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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lyra Heroica, 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: Lyra Heroica
+ A Book of Verse for Boys
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: September 19, 2006 [EBook #19316]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYRA HEROICA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Daniel Emerson Griffith and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+LYRA HEROICA
+
+ A BOOK OF VERSE FOR BOYS
+ SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY
+ WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY
+
+ Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
+ To all the sensual world proclaim
+ One crowded hour of glorious life
+ Is worth an age without a name.
+
+ _Sir Walter Scott._
+
+
+ NEW YORK
+ CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+ 1920
+
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY
+ CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+
+
+
+ *** The selections from Walt Whitman are published by permission
+ of Mr. Whitman; and those from Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier,
+ and Bret Harte, through the courtesy of Messrs. Houghton,
+ Mifflin, & Co., the publishers of their works.
+
+
+
+ TO WALTER BLAIKIE
+
+ ARTIST-PRINTER
+
+ MY PART IN THIS BOOK
+
+ W. E. H.
+
+ Edinburgh, July 1891.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+This book of verse for boys is, I believe, the first of its
+kind in English. Plainly, it were labour lost to go gleaning
+where so many experts have gone harvesting; and for what is
+rarest and best in English Poetry the world must turn, as
+heretofore, to the several 'Golden Treasuries' of Professor
+Palgrave and Mr. Coventry Patmore, and to the excellent 'Poets'
+Walk' of Mr. Mowbray Morris. My purpose has been to choose and
+sheave a certain number of those achievements in verse which,
+as expressing the simpler sentiments and the more elemental
+emotions, might fitly be addressed to such boys--and men, for
+that matter--as are privileged to use our noble English tongue.
+
+To set forth, as only art can, the beauty and the joy of living,
+the beauty and the blessedness of death, the glory of battle
+and adventure, the nobility of devotion--to a cause, an ideal,
+a passion even--the dignity of resistance, the sacred quality
+of patriotism, that is my ambition here. Now, to read poetry
+at all is to have an ideal anthology of one's own, and in that
+possession to be incapable of content with the anthologies of all
+the world besides. That is, the personal equation is ever to be
+reckoned withal, and I have had my preferences, as those that
+went before me had theirs. I have omitted much, as Aytoun's
+'Lays,' whose absence many will resent; I have included much,
+as that brilliant piece of doggerel of Frederick Marryat's,
+whose presence some will regard with distress. This without
+reference to enforcements due to the very nature of my work.
+
+I have adopted the birth-day order: for that is the simplest.
+And I have begun with--not Chaucer, nor Spenser, nor the ballads,
+but--Shakespeare and Agincourt; for it seemed to me that a
+book of heroism could have no better starting-point than that
+heroic pair of names. As for the ballads, I have placed them,
+after much considering, in the gap between old and new, between
+classic and romantic, in English verse. The witness of Sidney and
+Drayton's example notwithstanding, it is not until 1765, when
+Percy publishes the 'Reliques,' that the ballad spirit begins
+to be the master influence that Wordsworth confessed it was;
+while as for the history of the matter, there are who hold that
+'Sir Patrick Spens,' for example, is the work of Lady Wardlaw,
+which to others, myself among them, is a thing preposterous
+and distraught.
+
+It remains to add that, addressing myself to boys, I have not
+scrupled to edit my authors where editing seemed desirable, and
+that I have broken up some of the longer pieces for convenience in
+reading. Also, the help I have received while this book of 'Noble
+Numbers' was in course of growth--help in the way of counsel,
+suggestion, remonstrance, permission to use--has been such that
+it taxes gratitude and makes complete acknowledgment impossible.
+
+ W. E. H.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616) and
+ MICHAEL DRAYTON (1563-1631).
+ PAGE
+ I. AGINCOURT
+ Introit 1
+ Interlude 2
+ Harfleur 3
+ The Eve 4
+ The Battle 6
+ After 10
+
+ SIR HENRY WOTTON (1568-1639).
+
+ II. LORD OF HIMSELF 11
+
+ BEN JONSON (1574-1637).
+
+ III. TRUE BALM 12
+
+ IV. HONOUR IN BUD 13
+
+ JOHN FLETCHER (1576-1625).
+
+ V. THE JOY OF BATTLE 13
+
+ FRANCIS BEAUMONT (1586-1616).
+
+ VI. IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 15
+
+ ROBERT HERRICK (1591-1674).
+
+ VII. GOING A-MAYING 15
+
+ VIII. TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING 18
+
+ GEORGE HERBERT (1593-1638).
+
+ IX. MEMENTO MORI 19
+
+ JAMES SHIRLEY (1594-1666).
+
+ X. THE KING OF KINGS 20
+
+ JOHN MILTON (1608-1674).
+
+ XI. LYCIDAS 21
+
+ XII. ARMS AND THE MUSE 27
+
+ XIII. TO THE LORD GENERAL 28
+
+ XIV. THE LATE MASSACRE 28
+
+ XV. ON HIS BLINDNESS 29
+
+ XVI. EYELESS AT GAZA 30
+
+ XVII. OUT OF ADVERSITY 31
+
+ JAMES GRAHAM, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE (1612-1650).
+
+ XVIII. HEROIC LOVE 31
+
+ RICHARD LOVELACE (1618-1658).
+
+ XIX. GOING TO THE WARS 32
+
+ XX. FROM PRISON 33
+
+ ANDREW MARVELL (1620-1678).
+
+ XXI. TWO KINGS 34
+
+ XXII. IN EXILE 39
+
+ JOHN DRYDEN (1631-1701).
+
+ XXIII. ALEXANDER'S FEAST 40
+
+ SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784).
+
+ XXIV. THE QUIET LIFE 45
+
+ BALLADS
+
+ XXV. CHEVY CHASE
+ The Hunting 47
+ The Challenge 49
+ The Battle 51
+ The Slain 54
+ The Tidings 56
+
+ XXVI. SIR PATRICK SPENS 57
+
+ XXVII. BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY 60
+
+ XXVIII. HUGHIE THE GR∆ME 64
+
+ XXIX. KINMONT WILLIE
+ The Capture 66
+ The Keeper's Wrath 67
+ The March 69
+ The Rescue 71
+
+ XXX. THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL 73
+
+ XXXI. HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL 77
+
+ XXXII. THE TWA CORBIES 79
+
+ THOMAS GRAY (1716-1771).
+
+ XXXIII. THE BARD 80
+
+ WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800).
+
+ XXXIV. THE ROYAL GEORGE 85
+
+ XXXV. BOADICEA 86
+
+ GRAHAM OF GARTMORE (1735-1797).
+
+ XXXVI. TO HIS LADY 88
+
+ CHARLES DIBDIN (1745-1814).
+
+ XXXVII. CONSTANCY 89
+
+ XXXVIII. THE PERFECT SAILOR 90
+
+ JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN (1750-1817).
+
+ XXXIX. THE DESERTER 91
+
+ PRINCE HOARE (1755-1834).
+
+ XL. THE ARETHUSA 92
+
+ WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1823).
+
+ XLI. THE BEAUTY OF TERROR 94
+
+ ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796).
+
+ XLII. DEFIANCE 95
+
+ XLIII. THE GOAL OF LIFE 96
+
+ XLIV. BEFORE PARTING 97
+
+ XLV. DEVOTION 98
+
+ XLVI. TRUE UNTIL DEATH 99
+
+ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH (1770-1850).
+
+ XLVII. VENICE 100
+
+ XLVIII. DESTINY 101
+
+ XLIX. THE MOTHER LAND 101
+
+ L. IDEAL 102
+
+ LI. TO DUTY 103
+
+ LII. TWO VICTORIES 105
+
+ SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771-1832).
+
+ LIII. IN MEMORIAM 107
+
+ LIV. LOCHINVAR 112
+
+ LV. FLODDEN
+ The March 114
+ The Attack 116
+ The Last Stand 119
+
+ LVI. THE CHASE 121
+
+ LVII. THE OUTLAW 126
+
+ LVIII. PIBROCH 129
+
+ LIX. THE OMNIPOTENT 130
+
+ LX. THE RED HARLAW 131
+
+ LXI. FAREWELL 133
+
+ LXII. BONNY DUNDEE 134
+
+ SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE (1772-1834).
+
+ LXIII. ROMANCE 136
+
+ WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR (1775-1864).
+
+ LXIV. SACRIFICE 138
+
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL (1777-1844).
+
+ LXV. SOLDIER AND SAILOR 140
+
+ LXVI. 'YE MARINERS' 143
+
+ LXVII. THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 144
+
+ EBENEZER ELLIOTT (1781-1846).
+
+ LXVIII. BATTLE SONG 146
+
+ ALLAN CUNNINGHAM (1785-1842).
+
+ LXIX. LOYALTY 147
+
+ LXX. A SEA-SONG 148
+
+ BRYANT WALLER PROCTOR (1787-1874).
+
+ LXXI. A SONG OF THE SEA 149
+
+ GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON (1788-1824).
