THE DEWDROP.
+
+
+ A dewdrop, falling on the ocean wave,
+ Exclaimed, in fear, "I perish in this grave!"
+ But, in a shell received, that drop of dew
+ Unto a pearl of marvelous beauty grew;
+ And, happy now, the grace did magnify
+ Which thrust it forth--as it had feared--to die;
+ Until again, "I perish quite!" it said
+ Torn by rude diver from its ocean bed:
+ O, unbelieving!--So it came to gleam
+ Chief jewel in a monarch's diadem.
+
+ RICHARD C. TRENCH.
+
+
+
+
+VIRTUE.
+
+
+ Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright--
+ The bridal of the earth and sky;
+ The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
+ For thou must die.
+
+ Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
+ Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
+ Thy root is ever in its grave,
+ And thou must die.
+
+ Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
+ A box where sweets compacted lie,
+ My music shows ye have your closes,
+ And all must die.
+
+ Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
+ Like seasoned timber, never gives;
+ But though the whole world turns to coal,
+ Then chiefly lives.
+
+ GEORGE HERBERT.
+
+
+
+
+THE HERITAGE.
+
+
+ The rich man's son inherits lands,
+ And piles of brick, and stone, and gold,
+ And he inherits soft white hands,
+ And tender flesh that fears the cold,
+ Nor dares to wear a garment old;
+ A heritage, it seems to me,
+ One scarce would wish to hold in fee.
+
+ The rich man's son inherits cares;
+ The bank may break, the factory burn,
+ A breath may burst his bubble shares,
+ And soft white hands could hardly earn
+ A living that would serve his turn;
+ A heritage, it seems to me,
+ One scarce would wish to hold in fee.
+
+ The rich man's son inherits wants,
+ His stomach craves for dainty fare;
+ With sated heart, he hears the pants
+ Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare,
+ And wearies in his easy-chair;
+ A heritage, it seems to me,
+ One scarce would wish to hold in fee.
+
+ What doth the poor man's son inherit?
+ Stout muscles and a sinewy heart,
+ A hardy frame, a hardier spirit;
+ King of two hands, he does his part
+ In every useful toil and art;
+ A heritage, it seems to me,
+ A king might wish to hold in fee.
+
+ What doth the poor man's son inherit?
+ Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things,
+ A rank adjudged by toil-won merit,
+ Content that from employment springs,
+ A heart that in his labor sings;
+ A heritage, it seems to me,
+ A king might wish to hold in fee.
+
+ What doth the poor man's son inherit?
+ A patience learned of being poor,
+ Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it,
+ A fellow-feeling that is sure
+ To make the outcast bless his door;
+ A heritage, it seems to me,
+ A king might wish to hold in fee.
+
+ O rich man's son! there is a toil
+ That with all others level stands;
+ Large charity doth never soil,
+ But only whiten, soft white hands,--
+ This is the best crop from thy lands;
+ A heritage, it seems to me,
+ Worth being rich to hold in fee.
+
+ O poor man's son! scorn not thy state;
+ There is worse weariness than thine,
+ In merely being rich and great;
+ Toil only gives the soul to shine,
+ And makes rest fragrant and benign;
+ A heritage, it seems to me,
+ Worth being poor to hold in fee.
+
+ Both, heirs to some six feet of sod,
+ Are equal in the earth at last;
+ Both, children of the same dear God,
+ Prove title to your heirship vast
+ By record of a well-filled past;
+ A heritage, it seems to me,
+ Well worth a life to hold in fee.
+
+ JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
+
+
+
+
+THE FISHERMAN.
+
+
+ A perilous life, and sad as life may be,
+ Hath the lone fisher, on the lonely sea,
+ O'er the wild waters laboring far from home,
+ For some bleak pittance e'er compelled to roam:
+ Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life,
+ And none to aid him in the stormy strife:
+ Companion of the sea and silent air,
+ The lonely fisher thus must ever fare:
+ Without the comfort, hope,--with scarce a friend,
+ He looks through life and only sees its end!