+
+ LXXII. SENNACHERIB 150
+
+ LXXIII. THE STORMING OF CORINTH
+ The Signal 151
+ The Assault 153
+ The Magazine 156
+
+ LXXIV. ALHAMA 160
+
+ LXXV. FRIENDSHIP 164
+
+ LXXVI. THE RACE WITH DEATH 165
+
+ LXXVII. THE GLORY THAT WAS GREECE 167
+
+ LXXVIII. HAIL AND FAREWELL 171
+
+ CHARLES WOLFE (1791-1823).
+
+ LXXIX. AFTER CORUNNA 172
+
+ FREDERICK MARRYAT (1792-1848).
+
+ LXXX. THE OLD NAVY 174
+
+ FELICIA HEMANS (1793-1825).
+
+ LXXXI. CASABIANCA 175
+
+ LXXXII. THE PILGRIM FATHERS 177
+
+ JOHN KEATS (1796-1821).
+
+ LXXXIII. TO THE ADVENTUROUS 179
+
+ THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY (1800-1859).
+
+ LXXXIV. HORATIUS
+ The Trysting 179
+ The Trouble in Rome 183
+ The Keeping of the Bridge 189
+ Father Tiber 196
+
+ LXXXV. THE ARMADA 200
+
+ LXXXVI. THE LAST BUCCANEER 205
+
+ LXXXVII. A JACOBITE'S EPITAPH 206
+
+ ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER (1803-1875).
+
+ LXXXVIII. THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN 207
+
+ HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (1807-1882).
+
+ LXXXIX. THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP
+ The Model 208
+ The Builders 210
+ In the Ship-Yard 214
+ The Two Bridals 217
+
+ XC. THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE 223
+
+ XCI. THE CUMBERLAND 227
+
+ XCII. A DUTCH PICTURE 228
+
+ JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER (b. 1807).
+
+ XCIII. BARBARA FRIETCHIE 230
+
+ ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON (b. 1809).
+
+ XCIV. A BALLAD OF THE FLEET 232
+
+ XCV. THE HEAVY BRIGADE 239
+
+ SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE (1810-1888).
+
+ XCVI. THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS 242
+
+ XCVII. THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR 244
+
+ ROBERT BROWNING (1812-1890).
+
+ XCVIII. HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA 248
+
+ XCIX. HERV… RIEL 248
+
+ WALT WHITMAN (b. 1819).
+
+ C. THE DYING FIREMAN 254
+
+ CI. A SEA-FIGHT 255
+
+ CII. BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS! 257
+
+ CIII. TWO VETERANS 258
+
+ CHARLES KINGSLEY (1819-1875).
+
+ CIV. THE PLEASANT ISLE OF AV»S 260
+
+ CV. A WELCOME 262
+
+ SIR HENRY YULE (1820-1889).
+
+ CVI. THE BIRKENHEAD 264
+
+ MATTHEW ARNOLD (1822-1888).
+
+ CVII. APOLLO 265
+
+ CVIII. THE DEATH OF SOHRAB
+ The Duel 267
+ Sohrab 269
+ The Recognition 272
+ Ruksh the Horse 275
+ Rustum 277
+ Night 280
+
+ CIX. FLEE FRO' THE PRESS 282
+
+ WILLIAM CORY (b. 1823).
+
+ CX. SCHOOL FENCIBLES 284
+
+ CXI. THE TWO CAPTAINS 285
+
+ GEORGE MEREDITH (b. 1828).
+
+ CXII. THE HEAD OF BRAN 290
+
+ WILLIAM MORRIS (b. 1834).
+
+ CXIII. THE SLAYING OF THE NIBLUNGS
+ Hogni 293
+ Gunnar 297
+ Gudrun 301
+ The Sons of Giuki 304
+
+ ALFRED AUSTIN (b. 1835).
+
+ CXIV. IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 308
+
+ SIR ALFRED LYALL (b. 1835).
+
+ CXV. THEOLOGY IN EXTREMIS 311
+
+ ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE (b. 1837).
+
+ CXVI. THE OBLATION 316
+
+ CXVII. ENGLAND 317
+
+ CXVIII. THE JACOBITE IN EXILE 319
+
+ BRET HARTE (b. 1839).
+
+ CXIX. THE REVEILL… 322
+
+ CXX. WHAT THE BULLET SANG 323
+
+ AUSTIN DOBSON (b. 1840).
+
+ CXXI. A BALLAD OF THE ARMADA 324
+
+ ANDREW LANG (b. 1844).
+
+ CXXII. THE WHITE PACHA 325
+
+ ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON (b. 1850).
+
+ CXXIII. MOTHER AND SON 326
+
+ HENRY CHARLES BEECHING (b. 1859).
+
+ CXXIV. PRAYERS 328
+
+ RUDYARD KIPLING (b. 1865).
+
+ CXXV. A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 329
+
+ CXXVI. THE FLAG OF ENGLAND 335
+
+ NOTES 341
+
+ INDEX 359
+
+
+
+
+ For I trust, if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill,
+ And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam,
+ That the smooth-faced snub-nosed rogue would leap from his counter and
+ till,
+ And strike, if he could, were it but with his cheating yard-wand, home.
+
+ _Tennyson._
+
+
+
+
+LYRA HEROICA
+
+
+
+
+ I
+
+ AGINCOURT
+
+
+ INTROIT
+
+ O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
+ The brightest heaven of invention,
+ A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
+ And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
+ Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
+ Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,
+ Leashed in like hounds, should Famine, Sword and Fire
+ Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all,
+ The flat unraisËd spirits that have dared
+ On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
+ So great an object. Can this cockpit hold
+ The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
+ Within this wooden O the very casques
+ That did affright the air at Agincourt?
+ O pardon! since a crooked figure may
+ Attest in little place a million,
+ And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
+ On your imaginary forces work.
+ Suppose within the girdle of these walls
+ Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
+ Whose high uprearËd and abutting fronts
+ The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder:
+ Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
+ Into a thousand parts divide one man,
+ And make imaginary puissance;
+ Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them
+ Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;
+ For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
+ Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times,
+ Turning the accomplishment of many years
+ Into an hour-glass.
+
+
+ INTERLUDE
+
+ Now all the youth of England are on fire,
+ And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies:
+ Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought
+ Reigns solely in the breast of every man:
+ They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,
+ Following the mirror of all Christian kings,
+ With wingËd heels, as English Mercuries:
+ For now sits Expectation in the air,
+ And hides a sword from hilts unto the point
+ With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets,
+ Promised to Harry and his followers.
+ The French, advised by good intelligence
+ Of this most dreadful preparation,
+ Shake in their fear, and with pale policy
+ Seek to divert the English purposes.
+ O England! model to thy inward greatness,
+ Like little body with a mighty heart,
+ What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,
+ Were all thy children kind and natural!
+ But see thy fault: France hath in thee found out
+ A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills
+ With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men,
+ One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second,
+ Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,
+ Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland,
+ Have for the gilt of France--O guilt indeed!--
+ Confirmed conspiracy with fearful France;
+ And by their hands this grace of kings must die,
+ If hell and treason hold their promises,
+ Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton!--
+
+
+ HARFLEUR
+
+ Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies
+ In motion of no less celerity
+ Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen
+ The well-appointed king at Hampton Pier
+ Embark his royalty, and his brave fleet
+ With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning:
+ Play with your fancies, and in them behold
+ Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;
+ Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give
+ To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails,
+ Borne with the invisible and creeping wind
+ Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea
+ Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think
+ You stand upon the rivage and behold
+ A city on the inconstant billows dancing!
+ For so appears this fleet majestical,
+ Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow:
+ Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy,
+ And leave your England, as dead midnight still,
+ Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women,
+ Or passed or not arrived to pith and puissance;
+ For who is he, whose chin is but enriched
+ With one appearing hair, that will not follow
+ These culled and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
+ Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege:
+ Behold the ordnance on their carriages,
+ With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.
+ Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back;
+ Tells Harry that the king doth offer him
+ Katharine his daughter, and with her to dowry
+ Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
+ The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner
+ With linstock now the devilish cannon touches,
+ And down goes all before them!
+
+
+ THE EVE
+
+ Now entertain conjecture of a time
+ When creeping murmur and the poring dark
+ Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
+ From camp to camp through the foul womb of night
+ The hum of either army stilly sounds,
+ That the fixed sentinels almost receive
+ The secret whispers of each other's watch:
+ Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
+ Each battle sees the other's umbered face;
+ Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
+ Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents
+ The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
+ With busy hammers closing rivets up,
+ Give dreadful note of preparation.
+ The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
+ And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
+ Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,
+ The confident and over-lusty French
+ Do the low-rated English play at dice,
+ And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night
+ Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp
+ So tediously away. The poor condemnËd English,
+ Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
+ Sit patiently and inly ruminate
+ The morning's danger, and their gesture sad,
+ Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,
+ Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
+ So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold
+ The royal captain of this ruined band
+ Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
+ Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!'
+ For forth he goes and visits all his host,
+ Bids them good-morrow with a modest smile,
+ And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.
+ Upon his royal face there is no note
+ How dread an army hath enrounded him;
+ Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
+ Unto the weary and all-watchËd night,
+ But freshly looks and over-bears attaint
+ With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty,
+ That every wretch, pining and pale before,
+ Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.
+ A largess universal like the sun
+ His liberal eye doth give to every one,
+ Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all,
+ Behold, as may unworthiness define,
+ A little touch of Harry in the night--
+ And so our scene must to the battle fly.
+
+ _Shakespeare._
+
+
+ THE BATTLE
+
+ Fair stood the wind for France,
+ When we our sails advance,
+ Nor now to prove our chance
+ Longer will tarry;
+ But putting to the main,
+ At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
+ With all his martial train,
+ Landed King Harry.
+
+ And taking many a fort,
+ Furnished in warlike sort,
+ Marched towards Agincourt
+ In happy hour,
+ Skirmishing day by day
+ With those that stopped his way,
+ Where the French gen'ral lay
+ With all his power:
+
+ Which, in his height of pride,
+ King Henry to deride,
+ His ransom to provide
+ To the king sending;
+ Which he neglects the while
+ As from a nation vile,
+ Yet with an angry smile
+ Their fall portending.
+
+ And turning to his men,
+ Quoth our brave Henry then,
+ 'Though they to one be ten,
+ Be not amazËd.
+ Yet have we well begun,
+ Battles so bravely won
+ Have ever to the sun
+ By fame been raisËd.
+
+ And for myself, quoth he,
+ This my full rest shall be:
+ England ne'er mourn for me,
+ Nor more esteem me;
+ Victor I will remain
+ Or on this earth lie slain;
+ Never shall she sustain
+ Loss to redeem me.
+
+ Poitiers and Cressy tell,
+ When most their pride did swell,
+ Under our swords they fell;
+ No less our skill is
+ Than when our grandsire great,
+ Claiming the regal seat,
+ By many a warlike feat
+ Lopped the French lilies.'
+
+ The Duke of York so dread
+ The eager vaward led;
+ With the main Henry sped,
+ Amongst his henchmen;
+ Excester had the rear,
+ A braver man not there:
+ O Lord, how hot they were
+ On the false Frenchmen!
+
+ They now to fight are gone,
+ Armour on armour shone,
+ Drum now to drum did groan,
+ To hear was wonder;
+ That with the cries they make
+ The very earth did shake,
+ Trumpet to trumpet spake,
+ Thunder to thunder.
+
+ Well it thine age became,
+ O noble Erpingham,
+ Which did the signal aim
+ To our hid forces!
+ When from the meadow by,
+ Like a storm suddenly,
+ The English archery
+ Struck the French horses.
+
+ With Spanish yew so strong,
+ Arrows a cloth-yard long,
+ That like to serpents stung,
+ Piercing the weather;
+ None from his fellow starts,
+ But playing manly parts,
+ And like true English hearts
+ Stuck close together.
+
+ When down their bows they threw,
+ And forth their bilbos drew,
+ And on the French they flew,
+ Not one was tardy;
+ Arms were from shoulders sent,
+ Scalps to the teeth were rent,
+ Down the French peasants went;
+ Our men were hardy.
+
+ This while our noble king,
+ His broadsword brandishing,
+ Down the French host did ding
+ As to o'erwhelm it,
+ And many a deep wound lent,
+ His arms with blood besprent,
+ And many a cruel dent
+ BruisËd his helmet.
+
+ Glo'ster, that duke so good,
+ Next of the royal blood,
+ For famous England stood,
+ With his brave brother;
+ Clarence, in steel so bright,
+ Though but a maiden knight,
+ Yet in that furious fight
+ Scarce such another!
+
+ Warwick in blood did wade,
+ Oxford the foe invade,
+ And cruel slaughter made,
+ Still as they ran up;
+ Suffolk his axe did ply,
+ Beaumont and Willoughby
+ Bare them right doughtily,
+ Ferrers and Fanhope.
+
+ Upon Saint Crispin's Day
+ Fought was this noble fray,
+ Which fame did not delay,
+ To England to carry.
+ O, when shall Englishmen
+ With such acts fill a pen,
+ Or England breed again
+ Such a King Harry?
+
+ _Drayton._
+
+
+ AFTER
+
+ Now we bear the king
+ Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen,
+ Heave him away upon your wingËd thoughts
+ Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach
+ Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,
+ Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouthed sea,
+ Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king
+ Seems to prepare his way: so let him land,
+ And solemnly see him set on to London.
+ So swift a pace hath thought that even now
+ You may imagine him upon Blackheath;
+ Where that his lords desire him to have borne
+ His bruisËd helmet and his bended sword
+ Before him through the city: he forbids it,
+ Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride,
+ Giving full trophy, signal and ostent,
+ Quite from himself to God. But now behold,
+ In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
+ How London doth pour out her citizens!
+ The mayor and all his brethren in best sort,
+ Like to the senators of the antique Rome,
+ With the plebeians swarming at their heels,
+ Go forth and fetch their conquering CÊsar in!
+
+ _Shakespeare._
+
+
+
+
+ II
+
+ LORD OF HIMSELF
+
+
+ How happy is he born or taught
+ Who serveth not another's will;
+ Whose armour is his honest thought,
+ And simple truth his highest skill;
+
+ Whose passions not his masters are;
+ Whose soul is still prepared for death--
+ Not tied unto the world with care
+ Of prince's ear or vulgar breath;
+
+ Who hath his ear from rumours freed;
+ Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
+ Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
+ Nor ruin make oppressors great;
+
+ Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
+ Or vice; who never understood
+ How deepest wounds are given with praise,
+ Nor rules of state but rules of good;
+
+ Who God doth late and early pray
+ More of his grace than gifts to lend,
+ And entertains the harmless day
+ With a well-chosen book or friend--
+
+ This man is free from servile bands
+ Of hope to rise or fear to fall:
+ Lord of himself, though not of lands,
+ And, having nothing, yet hath all.
+
+ _Wotton._
+
+
+
+
+ III
+
+ TRUE BALM
+
+
+ High-spirited friend,
+ I send nor balms nor corsives to your wound;
+ Your faith hath found
+ A gentler and more agile hand to tend
+ The cure of that which is but corporal,
+ And doubtful days, which were named critical,
+ Have made their fairest flight
+ And now are out of sight.
+ Yet doth some wholesome physic for the mind,
+ Wrapped in this paper lie,
+ Which in the taking if you misapply
+ You are unkind.
+
+ Your covetous hand,
+ Happy in that fair honour it hath gained,
+ Must now be reined.
+ True valour doth her own renown commend
+ In one full action; nor have you now more
+ To do than be a husband of that store.
+ Think but how dear you bought
+ This same which you have caught--
+ Such thoughts will make you more in love with truth
+ 'Tis wisdom, and that high,
+ For men to use their fortune reverently,
+ Even in youth.
+
+ _Jonson._
+
+
+
+
+ IV
+
+ HONOUR IN BUD
+
+
+ It is not growing like a tree
+ In bulk doth make man better be:
+ 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.
+
+ _Jonson._
+
+
+
+
+ V
+
+ THE JOY OF BATTLE
+
+
+ Arm, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in;
+ Keep your ranks close, and now your honours win.
+ Behold from yonder hill the foe appears;
+ Bows, bills, glaives, arrows, shields, and spears!
+ Like a dark wood he comes, or tempest pouring;
+ O view the wings of horse the meadows scouring!
+ The vanguard marches bravely. Hark, the drums!
+ Dub, dub!
+
+ They meet, they meet, and now the battle comes:
+ See how the arrows fly
+ That darken all the sky!
+ Hark how the trumpets sound!
+ Hark how the hills rebound--
+ Tara, tara, tara, tara, tara!
+
+ Hark how the horses charge! in, boys! boys, in!
+ The battle totters; now the wounds begin:
+ O how they cry!
+ O how they die!
+ Room for the valiant Memnon, armed with thunder!
+ See how he breaks the ranks asunder!
+ They fly! they fly! Eumenes has the chase,
+ And brave Polybius makes good his place:
+ To the plains, to the woods,
+ To the rocks, to the floods,
+ They fly for succour. Follow, follow, follow!
+ Hark how the soldiers hollow!
+ Hey, hey!
+
+ Brave Diocles is dead,
+ And all his soldiers fled;
+ The battle's won, and lost,
+ That many a life hath cost.
+
+ _Fletcher._
+
+
+
+
+ VI
+
+ IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY
+
+
+ Mortality, behold and fear!
+ What a change of flesh is here!
+ Think how many royal bones
+ Sleep beneath this heap of stones!
+ Here they lie had realms and lands,
+ Who now want strength to stir their hands.
+ Here from their pulpits sealed with dust
+ They preach, 'In greatness is no trust.'
+ Here is an acre sown indeed
+ With the richest, royall'st seed
+ That the earth did e'er suck in,
+ Since the first man died for sin.
+ Here the bones of birth have cried,
+ 'Though gods they were, as men they died.'
+ Here are sands, ignoble things,
+ Dropt from the ruined sides of kings.
+ Here's a world of pomp and state,
+ Buried in dust, once dead by fate.
+
+ _Beaumont._
+
+
+
+
+ VII
+
+ GOING A-MAYING
+
+
+ Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn
+ Upon her wings presents the god unshorn:
+ See how Aurora throws her fair
+ Fresh-quilted colours through the air:
+ Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
+ The dew-bespangled herb and tree!
+ Each flower has wept and bowed toward the east,
+ Above an hour since, yet you not drest,
+ Nay, not so much as out of bed?