+
+ BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (_Barry Cornwall_).
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
+
+
+ A chieftain, to the Highlands bound,
+ Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
+ And I'll give thee a silver pound,
+ To row us o'er the ferry."
+
+ "Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
+ This dark and stormy water?"
+ "O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
+ And this Lord Ullin's daughter.
+
+ "And fast before her father's men
+ Three days we've fled together,
+ For should he find us in the glen,
+ My blood would stain the heather.
+
+ "His horsemen hard behind us ride;
+ Should they our steps discover,
+ Then who will cheer my bonny bride
+ When they have slain her lover?"
+
+ Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
+ "I'll go, my chief--I'm ready:
+ It is not for your silver bright;
+ But for your winsome lady:
+
+ "And by my word! the bonny bird
+ In danger shall not tarry:
+ So though the waves are raging white,
+ I'll row you o'er the ferry."
+
+ By this the storm grew loud apace,
+ The water wraith was shrieking;
+ And in the scowl of heaven each face
+ Grew dark as they were speaking.
+
+ But still as wilder blew the wind,
+ And as the night grew drearer,
+ Adown the glen rode armed men,
+ Their trampling sounded nearer.
+
+ "Oh haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
+ "Though tempests round us gather;
+ I'll meet the raging of the skies,
+ But not an angry father."
+
+ The boat has left a stormy land,
+ A stormy sea before her,--
+ When, Oh! too strong for human hand,
+ The tempest gathered o'er her.
+
+ And still they rowed amidst the roar
+ Of waters fast prevailing:
+ Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,
+ His wrath was changed to wailing.
+
+ For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,
+ His child he did discover:
+ One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
+ And one was round her lover.
+
+ "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,
+ "Across this stormy water:
+ And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
+ My daughter!--oh my daughter!"
+
+ 'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore,
+ Return or aid preventing:
+ The waters wild went o'er his child,
+ And he was left lamenting.
+
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL.
+
+
+
+
+JOCK OF HAZELDEAN.
+
+
+ "Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?
+ Why weep ye by the tide?
+ I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
+ And ye sall be his bride:
+ And ye sall be his bride, ladie,
+ Sae comely to be seen"--
+ But aye she loot the tears down fa'
+ For Jock of Hazeldean.
+
+ "Now let this wilfu' grief be done,
+ And dry that cheek so pale;
+ Young Frank is chief of Errington,
+ And lord of Langley-dale;
+ His step is first in peaceful ha',
+ His sword in battle keen"--
+ But aye she loot the tears down fa'
+ For Jock of Hazeldean.
+
+ "A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
+ Nor braid to bind your hair;
+ Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
+ Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
+ And you, the foremost o' them a',
+ Shall ride our forest queen"--
+ But aye she loot the tears down fa'
+ For Jock of Hazeldean.
+
+ The kirk was decked at morningtide,
+ The tapers glimmered fair;
+ The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
+ And dame and knight are there.
+ They sought her baith by bower and ha',
+ The ladie was not seen!
+ She's o'er the Border, and awa'
+ Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.
+
+ SIR WALTER SCOTT.
+
+
+
+
+EXILE OF ERIN.
+
+
+ There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
+ The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;
+ For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing
+ To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill:
+ But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion,
+ For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
+ Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion,
+ He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh.
+
+ Sad is my fate! said the heartbroken stranger;
+ The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee,
+ But I have no refuge from famine and danger,
+ A home and a country remain not to me.
+ Never again, in the green sunny bowers,
+ Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours,
+ Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers,
+ And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh!
+
+ Erin, my country! though sad and forsaken,
+ In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore;
+ But, alas! in a far foreign land I awaken,
+ And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more!
+ Oh cruel fate! wilt thou never replace me
+ In a mansion of peace--where no perils can chase me?
+ Never again shall my brothers embrace me?
+ They died to defend me or live to deplore!
+
+ Where is my cabin door, fast by the wild wood?
+ Sisters and sire! did ye weep for its fall?
+ Where is the mother that looked on my childhood?
+ And where is the bosom friend clearer than all?
+ Oh! my sad heart! long abandoned by pleasure,
+ Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure?
+ Tears, like the raindrop, may fall without measure,
+ But rapture and beauty they cannot recall.
+
+ Yet all its sad recollections suppressing,
+ One dying wish my lone bosom can draw;
+ Erin! an exile bequeathes thee his blessing!
+ Land of my forefathers! Erin go bragh!
+ Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion,
+ Green be thy field,--sweetest isle of the ocean!
+ And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion,--
+ Erin mavournin--Erin go bragh!
+
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL.
+
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+
+ The heath this night must be my bed,
+ The bracken curtain for my head,
+ My lullaby the warder's tread,
+ Far, far from love and thee, Mary;
+ To-morrow eve, more stilly laid,
+ My couch may be my bloody plaid,
+ My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid!
+ It will not waken me, Mary!
+
+ I may not, dare not, fancy now
+ The grief that clouds thy lovely brow;
+ I dare not think upon thy vow,
+ And all it promised me, Mary.
+ No fond regret must Norman know;
+ When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe,
+ His heart must be like bended bow,
+ His foot like arrow free, Mary.
+
+ A time will come with feeling fraught!
+ For, if I fall in battle fought,
+ Thy hapless lover's dying thought
+ Shall be a thought on thee, Mary:
+ And if returned from conquered foes,
+ How blithely will the evening close,
+ How sweet the linnet sing repose
+ To my young bride and me, Mary.
+
+ SIR WALTER SCOTT.
+
+_From "The Lady of The Lake."_
+
+
+
+
+THE BANKS O' DOON.
+
+(SECOND VERSION.)
+
+
+ Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
+ How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
+ How can ye chant, ye little birds,
+ And I sae weary, fu' o' care!
+ Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
+ That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
+ Thou minds me o' departed joys,
+ Departed--never to return!
+
+ Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,
+ To see the rose and woodbine twine;
+ And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
+ And fondly sae did I o' mine.
+ Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
+ Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
+ And my fause lover stole my rose,
+ But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
+
+ ROBERT BURNS.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+LADY CLARE.
+
+
+ It was the time when lilies blow,
+ And clouds are highest up in air,
+ Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
+ To give his cousin, Lady Clare.
+
+ I trow they did not part in scorn:
+ Lovers long betrothed were they:
+ They two will wed the morrow morn:
+ God's blessing on the day!
+
+ "He does not love me for my birth,
+ Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
+ He loves me for my own true worth,
+ And that is well," said Lady Clare.
+
+ In there came old Alice the nurse,
+ Said, "Who was this that went from thee?"
+ "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare,
+ "To-morrow he weds with me."
+
+ "O God be thanked!" said Alice the nurse,
+ "That all comes round so just and fair:
+ Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
+ And you are not the Lady Clare."
+
+ "Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?"
+ Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wild?"
+ "As God is above," said Alice the nurse,
+ "I speak the truth: you are my child.
+
+ "The old Earl's daughter died at my breast;
+ I speak the truth, as I live by bread!
+ I buried her like my own sweet child,
+ And put my child in her stead."
+
+ "Falsely, falsely have ye done,
+ O mother," she said, "if this be true,
+ To keep the best man under the sun
+ So many years from his due."
+
+ "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse,
+ "But keep the secret for your life,
+ And all you have will be Lord Ronald's,
+ When you are man and wife."
+
+ "If I'm a beggar born," she said,
+ "I will speak out, for I dare not lie.
+ Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold,
+ And fling the diamond necklace by."
+
+ "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse,
+ "But keep the secret all ye can."
+ She said, "Not so: but I will know
+ If there be any faith in man."
+
+ "Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse,
+ "The man will cleave unto his right."
+ "And he shall have it," the lady replied,
+ "Tho' I should die to-night."
+
+ "Yet give one kiss to your mother dear!
+ Alas, my child, I sinned for thee."