+ When all the birds have matins said,
+ And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin,
+ Nay, profanation, to keep in,
+ Whenas a thousand virgins on this day
+ Spring sooner than the lark to fetch in May.
+
+ Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen
+ To come forth like the spring-time fresh and green,
+ And sweet as Flora. Take no care
+ For jewels for your gown or hair:
+ Fear not; the leaves will strew
+ Gems in abundance upon you:
+ Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
+ Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.
+ Come, and receive them while the light
+ Hangs on the dew-locks of the night,
+ And Titan on the eastern hill
+ Retires himself, or else stands still
+ Till you come forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying:
+ Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.
+
+ Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark
+ How each field turns a street, each street a park,
+ Made green and trimmed with trees! see how
+ Devotion gives each house a bough
+ Or branch! each porch, each door, ere this,
+ An ark, a tabernacle is,
+ Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove,
+ As if here were those cooler shades of love.
+ Can such delights be in the street
+ And open fields, and we not see 't?
+ Come, we'll abroad: and let's obey
+ The proclamation made for May,
+ And sin no more, as we have done, by staying,
+ But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
+
+ There's not a budding boy or girl this day,
+ But is got up and gone to bring in May.
+ A deal of youth ere this is come
+ Back and with white-thorn laden home.
+ Some have despatched their cakes and cream,
+ Before that we have left to dream:
+ And some have wept and wooed, and plighted troth,
+ And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
+ Many a green-gown has been given,
+ Many a kiss, both odd and even:
+ Many a glance too has been sent
+ From out the eye, love's firmament:
+ Many a jest told of the keys betraying
+ This night, and locks picked: yet we're not a-Maying.
+
+ Come, let us go, while we are in our prime,
+ And take the harmless folly of the time!
+ We shall grow old apace, and die
+ Before we know our liberty.
+ Our life is short, and our days run
+ As fast away as does the sun.
+ And, as a vapour or a drop of rain,
+ Once lost can ne'er be found again,
+ So when or you or I are made
+ A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
+ All love, all liking, all delight,
+ Lies drowned with us in endless night.
+ Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying,
+ Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
+
+ _Herrick._
+
+
+
+
+ VIII
+
+ TO ANTHEA
+
+ WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING
+
+
+ Bid me to live, and I will live
+ Thy Protestant to be;
+ Or bid me love and I will give
+ A loving heart to thee.
+
+ A heart as soft, a heart as kind,
+ A heart as sound and free,
+ As in the whole world thou canst find,
+ That heart I'll give to thee.
+
+ Bid that heart stay, and it will stay
+ To honour thy decree;
+ Or bid it languish quite away,
+ And 't shall do so for thee.
+
+ Bid me to weep, and I will weep
+ While I have eyes to see;
+ And, having none, yet I will keep
+ A heart to weep for thee.
+
+ Bid me despair, and I'll despair
+ Under that cypress-tree;
+ Or bid me die, and I will dare
+ E'en death to die for thee.
+
+ Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
+ The very eyes of me,
+ And hast command of every part,
+ To live and die for thee.
+
+ _Herrick._
+
+
+
+
+ IX
+
+ MEMENTO MORI
+
+
+ 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 turn to coal,
+ Then chiefly lives.
+
+ _Herbert._
+
+
+
+
+ X
+
+ THE KING OF KINGS
+
+
+ The glories of our birth and state
+ Are shadows, not substantial things:
+ There is no armour against fate:
+ Death lays his icy hand on kings:
+ Sceptre and crown
+ Must tumble down,
+ And in the dust be equal made
+ With the poor crookËd scythe and spade.
+
+ Some men with swords may reap the field,
+ And plant fresh laurels when they kill,
+ But their strong nerves at last must yield:
+ They tame but one another still.
+ Early or late
+ They stoop to fate,
+ And must give up their murmuring breath
+ When they, pale captives, creep to death.
+
+ The garlands wither on their brow--
+ Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
+ Upon Death's purple altar now
+ See where the victor-victim bleeds!
+ All heads must come
+ To the cold tomb:
+ Only the actions of the just
+ Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.
+
+ _Shirley._
+
+
+
+
+ XI
+
+ LYCIDAS
+
+
+ Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more,
+ Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
+ I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
+ And with forced fingers rude
+ Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
+ Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,
+ Compels me to disturb your season due:
+ For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
+ Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer:
+ Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew
+ Himself to sing and build the lofty rhyme.
+ He must not float upon his watery bier
+ Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
+ Without the meed of some melodious tear.
+ Begin, then, sisters of the sacred well,
+ That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring;
+ Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string;
+ Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse:
+ So may some gentle Muse
+ With lucky words favour my destined urn,
+ And, as he passes, turn
+ And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud!
+ For we were nursed upon the selfsame hill,
+ Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill.
+ Together both, ere the high lawns appeared
+ Under the opening eyelids of the morn,
+ We drove afield, and both together heard
+ What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn
+ Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night,
+ Oft till the star that rose at evening bright
+ Towards heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel.
+ Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute,
+ Tempered to the oaten flute;
+ Rough satyrs danced, and fauns with cloven heel
+ From the glad sound would not be absent long;
+ And old Damoetas loved to hear our song.
+ But O the heavy change, now thou art gone,
+ Now thou art gone, and never must return!
+ Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves
+ With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown,
+ And all their echoes, mourn.
+ The willows and the hazel copses green
+ Shall now no more be seen
+ Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays,
+ As killing as the canker to the rose,
+ Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
+ Or frost to flowers that their gay wardrobe wear
+ When first the white-thorn blows,
+ Such, Lycidas, thy loss to Shepherds' ear.
+ Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep
+ Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas?
+ For neither were ye playing on the steep
+ Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,
+ Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
+ Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream:
+ Ay me! I fondly dream
+ 'Had ye been there,' ... for what could that have done?
+ What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
+ The Muse herself, for her enchanting son
+ Whom universal nature did lament,
+ When by the rout that made the hideous roar
+ His gory visage down the stream was sent,
+ Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
+ Alas! what boots it with incessant care
+ To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade,
+ And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?
+ Were it not better done, as others use,
+ To sport with Amaryllis in the shade
+ Or with the tangles of NeÊra's hair?
+ Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
+ (That last infirmity of noble mind)
+ To scorn delights and live laborious days;
+ But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
+ And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
+ Comes the blind Fury with the abhorrËd shears,
+ And slits the thin-spun life. 'But not the praise,'
+ Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears:
+ 'Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
+ Nor in the glistering foil
+ Set off to the world nor in broad rumour lies,
+ But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes
+ And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
+ As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
+ Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.'
+ O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood,
+ Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds,
+ That strain I heard was of a higher mood!
+ But now my oat proceeds,
+ And listens to the Herald of the Sea
+ That came in Neptune's plea.
+ He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds,
+ What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain?
+ And questioned every gust of rugged wings
+ That blows from off each beakËd promontory:
+ They knew not of his story,
+ And sage Hippotades their answer brings,
+ That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed:
+ The air was calm, and on the level brine
+ Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.
+ It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
+ Built in the eclipse and rigged with curses dark,
+ That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.
+ Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow,
+ His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,
+ Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge
+ Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe.
+ 'Ah! who hath reft,' quoth he, 'my dearest pledge?'
+ Last came, and last did go,
+ The Pilot of the Galilean Lake;
+ Two massy keys he bore of metals twain
+ (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).
+ He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake:
+ 'How well could I have spared for thee, young swain,
+ Enow of such as for their bellies' sake
+ Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold!
+ Of other care they little reckoning make
+ Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast,
+ And shove away the worthy bidden guest;
+ Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold
+ A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the least
+ That to the faithful herdman's art belongs!
+ What recks it them? What need they? They are sped;
+ And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs
+ Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;
+ The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
+ But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw,
+ Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread:
+ Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw
+ Daily devours apace, and nothing said:
+ But that two-handed engine at the door
+ Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.'
+ Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past
+ That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,
+ And call the vales, and bid them hither cast
+ Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues.
+ Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use
+ Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
+ On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks;
+ Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes
+ That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers,
+ And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
+ Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
+ The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine,
+ The white pink and the pansy freaked with jet,
+ The glowing violet,
+ The musk-rose and the well-attired woodbine,
+ With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
+ And every flower that sad embroidery wears:
+ Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed,
+ And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
+ To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
+ For, so to interpose a little ease,
+ Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise;
+ Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas
+ Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled;
+ Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
+ Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
+ Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world;
+ Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,
+ Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,
+ Where the great vision of the guarded mount
+ Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;
+ Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth:
+ And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
+ Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more,
+ For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,
+ Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor.
+ So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
+ And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
+ And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore
+ Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
+ So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,
+ Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves,
+ Where, other groves and other streams along,
+ With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
+ And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
+ In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love
+ There entertain him all the Saints above,
+ In solemn troops and sweet societies
+ That sing, and singing in their glory move,
+ And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
+ Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;
+ Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore
+ In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
+ To all that wander in that perilous flood.
+ Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,
+ While the still morn went out with sandals grey;
+ He touched the tender stops of various quills,
+ With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
+ And now the sun had stretched out all the hills,
+ And now was dropt into the western bay:
+ At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue;
+ To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XII
+
+ ARMS AND THE MUSE
+
+ WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED ON THE CITY
+
+
+ Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,
+ Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,
+ If deed of honour did thee ever please,
+ Guard them, and him within protect from harms.