+ "O mother, mother, mother," she said,
+ "So strange it seems to me.
+
+ "Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear,
+ My mother dear, if this be so,
+ And lay your hand upon my head,
+ And bless me, mother, ere I go."
+
+ She clad herself in a russet gown,
+ She was no longer Lady Clare:
+ She went by dale, and she went by town,
+ With a single rose in her hair.
+
+ The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
+ Leapt up from where she lay,
+ Dropt her head in the maiden's hand,
+ And followed her all the way.
+
+ Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower:
+ "O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!
+ Why come you drest like a village maid,
+ That are the flower of the earth?"
+
+ "If I come drest like a village maid,
+ I am but as my fortunes are:
+ I am a beggar born," she said,
+ "And not the Lady Clare."
+
+ "Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
+ "For I am yours in word and deed.
+ Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
+ "Your riddle is hard to read."
+
+ O and proudly stood she up!
+ Her heart within her did not fail:
+ She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes,
+ And told him all her nurse's tale.
+
+ He laughed a laugh of merry scorn:
+ He turned and kissed her where she stood:
+ "If you are not the heiress born,
+ And I," said he, "the next in blood--
+
+ "If you are not the heiress born,
+ And I," said he, "the lawful heir,
+ We two will wed to-morrow morn,
+ And you shall still be Lady Clare."
+
+ ALFRED TENNYSON.
+
+
+
+
+BELSHAZZAR.
+
+
+ Belshazzar is king! Belshazzar is lord!
+ And a thousand dark nobles all bend at his board:
+ Fruits glisten, flowers blossom, meats steam, and a flood
+ Of the wine that man loveth, runs redder than blood;
+ Wild dancers are there, and a riot of mirth,
+ And the beauty that maddens the passions of earth;
+ And the crowds all shout,
+ Till the vast roofs ring,--
+ "All praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king!"
+
+ "Bring forth," cries the Monarch, "the vessels of gold,
+ Which my father tore down from the temples of old;--
+ Bring forth, and we'll drink, while the trumpets are blown,
+ To the gods of bright silver, of gold, and of stone;
+ Bring forth!" and before him the vessels all shine,
+ And he bows unto Baal, and drinks the dark wine;
+ Whilst the trumpets bray,
+ And the cymbals ring,--
+ "Praise, praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king!"
+
+ Now what cometh--look, look!--without menace, or call?
+ Who writes, with the lightning's bright hand, on the wall?
+ What pierceth the king like the point of a dart?
+ What drives the bold blood from his cheek to his heart?
+ "Chaldeans! Magicians! the letters expound!"
+ They are read--and Belshazzar is dead on the ground!
+ Hark!--the Persian is come
+ On a conqueror's wing;
+ And a Mede's on the throne of Belshazzar the king.
+
+ BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (_Barry Cornwall_).
+
+[Illustration: BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.
+
+J. MARTIN.]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE PIPES AT LUCKNOW.
+
+AN INCIDENT OF THE SEPOY MUTINY.
+
+
+ Pipes of the misty moorlands,
+ Voice of the glens and hills;
+ The droning of the torrents,
+ The treble of the rills!
+ Not the braes of broom and heather,
+ Nor the mountains dark with rain,
+ Nor maiden bower, nor border tower,
+ Have heard your sweetest strain!
+
+ Dear to the Lowland reaper,
+ And plaided mountaineer,--
+ To the cottage and the castle
+ The Scottish pipes are dear;--
+ Sweet sounds the ancient pibroch
+ O'er mountain, loch, and glade;
+ But the sweetest of all music
+ The pipes at Lucknow played.
+
+ Day by day the Indian tiger
+ Louder yelled, and nearer crept;
+ Round and round, the jungle serpent
+ Near and nearer circles swept.
+ "Pray for rescue, wives and mothers,--
+ Pray to-day!" the soldier said,
+ "To-morrow, death's between us
+ And the wrong and shame we dread,"
+
+ Oh, they listened, looked, and waited,
+ Till their hope became despair;
+ And the sobs of low bewailing
+ Filled the pauses of their prayer.