+ He can requite thee; for he knows the charms
+ That call fame on such gentle acts as these,
+ And he can spread thy name o'er land and seas,
+ Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.
+ Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower:
+ The great Emanthian conqueror bid spare
+ The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
+ Went to the ground; and the repeated air
+ Of sad Electra's poet had the power
+ To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XIII
+
+ TO THE LORD GENERAL
+
+
+ Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud
+ Not of war only, but detractions rude,
+ Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
+ To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,
+ And on the neck of crownËd Fortune proud
+ Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued,
+ While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued,
+ And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud,
+ And Worcester's laureate wreath: yet much remains
+ To conquer still; peace hath her victories
+ No less renowned than war: new foes arise,
+ Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains.
+ Help us to save free conscience from the paw
+ Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XIV
+
+ THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT
+
+
+ Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
+ Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
+ Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
+ When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,
+ Forget not: in thy book record their groans
+ Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
+ Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that rolled
+ Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
+ The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
+ To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow
+ O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway
+ The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow
+ A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way,
+ Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XV
+
+ ON HIS BLINDNESS
+
+
+ When I consider how my light is spent
+ Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
+ And that one talent which is death to hide
+ Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
+ To serve therewith my Maker, and present
+ My true account, lest He, returning, chide;
+ 'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?'
+ I fondly ask: but patience, to prevent
+ That murmur soon replies: 'God doth not need
+ Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
+ Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
+ Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
+ And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
+ They also serve who only stand and wait.'
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XVI
+
+ EYELESS AT GAZA
+
+
+ This, this is he; softly a while;
+ Let us not break in upon him.
+ O change beyond report, thought, or belief!
+ See how he lies at random, carelessly diffused
+ With languished head unpropt,
+ As one past hope, abandonËd,
+ And by himself given over,
+ In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds
+ O'er-worn and soiled.
+ Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he,
+ That heroic, that renowned,
+ Irresistible Samson? whom unarmed
+ No strength of man or fiercest wild beast could withstand;
+ Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid;
+ Ran on embattled armies clad in iron,
+ And, weaponless himself,
+ Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery
+ Of brazen shield and spear, the hammered cuirass,
+ Chalybean-tempered steel, and frock of mail
+ AdamantÈan proof: But safest he who stood aloof,
+ When insupportably his foot advanced,
+ In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools,
+ Spurned them to death by troops. The bold Ascalonite
+ Fled from his lion ramp; old warriors turned
+ Their plated backs under his heel,
+ Or grovelling soiled their crested helmets in the dust.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XVII
+
+ OUT OF ADVERSITY
+
+
+ O how comely it is, and how reviving
+ To the spirits of just men long oppressed,
+ When God into the hands of their deliverer
+ Puts invincible might
+ To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor,
+ The brute and boisterous force of violent men,
+ Hardy and industrious to support
+ Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue
+ The righteous and all such as honour truth!
+ He all their ammunition
+ And feats of war defeats,
+ With plain heroic magnitude of mind
+ And celestial vigour armed;
+ Their armouries and magazines contemns,
+ Renders them useless, while
+ With wingËd expedition
+ Swift as the lightning glance he executes
+ His errand on the wicked, who, surprised,
+ Lose their defence, distracted and amazed.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XVIII
+
+ HEROIC LOVE
+
+
+ My dear and only love, I pray
+ That little world of thee
+ Be governed by no other sway
+ But purest monarchy;
+ For if confusion have a part,
+ Which virtuous souls abhor,
+ And hold a synod in thy heart,
+ I'll never love thee more.
+
+ Like Alexander I will reign,
+ And I will reign alone:
+ My thoughts did evermore disdain
+ A rival on my throne.
+ He either fears his fate too much,
+ Or his deserts are small,
+ Who dares not put it to the touch,
+ To gain or lose it all.
+
+ But, if thou wilt prove faithful then
+ And constant of thy word,
+ I'll make thee glorious by my pen,
+ And famous by my sword;
+ I'll serve thee in such noble ways
+ Was never heard before;
+ I'll crown and deck thee all with bays
+ And love thee more and more.
+
+ _Montrose._
+
+
+
+
+ XIX
+
+ GOING TO THE WARS
+
+
+ Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
+ That from the nunnery
+ Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
+ To war and arms I fly.
+
+ True, a new mistress now I chase,
+ The first foe in the field,
+ And with a stronger faith embrace
+ A sword, a horse, a shield.
+
+ Yet this inconstancy is such
+ As you too shall adore:
+ I could not love thee, Dear, so much
+ Loved I not Honour more.
+
+ _Lovelace._
+
+
+
+
+ XX
+
+ FROM PRISON
+
+
+ When Love with unconfinËd wings
+ Hovers within my gates,
+ And my divine Althea brings
+ To whisper at the grates;
+ When I lie tangled in her hair
+ And fettered to her eye,
+ The Gods that wanton in the air
+ Know no such liberty.
+
+ When flowing cups run swiftly round
+ With no allaying Thames,
+ Our careless heads with roses crowned,
+ Our hearts with loyal flames;
+ When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
+ When healths and draughts go free,
+ Fishes that tipple in the deep
+ Know no such liberty.
+
+ When, linnet-like confinËd, I
+ With shriller throat shall sing
+ The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
+ And glories of my King;
+ When I shall voice aloud how good
+ He is, how great should be,
+ EnlargËd winds that curl the flood
+ Know no such liberty.
+
+ Stone walls do not a prison make,
+ Nor iron bars a cage;
+ Minds innocent and quiet take
+ That for an hermitage:
+ If I have freedom in my love
+ And in my soul am free,
+ Angels alone that soar above
+ Enjoy such liberty.
+
+ _Lovelace._
+
+
+
+
+ XXI
+
+ TWO KINGS
+
+
+ The forward youth that would appear
+ Must now forsake his Muses dear,
+ Nor in the shadows sing
+ His numbers languishing.
+
+ 'Tis time to leave the books in dust,
+ And oil the unusËd armour's rust,
+ Removing from the wall
+ The corselet of the hall.
+
+ So restless Cromwell could not cease
+ In the inglorious arts of peace,
+ But through adventurous war
+ UrgËd his active star;
+
+ And, like the three-forked lightning, first
+ Breaking the clouds where it was nurst,
+ Did thorough his own side
+ His fiery way divide;
+
+ For 'tis all one to courage high,
+ The emulous or enemy,
+ And with such to inclose
+ Is more than to oppose;
+
+ Then burning through the air he went,
+ And palaces and temples rent;
+ And CÊsar's head at last
+ Did through his laurels blast.
+
+ 'Tis madness to resist or blame
+ The face of angry Heaven's flame;
+ And if we would speak true,
+ Much to the man is due,
+
+ Who from his private gardens, where
+ He lived reservËd and austere,
+ As if his highest plot
+ To plant the bergamot,
+
+ Could by industrious valour climb
+ To ruin the great work of Time,
+ And cast the kingdoms old
+ Into another mould.
+
+ Though Justice against Fate complain,
+ And plead the ancient rights in vain
+ (But those do hold or break,
+ As men are strong or weak),
+
+ Nature, that hated emptiness,
+ Allows of penetration less,
+ And therefore must make room
+ Where greater spirits come.
+
+ What field of all the civil war,
+ Where his were not the deepest scar?
+ And Hampton shows what part
+ He had of wiser art,
+
+ Where, twining subtile fears with hope,
+ He wove a net of such a scope
+ That Charles himself might chase
+ To Carisbrook's narrow case,
+
+ That thence the royal actor borne
+ The tragic scaffold might adorn:
+ While round the armËd bands,
+ Did clap their bloody hands.
+
+ He nothing common did or mean
+ Upon that memorable scene,
+ But with his keener eye
+ The axe's edge did try;
+
+ Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
+ To vindicate his helpless right,
+ But bowed his comely head
+ Down, as upon a bed.
+
+ This was that memorable hour
+ Which first assured the forcËd power:
+ So, when they did design
+ The Capitol's first line,
+
+ A bleeding head, where they begun,
+ Did fright the architects to run;
+ And yet in that the State
+ Foresaw its happy fate!
+
+ And now the Irish are ashamed
+ To see themselves in one year tamed:
+ So much one man can do
+ That doth both act and know.
+
+ They can affirm his praises best,
+ And have, though overcome, confessed
+ How good he is, how just,
+ And fit for highest trust;
+
+ Nor yet grown stiffer with command,
+ But still in the Republic's hand
+ (How fit he is to sway,
+ That can so well obey!),
+
+ He to the Commons' feet presents
+ A kingdom for his first year's rents,
+ And (what he may) forbears
+ His fame to make it theirs:
+
+ And has his sword and spoils ungirt
+ To lay them at the public's skirt.
+ So when the falcon high
+ Falls heavy from the sky,
+
+ She, having killed, no more doth search
+ But on the next green bough to perch,
+ Where, when he first does lure,
+ The falconer has her sure.
+
+ What may not then our isle presume
+ While victory his crest does plume?
+ What may not others fear
+ If thus he crowns each year?
+
+ As CÊsar he, ere long, to Gaul,
+ To Italy an Hannibal,
+ And to all states not free
+ Shall climacteric be.
+
+ The Pict no shelter now shall find
+ Within his party-coloured mind,
+ But from this valour sad
+ Shrink underneath the plaid;
+
+ Happy if in the tufted brake
+ The English hunter him mistake,
+ Nor lay his hounds in near
+ The Caledonian deer.
+
+ But thou, the war's and fortune's son,
+ March indefatigably on,
+ And for the last effect,
+ Still keep the sword erect:
+
+ Besides the force it has to fright
+ The spirits of the shady night,
+ The same arts that did gain,
+ A power must it maintain.
+
+ _Marvell._
+
+
+
+
+ XXII
+
+ IN EXILE
+
+
+ Where the remote Bermudas ride
+ In the Ocean's bosom unespied,
+ From a small boat that rowed along
+ The listening winds received this song.
+ 'What should we do but sing his praise
+ That led us through the watery maze,
+ Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks
+ That lift the deep upon their backs,
+ Unto an isle so long unknown,
+ And yet far kinder than our own?
+ He lands us on a grassy stage,
+ Safe from the storms and prelates' rage:
+ He gave us this eternal spring
+ Which here enamels everything,
+ And sends the fowls to us in care
+ On daily visits through the air.
+ He hangs in shades the orange bright
+ Like golden lamps in a green night,
+ And does in the pomegranates close
+ Jewels more rich than Ormus shows:
+ He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
+ And throws the melons at our feet;
+ But apples plants of such a price,
+ No tree could ever bear them twice.
+ With cedars chosen by his hand
+ From Lebanon he stores the land,
+ And makes the hollow seas that roar
+ Proclaim the ambergrease on shore.
+ He cast (of which we rather boast)
+ The Gospel's pearl upon our coast,
+ And in these rocks for us did frame
+ A temple where to sound his name.
+ O let our voice his praise exalt
+ 'Till it arrive at heaven's vault,
+ Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may
+ Echo beyond the Mexique Bay!'
+ Thus sang they in the English boat
+ A holy and a cheerful note:
+ And all the way, to guide their chime,
+ With falling oars they kept the time.
+
+ _Marvell._
+
+
+
+
+ XXIII
+
+ ALEXANDER'S FEAST
+
+
+ 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won
+ By Philip's warlike son:
+ Aloft in awful state
+ The godlike hero sate
+ On his imperial throne;
+ His valiant peers were placed around,
+ Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound
+ (So should desert in arms be crowned);
+ The lovely Thais by his side
+ Sate like a blooming Eastern bride
+ In flower of youth and beauty's pride.
+ Happy, happy, happy pair!
+ None but the brave,
+ None but the brave,
+ None but the brave deserves the fair!
+ Timotheus, placed on high
+ Amid the tuneful quire,
+ With flying fingers touched the lyre:
+ The trembling notes ascend the sky
+ And heavenly joys inspire.
+ The song began from Jove
+ Who left his blissful seats above,
+ Such is the power of mighty love!
+ A dragon's fiery form belied the god;
+ Sublime on radiant spires he rode
+ When he to fair Olympia pressed,
+ And while he sought her snowy breast,
+ Then round her slender waist he curled,
+ And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world.
+ The listening crowd admire the lofty sound;
+ A present deity! they shout around:
+ A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound:
+ With ravished ears
+ The monarch hears,
+ Assumes the god;
+ Affects to nod
+ And seems to shake the spheres.
+
+ The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung,
+ Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:
+ The jolly god in triumph comes;
+ Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!
+ Flushed with a purple grace
+ He shows his honest face:
+ Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes!
+ Bacchus, ever fair and young,
+ Drinking joys did first ordain;
+ Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
+ Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:
+ Rich the treasure,
+ Sweet the pleasure,
+ Sweet is pleasure after pain.
+
+ Soothed with the sound the king grew vain;
+ Fought all his battles o'er again,
+ And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain!
+ The master saw the madness rise,
+ His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
+ And while he heaven and earth defied
+ Changed his hand, and checked his pride.
+ He chose a mournful Muse
+ Soft pity to infuse:
+ He sung Darius great and good,
+ By too severe a fate
+ Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
+ Fallen from his high estate,
+ And weltering in his blood;
+ Deserted at his utmost need
+ By those his former bounty fed,
+ On the bare earth exposed he lies
+ With not a friend to close his eyes.
+ With downcast looks the joyless victor sate,
+ Revolving in his altered soul
+ The various turns of Chance below
+ And now and then a sigh he stole,
+ And tears began to flow.
+
+ The mighty master smiled to see
+ That love was in the next degree;
+ 'Twas but a kindred-sound to move,
+ For pity melts the mind to love.
+ Softly sweet, in Lydian measures
+ Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures.
+ War, he sang, is toil and trouble,
+ Honour but an empty bubble;
+ Never ending, still beginning,
+ Fighting still, and still destroying;
+ If the world be worth thy winning,
+ Think, O think, it worth enjoying:
+ Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
+ Take the good the gods provide thee.
+ The many rend the skies with loud applause;
+ So love was crowned, but Music won the cause.
+ The prince, unable to conceal his pain,
+ Gazed on the fair
+ Who caused his care,
+ And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,
+ Sighed and looked, and sighed again:
+ At length, with love and wine at once oppressed,
+ The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.
+
+ Now strike the golden lyre again:
+ A louder yet, and yet a louder strain!
+ Break his bands of sleep asunder
+ And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder.
+ Hark, hark! the horrid sound
+ Has raised up his head;
+ As awaked from the dead,
+ And amazed he stares around.
+ Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
+ See the Furies arise!
+ See the snakes that they rear,
+ How they hiss in their hair,
+ And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
+ Behold a ghastly band,
+ Each a torch in his hand!
+ Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain
+ And unburied remain
+ Inglorious on the plain:
+ Give the vengeance due
+ To the valiant crew!
+ Behold how they toss their torches on high,
+ How they point to the Persian abodes
+ And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
+ The princes applaud with a furious joy:
+ And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy;
+ Thais led the way
+ To light him to his prey,
+ And like another Helen fired another Troy!
+
+ Thus long ago,
+ Ere heaving bellows learned to blow,
+ While organs yet were mute,
+ Timotheus, to his breathing flute
+ And sounding lyre,
+ Could swell the soul to rage or kindle soft desire.
+ At last divine Cecilia came,
+ Inventress of the vocal frame;
+ The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store
+ Enlarged the former narrow bounds,
+ And added length to solemn sounds,
+ With Nature's mother-wit and arts unknown before
+ Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
+ Or both divide the crown:
+ He raised a mortal to the skies;
+ She drew an angel down.
+
+ _Dryden._
+
+
+
+
+ XXIV
+
+ THE QUIET LIFE
+
+
+ Condemned to Hope's delusive mine,
+ As on we toil from day to day,
+ By sudden blast or slow decline
+ Our social comforts drop away.
+
+ Well tried through many a varying year,
+ See Levett to the grave descend:
+ Officious, innocent, sincere,
+ Of every friendless name the friend.
+
+ Yet still he fills affection's eye,
+ Obscurely wise and coarsely kind;
+ Nor, lettered arrogance, deny
+ Thy praise to merit unrefined.
+
+ When fainting Nature called for aid,
+ And hovering death prepared the blow,
+ His vigorous remedy displayed
+ The power of art without the show.
+
+ In misery's darkest caverns known,
+ His ready help was ever nigh,
+ Where hopeless anguish poured his groan,
+ And lonely want retired to die.
+
+ No summons mocked by chill delay,
+ No petty gains disdained by pride:
+ The modest wants of every day
+ The toil of every day supplied.
+
+ His virtues walked their narrow round,
+ Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
+ And sure the eternal Master found
+ His single talent well employed.
+
+ The busy day, the peaceful night,
+ Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;
+ His frame was firm, his powers were bright,
+ Though now his eightieth year was nigh.
+
+ Then, with no throbs of fiery pain,
+ No cold gradations of decay,
+ Death broke at once the vital chain,
+ And freed his soul the nearest way.
+
+ _Johnson._
+
+
+
+
+ XXV
+
+ CHEVY CHACE
+
+
+ THE HUNTING
+
+ God prosper long our noble king,
+ Our lives and safeties all;
+ A woeful hunting once there did
+ In Chevy-Chace befall;
+
+ To drive the deer with hound and horn
+ Erle Percy took his way;
+ The child may rue that is unborn,
+ The hunting of that day.
+
+ The stout Erle of Northumberland
+ A vow to God did make,
+ His pleasure in the Scottish woods
+ Three summer's days to take,
+
+ The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chace
+ To kill and bear away.
+ These tydings to Erle Douglas came,
+ In Scotland where he lay:
+
+ Who sent Erle Percy present word,
+ He wold prevent his sport.
+ The English Erle, not fearing that,
+ Did to the woods resort
+
+ With fifteen hundred bow-men bold,
+ All chosen men of might,
+ Who knew full well in time of neede
+ To ayme their shafts aright.
+
+ The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
+ To chase the fallow deere:
+ On Monday they began to hunt,
+ Ere daylight did appeare;
+
+ And long before high noone they had
+ An hundred fat buckes slaine;
+ Then having dined, the drovyers went
+ To rouse the deere againe.
+
+ The bow-men mustered on the hills,
+ Well able to endure;
+ Their backsides all, with special care
+ That day were guarded sure.