+ Then up spake a Scottish maiden,
+ With her ear unto the ground:
+ "Dinna ye hear it?--dinna ye hear it?
+ The pipes o' Havelock sound!"
+
+ Hushed the wounded man his groaning;
+ Hushed the wife her little ones;
+ Alone they heard the drum-roll
+ And the roar of Sepoy guns.
+ But to sounds of home and childhood
+ The Highland ear was true;--
+ As her mother's cradle crooning
+ The mountain pipes she knew.
+
+ Like the march of soundless music
+ Through the vision of the seer,
+ More of feeling than of hearing,
+ Of the heart than of the ear,
+ She knew the droning pibroch,
+ She knew the Campbell's call:
+ "Hark! hear ye no' MacGregor's,
+ The grandest o' them all!"
+
+ Oh, they listened, dumb and breathless,
+ And they caught the sound at last;
+ Faint and far beyond the Goomtee
+ Rose and fell the piper's blast!
+ Then a burst of wild thanksgiving
+ Mingled woman's voice and man's;
+ "God be praised!--the march of Havelock!
+ The piping of the clans!"
+
+ Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance,
+ Sharp and shrill as swords at strife,
+ Came the wild MacGregor's clan-call,
+ Stinging all the air to life.
+ But when the far-off dust cloud
+ To plaided legions grew,
+ Full tenderly and blithesomely
+ The pipes of rescue blew!
+
+ Round the silver domes of Lucknow,
+ Moslem mosque and Pagan shrine,
+ Breathed the air to Britons dearest,
+ The air of Auld Lang Syne.
+ O'er the cruel roll of war drums
+ Rose that sweet and homelike strain;
+ And the tartan clove the turban,
+ As the Goomtee cleaves the plain.
+
+ Dear to the corn-land reaper
+ And plaided mountaineer,--
+ To the cottage and the castle
+ The piper's song is dear.
+ Sweet sounds the Gaelic pibroch
+ O'er mountain, glen, and glade;
+ But the sweetest of all music
+ The pipes at Lucknow played!
+
+ JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
+
+[Illustration: THE RESIDENCY, LUCKNOW, INDIA.]
+
+
+
+
+COMPANIONSHIP WITH NATURE.
+
+
+ Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends;
+ Where rolled the ocean, thereon was his home;
+ Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,
+ He had the passion and the power to roam;
+ The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam,
+ Were unto him companionship; they spake
+ A mutual language, clearer than the tome
+ Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake
+ For Nature's pages glassed by sunbeams on the lake.
+
+ LORD GEORGE NOEL GORDON BYRON.
+
+_From "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage."_
+
+
+
+
+THE GLADIATOR.
+
+
+ I see before me the Gladiator lie:
+ He leans upon his hand--his manly brow
+ Consents to death, but conquers agony,
+ And his drooped head sinks gradually low--
+ And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow
+ From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one,
+ Like the first of a thunder shower; and now
+ The arena swims around him--he is gone,
+ Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
+
+ He heard it, but he heeded not--his eyes
+ Were with his heart, and that was far away;
+ He recked not of the life he lost nor prize,
+ But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
+ There were his young barbarians all at play,
+ There was their Dacian mother--he, their sire,
+ Butchered to make a Roman holiday--
+ All this rushed with his blood--Shall he expire,
+ And unavenged?--Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire.
+
+ LORD GEORGE NOEL GORDON BYRON.
+
+_From "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage."_
+
+
+
+
+"HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX."
+
+
+ I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;
+ I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;
+ "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate bolts undrew;
+ "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through;
+ Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,
+ And into the midnight we galloped abreast.
+
+ Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
+ Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
+ I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
+ Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
+ Rebuckled the cheek strap, chained slacker the bit,
+ Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.