+
+ The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,
+ The nimble deere to take,
+ And with their cryes the hills and dales
+ An echo shrill did make.
+
+ Lord Percy to the quarry went,
+ To view the slaughtered deere:
+ Quoth he, 'Erle Douglas promisËd
+ This day to meet me here,
+
+ But if I thought he wold not come,
+ No longer wold I stay.'
+ With that, a brave younge gentleman
+ Thus to the Erle did say:
+
+ 'Lo, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,
+ His men in armour bright;
+ Full twenty hundred Scottish speares
+ All marching in our sight;
+
+ All men of pleasant Tivydale,
+ Fast by the river Tweede':
+ 'O, cease your sports,' Erle Percy said,
+ 'And take your bowes with speede;
+
+ And now with me, my countrymen,
+ Your courage forth advance,
+ For there was never champion yet,
+ In Scotland or in France,
+
+ That ever did on horsebacke come,
+ But if my hap it were,
+ I durst encounter man for man,
+ And with him break a speare.'
+
+
+ THE CHALLENGE
+
+ Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede,
+ Most like a baron bold,
+ Rode foremost of his company,
+ Whose armour shone like gold.
+
+ 'Show me,' said he, 'whose men ye be,
+ That hunt so boldly here,
+ That, without my consent, do chase
+ And kill my fallow-deere.'
+
+ The first man that did answer make,
+ Was noble Percy he;
+ Who sayd, 'We list not to declare,
+ Nor shew whose men we be,
+
+ Yet we will spend our dearest blood,
+ Thy chiefest harts to slay.'
+ Then Douglas swore a solemn oath,
+ And thus in rage did say:
+
+ 'Ere thus I will out-bravËd be,
+ One of us two shall dye:
+ I know thee well, an erle thou art;
+ Lord Percy, so am I.
+
+ But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,
+ And great offence to kill
+ Any of these our guiltlesse men,
+ For they have done no ill.
+
+ Let thou and I the battell trye,
+ And set our men aside.'
+ 'Accurst be he,' Erle Percy said,
+ 'By whom this is denied.'
+
+ Then stept a gallant squier forth,
+ Witherington was his name,
+ Who said, 'I wold not have it told
+ To Henry our king for shame,
+
+ That ere my captaine fought on foote,
+ And I stood looking on.
+ Ye be two erles,' said Witherington,
+ 'And I a squier alone:
+
+ Ile do the best that do I may,
+ While I have power to stand:
+ While I have power to wield my sword,
+ Ile fight with heart and hand.'
+
+
+ THE BATTLE
+
+ Our English archers bent their bowes,
+ Their hearts were good and trew,
+ At the first flight of arrowes sent,
+ Full fourscore Scots they slew.
+
+ Yet bides Erle Douglas on the bent,
+ As Chieftain stout and good.
+ As valiant Captain, all unmoved
+ The shock he firmly stood.
+
+ His host he parted had in three,
+ As leader ware and try'd,
+ And soon his spearmen on their foes
+ Bare down on every side.
+
+ Throughout the English archery
+ They dealt full many a wound;
+ But still our valiant Englishmen
+ All firmly kept their ground,
+
+ And, throwing strait their bowes away,
+ They grasped their swords so bright,
+ And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
+ On shields and helmets light.
+
+ They closed full fast on every side,
+ No slackness there was found;
+ And many a gallant gentleman
+ Lay gasping on the ground.
+
+ O Christ! it was a griefe to see,
+ And likewise for to heare,
+ The cries of men lying in their gore,
+ And scattered here and there!
+
+ At last these two stout erles did meet,
+ Like captaines of great might:
+ Like lions wode, they laid on lode,
+ And made a cruel fight:
+
+ They fought untill they both did sweat
+ With swords of tempered steele;
+ Until the blood like drops of rain
+ They trickling downe did feele.
+
+ 'Yield thee, Lord Percy,' Douglas said;
+ 'In faith I will thee bringe,
+ Where thou shalt high advancËd be
+ By James our Scottish king:
+
+ Thy ransome I will freely give,
+ And this report of thee,
+ Thou art the most courageous knight,
+ That ever I did see.'
+
+ 'No, Douglas,' quoth Erle Percy then,
+ 'Thy proffer I do scorne;
+ I will not yield to any Scot,
+ That ever yet was borne.'
+
+ With that, there came an arrow keene
+ Out of an English bow,
+ Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,
+ A deep and deadly blow:
+
+ Who never spake more words than these,
+ 'Fight on, my merry men all;
+ For why, my life is at an end;
+ Lord Percy sees my fall.'
+
+ Then leaving life, Erle Percy tooke
+ The dead man by the hand;
+ And said, 'Erle Douglas, for thy life
+ Wold I had lost my land!
+
+ O Christ! my very heart doth bleed
+ With sorrow for thy sake,
+ For sure, a more redoubted knight
+ Mischance could never take.'
+
+ A knight amongst the Scots there was,
+ Which saw Erle Douglas dye,
+ Who straight in wrath did vow revenge
+ Upon the Lord Percye.
+
+ Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he called
+ Who, with a speare most bright,
+ Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
+ Ran fiercely through the fight,
+
+ And past the English archers all,
+ Without or dread or feare,
+ And through Erle Percy's body then
+ He thrust his hateful speare.
+
+ With such a vehement force and might
+ He did his body gore,
+ The staff ran through the other side
+ A large cloth-yard, and more.
+
+ So thus did both these nobles dye,
+ Whose courage none could staine!
+ An English archer then perceived
+ The noble Erle was slaine:
+
+ He had a bow bent in his hand,
+ Made of a trusty tree;
+ An arrow of a cloth-yard long
+ Up to the head drew he;
+
+ Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye
+ So right the shaft he set,
+ The grey goose-winge that was thereon
+ In his heart's bloode was wet.
+
+ This fight did last from breake of day
+ Till setting of the sun;
+ For when they rung the evening-bell,
+ The battle scarce was done.
+
+
+ THE SLAIN
+
+ With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine
+ Sir John of Egerton,
+ Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,
+ Sir James, that bold barÚn;
+
+ And with Sir George and stout Sir James,
+ Both knights of good account,
+ Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine,
+ Whose prowesse did surmount.
+
+ For Witherington needs must I wayle,
+ As one in doleful dumpes;
+ For when his legs were smitten off,
+ He fought upon his stumpes.
+
+ And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine
+ Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
+ Sir Charles Murray, that from the field
+ One foote would never flee;
+
+ Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too,
+ His sister's sonne was he;
+ Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed,
+ Yet saved he could not be;
+
+ And the Lord Maxwell in like case
+ Did with Erle Douglas dye:
+ Of twenty hundred Scottish speares,
+ Scarce fifty-five did flye.
+
+ Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,
+ Went home but fifty-three:
+ The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chace,
+ Under the greene woode tree.
+
+ Next day did many widdowes come,
+ Their husbands to bewayle;
+ They washt their wounds in brinish teares,
+ But all wold not prevayle;
+
+ Their bodyes, bathed in purple gore,
+ They bore with them away;
+ They kist them dead a thousand times,
+ Ere they were clad in clay.
+
+
+ THE TIDINGS
+
+ The newes was brought to Eddenborrow,
+ Where Scotland's king did raigne,
+ That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye
+ Was with an arrow slaine:
+
+ 'O heavy newes,' King James did say,
+ 'Scotland may witnesse be,
+ I have not any captaine more
+ Of such account as he.'
+
+ Like tydings to King Henry came,
+ Within as short a space,
+ That Percy of Northumberland
+ Was slaine in Chevy-Chace:
+
+ 'Now God be with him,' said our king,
+ 'Sith it will no better be;
+ I trust I have, within my realme,
+ Five hundred as good as he:
+
+ Yet shall not Scots nor Scotland say,
+ But I will vengeance take:
+ I'll be revengËd on them all,
+ For brave Erle Percy's sake.'
+
+ This vow full well the king performed
+ After, at Humbledowne;
+ In one day, fifty knights were slayne,
+ With lords of great renowne,
+
+ And of the rest, of small account,
+ Did many thousands dye.
+ Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace,
+ Made by the Erle Percye.
+
+ God save our king, and bless this land
+ With plentye, joy, and peace,
+ And grant henceforth that foule debate
+ 'Twixt noblemen may cease!
+
+
+
+
+ XXVI
+
+ SIR PATRICK SPENS
+
+
+ The King sits in Dunfermline town,
+ Drinking the blude-red wine:
+ 'O whaur will I get a skeely skipper
+ To sail this new ship o' mine?'
+
+ O up and spake an eldern knight,
+ Sat at the King's right knee:
+ 'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
+ That ever sailed the sea.'
+
+ Our King has written a braid letter
+ And sealed it wi' his hand,
+ And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
+ Was walking on the strand.
+
+ 'To Noroway, to Noroway,
+ To Noroway o'er the faem;
+ The King's daughter to Noroway,
+ 'Tis thou maun bring her hame.'
+
+ The first word that Sir Patrick read,
+ Sae loud, loud lauchËd he;
+ The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
+ The tear blinded his ee.
+
+ 'O wha is this has done this deed,
+ And tauld the King of me,
+ To send us out at this time o' year
+ To sail upon the sea?