+
+ 'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
+ Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
+ At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;
+ At Dueffield, 'twas morning as plain as could be;
+ And from Mecheln church steeple we heard half the chime,
+ So, Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"
+
+ At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
+ And against him the cattle stood black every one,
+ To stare thro' the mist at us galloping past,
+ And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
+ With resolute shoulders, each butting away
+ The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray:
+
+ And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
+ For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
+ And one eye's black intelligence,--ever that glance
+ O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!
+ And the thick heavy spume flakes which aye and anon
+ His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.
+
+ By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!
+ Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her,
+ We'll remember at Aix"--for one heard the quick wheeze
+ Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,
+ And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,
+ As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.
+
+ So, we were left galloping, Joris and I,
+ Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
+ The broad sun above laughs a pitiless laugh,
+ 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;
+ Till over by Dalhem a dome spire sprang white,
+ And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight.
+
+ "How they'll greet us!"--and all in a moment his roan
+ Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
+ And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
+ Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
+ With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
+ And with circles of red for his eye sockets' rim.
+
+ Then I cast loose my buff coat, each holster let fall,
+ Shook off both my jack boots, let go belt and all,
+ Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,
+ Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer;
+ Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good
+ Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.
+
+ And all I remember is, friends flocking round
+ As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;
+ And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
+ As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
+ Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
+ Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.
+
+ ROBERT BROWNING.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+SANDALPHON.
+
+
+ Have you read in the Talmud of old,
+ In the Legends the Rabbins have told
+ Of the limitless realms of the air,
+ Have you read it,--the marvelous story
+ Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory,
+ Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer?
+
+ How, erect, at the outermost gates
+ Of the City Celestial he waits,
+ With his feet on the ladder of light,
+ That, crowded with angels unnumbered,
+ By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered
+ Alone in the desert at night?
+
+ The Angels of Wind and of Fire
+ Chant only one hymn, and expire
+ With the song's irresistible stress;
+ Expire in their rapture and wonder,
+ As harp strings are broken asunder
+ By music they throb to express.
+
+ But serene in the rapturous throng,
+ Unmoved by the rush of the song,
+ With eyes unimpassioned and slow,
+ Among the dead angels, the deathless
+ Sandalphon stands listening breathless
+ To sounds that ascend from below;--
+
+ From the spirits on earth that adore,
+ From the souls that entreat and implore
+ In the fervor and passion of prayer;
+ From the hearts that are broken with losses,
+ And weary with dragging the crosses
+ Too heavy for mortals to bear.
+
+ And he gathers the prayers as he stands,
+ And they change into flowers in his hands,
+ Into garlands of purple and red;
+ And beneath the great arch of the portal,
+ Through the streets of the City Immortal
+ Is wafted the fragrance they shed.
+
+ It is but a legend, I know,--
+ A fable, a phantom, a show,
+ Of the ancient Rabbinical lore;
+ Yet the old mediaeval tradition,
+ The beautiful, strange superstition,
+ But haunts me and holds me the more.
+
+ When I look from my window at night,
+ And the welkin above is all white,
+ All throbbing and panting with stars,
+ Among them majestic is standing
+ Sandalphon, the angel, expanding
+ His pinions in nebulous bars.
+
+ And the legend, I feel, is a part
+ Of the hunger and thirst of the heart,
+ The frenzy and fire of the brain,
+ That grasps at the fruitage forbidden,
+ The golden pomegranates of Eden,
+ To quiet its fever and pain.
+
+ HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: JOHN MILTON.]
+
+HYMN.
+
+ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY.
+
+
+ It was the winter wild
+ While the heaven-born child
+ All meanly wrapped in the rude manger lies;
+ Nature in awe to him
+ Has doffed her gaudy trim,
+ With her great Master so to sympathize:
+
+ No war, or battle's sound
+ Was heard the world around;
+ The idle spear and shield were high up hung;
+ The hooked chariot stood
+ Unstained with hostile blood;
+ The trumpet spake not to the armed throng;
+ And kings sat still with awful eye,
+ As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.
+
+ But peaceful was the night
+ Wherein the Prince of Light
+ His reign of peace upon the earth began;
+ The winds with wonder whist,
+ Smoothly the waters kissed
+ Whispering new joys to the mild ocean--
+ Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
+ While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.
+
+ The stars with deep amaze,
+ Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,
+ Bending one way their precious influence;
+ And will not take their flight
+ For all the morning light,
+ Or Lucifer that often warned them thence;
+ But in their glimmering orbs did glow
+ Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.
+
+ Yea, Truth and Justice then
+ Will down return to men,
+ Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing,
+ Mercy will sit between
+ Throned in celestial sheen,
+ With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering
+ And Heaven, as at some festival
+ Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.
+
+[Illustration: HOLY NIGHT.
+
+H. GRASS.]
+
+ But wisest Fate says no;
+ This must not yet be so;
+ The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy
+ That on the bitter cross
+ Must redeem our loss;
+ So both himself and us to glorify;
+ Yet first, to those ychained in sleep,
+ The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep.
+
+ But see, the Virgin blest
+ Hath laid her Babe to rest;
+ Time is, our tedious song should here have ending;
+ Heaven's youngest-teemed star
+ Hath fixed her polished car,
+ Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending:
+ And all about the courtly stable
+ Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable.
+
+ JOHN MILTON.
+
+_A Selection._
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE NEW YEAR.
+
+
+ Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
+ The flying cloud, the frosty light:
+ The year is dying in the night;
+ Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
+
+ Ring out the old, ring in the new,
+ Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
+ The year is going, let him go;
+ Ring out the false, ring in the true.
+
+ Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
+ For those that here we see no more;
+ Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
+ Ring in redress to all mankind.
+
+ Ring out a slowly dying cause,
+ And ancient forms of party strife;
+ Ring in the nobler modes of life,
+ With sweeter manners, purer laws.
+
+ Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
+ The faithless coldness of the times;
+ Ring out, ring out, my mournful rhymes,
+ But ring the fuller minstrel in.
+
+ Ring out false pride in place and blood,
+ The civic slander and the spite;
+ Ring in the love of truth and right,
+ Ring in the common love of good.
+
+ Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
+ Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
+ Ring out the thousand wars of old,
+ Ring in the thousand years of peace.
+
+ Ring in the valiant man and free,
+ The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
+ Ring out the darkness of the land,
+ Ring in the Christ that is to be.
+
+ ALFRED TENNYSON.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+_RECOMMENDED POEMS._
+
+
+As it has been impossible to include in this collection as many poems by
+American authors as we desired, we recommend the following, all of which
+are published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., with the exception of Bryant's
+poems, which are published by D. Appleton & Co.
+
+ ALDRICH, THOMAS BAILEY.
+ After the Rain.
+ Barberries.
+ Before the Rain.
+ The Bluebells of New England.
+
+ BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN.
+ A Northern Legend.
+ The Gladness of Nature.
+
+ CARY, ALICE.
+ The Gray Swan.
+
+ EMERSON, RALPH WALDO.
+ The Humblebee.
+
+ HARTE, BRET.
+ The Reveille.
+
+ HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL.
+ A Sunday Hymn.
+ Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill.
+ The Chambered Nautilus.
+ The Height of the Ridiculous.
+ The Music Grinders.
+ The One Hoss Shay.
+
+ LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH.
+ A Psalm of Life.
+ Burial of the Minnisink.
+ Christmas Bells.
+ Enceladus.
+ Paul Revere's Ride.
+ Santa Filomena.
+ Snowflakes.
+ Song of the Silent Land.
+ The Bell of Atri.
+ The Builders.
+ The Day is Done.
+ The Old Clock on the Stairs.
+ The Open Window.
+ The Ropewalk.
+ The Two Angels.
+ Victor Galbraith.
+
+ LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL.
+ Stanzas on Freedom.
+ The Fatherland.
+ The Shepherd of King Admetus.
+
+ WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF.
+ Abraham Davenport.
+ Laus Deus.
+ My Psalm.
+ Nanhaught, the Deacon.
+ The Corn Song.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Land of Song, Book II, by Various
+
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