+
+ Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,
+ Our ship must sail the faem;
+ The King's daughter to Noroway,
+ 'Tis we must bring her hame.'
+
+ They hoysed their sails on Monday morn
+ Wi' a' the speed they may;
+ They hae landed in Noroway
+ Upon a Wodensday.
+
+ They hadna been a week, a week,
+ In Noroway but twae,
+ When that the lords o' Noroway
+ Began aloud to say:
+
+ 'Ye Scottishmen spend a' our King's goud
+ And a' our Queenis fee.'
+ 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud,
+ Fu' loud I hear ye lie!
+
+ For I brought as mickle white monie
+ As gane my men and me,
+ And I brought a half-fou o' gude red goud
+ Out-o'er the sea wi' me.
+
+ Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a'!
+ Our gude ship sails the morn.'
+ 'Now, ever alake, my master dear,
+ I fear a deadly storm.
+
+ I saw the new moon late yestreen
+ Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
+ And, if we gang to sea, master,
+ I fear we'll come to harm.'
+
+ They hadna sailed a league, a league,
+ A league but barely three,
+ When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
+ And gurly grew the sea.
+
+ 'O where will I get a gude sailor
+ To tak' my helm in hand,
+ Till I gae up to the tall topmast
+ To see if I can spy land?'
+
+ 'O here am I, a sailor gude,
+ To tak' the helm in hand,
+ Till you gae up to the tall topmast;
+ But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.'
+
+ He hadna gane a step, a step,
+ A step but barely ane,
+ When a bolt flew out o' our goodly ship,
+ And the salt sea it came in.
+
+ 'Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith,
+ Anither o' the twine,
+ And wap them into our ship's side,
+ And letna the sea come in.'
+
+ They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
+ Anither o' the twine,
+ And they wapped them round that gude ship's side,
+ But still the sea cam' in.
+
+ O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
+ To weet their milk-white hands;
+ But lang ere a' the play was ower
+ They wat their gowden bands.
+
+ O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
+ To weet their cork-heeled shoon;
+ But lang ere a' the play was played
+ They wat their hats aboon.
+
+ O lang, lang may the ladies sit
+ Wi' their fans intill their hand,
+ Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
+ Come sailing to the strand!
+
+ And lang, lang may the maidens sit
+ Wi' their goud kaims in their hair,
+ A' waiting for their ain dear loves!
+ For them they'll see nae mair.
+
+ Half ower, half ower to Aberdour,
+ It's fifty fathoms deep,
+ And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens
+ Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
+
+
+
+
+ XXVII
+
+ BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY
+
+
+ The fifteenth day of July,
+ With glistering spear and shield,
+ A famous fight in Flanders
+ Was foughten in the field:
+ The most conspicuous officers
+ Were English captains three,
+ But the bravest man in battel
+ Was brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+ The next was Captain Norris,
+ A valiant man was he:
+ The other, Captain Turner,
+ From field would never flee.
+ With fifteen hundred fighting men,
+ Alas! there were no more,
+ They fought with forty thousand then
+ Upon the bloody shore.
+
+ 'Stand to it, noble pikeman,
+ And look you round about:
+ And shoot you right, you bow-men,
+ And we will keep them out:
+ You musquet and cailiver men,
+ Do you prove true to me,
+ I'll be the bravest man in fight,'
+ Says brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+ And then the bloody enemy
+ They fiercely did assail,
+ And fought it out most furiously,
+ Not doubting to prevail:
+ The wounded men on both sides fell
+ Most piteous for to see,
+ But nothing could the courage quell
+ Of brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+ For seven hours to all men's view
+ This fight endurËd sore,
+ Until our men so feeble grew
+ That they could fight no more;
+ And then upon dead horses
+ Full savourly they eat,
+ And drank the puddle water,
+ That could no better get.
+
+ When they had fed so freely,
+ They kneelËd on the ground,
+ And praisËd God devoutly
+ For the favour they had found;
+ And bearing up their colours,
+ The fight they did renew,
+ And cutting tow'rds the Spaniard,
+ Five thousand more they slew.
+
+ The sharp steel-pointed arrows
+ And bullets thick did fly;
+ Then did our valiant soldiers
+ Charge on most furiously:
+ Which made the Spaniards waver,
+ They thought it best to flee:
+ They feared the stout behaviour
+ Of brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+ Then quoth the Spanish general,
+ 'Come, let us march away,
+ I fear we shall be spoilËd all
+ If that we longer stay:
+ For yonder comes Lord Willoughby
+ With courage fierce and fell,
+ He will not give one inch of ground
+ For all the devils in hell.'
+
+ And when the fearful enemy
+ Was quickly put to flight,
+ Our men pursued courageously
+ To rout his forces quite;
+ And at last they gave a shout
+ Which echoed through the sky:
+ 'God, and St. George for England!'
+ The conquerors did cry.
+
+ This news was brought to England
+ With all the speed might be,
+ And soon our gracious Queen was told
+ Of this same victory.
+ 'O! this is brave Lord Willoughby,
+ My love that ever won:
+ Of all the lords of honour
+ 'Tis he great deeds hath done!'
+
+ To the soldiers that were maimËd,
+ And wounded in the fray,
+ The queen allowed a pension
+ Of fifteen pence a day,
+ And from all costs and charges
+ She quit and set them free:
+ And this she did all for the sake
+ Of brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+ Then courage, noble Englishmen,
+ And never be dismayed!
+ If that we be but one to ten,
+ We will not be afraid
+ To fight with foreign enemies,
+ And set our country free.
+ And thus I end the bloody bout
+ Of brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+
+
+
+ XXVIII
+
+ HUGHIE THE GR∆ME
+
+
+ Good Lord Scroope to the hills is gane,
+ Hunting of the fallow deer;
+ And he has grippit Hughie the GrÊme
+ For stealing of the Bishop's mare.
+
+ 'Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be!
+ Here hangs a broadsword by my side;
+ And if that thou canst conquer me,
+ The matter it may soon be tried.'
+
+ 'I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief;
+ Although thy name be Hughie the GrÊme,
+ I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,
+ If God but grant me life and time.'
+
+ But as they were dealing their blows so free,
+ And both so bloody at the time,
+ Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,
+ All for to take bold Hughie the GrÊme.
+
+ O then they grippit Hughie the GrÊme,
+ And brought him up through Carlisle town:
+ The lads and lasses stood on the walls,
+ Crying, 'Hughie the GrÊme, thou'se ne'er gae down!'
+
+ 'O loose my right hand free,' he says,
+ 'And gie me my sword o' the metal sae fine,
+ He's no in Carlisle town this day
+ Daur tell the tale to Hughie the GrÊme.'
+
+ Up then and spake the brave Whitefoord,
+ As he sat by the Bishop's knee,
+ 'Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,
+ If ye'll grant Hughie the GrÊme to me.'
+
+ 'O haud your tongue,' the Bishop says,
+ 'And wi' your pleading let me be;
+ For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat,
+ They suld be hangit a' for me.'
+
+ Up then and spake the fair Whitefoord,
+ As she sat by the Bishop's knee,
+ 'A peck o' white pennies, my good lord,
+ If ye'll grant Hughie the GrÊme to me.'
+
+ 'O haud your tongue now, lady fair,
+ Forsooth, and so it sall na be;
+ Were he but the one Graham of the name,
+ He suld be hangit high for me.'
+
+ They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe,
+ He lookËd to the gallows tree,
+ Yet never colour left his cheek,
+ Nor ever did he blink his e'e.
+
+ He lookËd over his left shoulder
+ To try whatever he could see,
+ And he was aware of his auld father,
+ Tearing his hair most piteouslie.
+
+ 'O haud your tongue, my father dear,
+ And see that ye dinna weep for me!
+ For they may ravish me o' my life,
+ But they canna banish me fro' Heaven hie.
+
+ And ye may gie my brither John
+ My sword that's bent in the middle clear,
+ And let him come at twelve o'clock,
+ And see me pay the Bishop's mare.
+
+ And ye may gie my brither James
+ My sword that's bent in the middle brown,
+ And bid him come at four o'clock,
+ And see his brither Hugh cut down.
+
+ And ye may tell my kith and kin
+ I never did disgrace their blood;
+ And when they meet the Bishop's cloak,
+ To mak' it shorter by the hood.'
+
+
+
+
+ XXIX
+
+ KINMONT WILLIE
+
+
+ THE CAPTURE
+
+ O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde?
+ O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scroope?
+ How they hae ta'en bold Kinmont Willie,
+ On Haribee to hang him up?
+
+ Had Willie had but twenty men,
+ But twenty men as stout as he,
+ Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en,
+ Wi' eight score in his cumpanie.
+
+ They band his legs beneath the steed,
+ They tied his hands behind his back;
+ They guarded him fivesome on each side,
+ And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.
+
+ They led him thro' the Liddel-rack,
+ And also thro' the Carlisle sands;
+ They brought him on to Carlisle castle
+ To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.
+
+ 'My hands are tied, but my tongue is free,
+ And wha will dare this deed avow?
+ Or answer by the Border law?
+ Or answer to the bold Buccleuch?'
+
+ 'Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!
+ There's never a Scot shall set thee free:
+ Before ye cross my castle yett,
+ I trow ye shall take farewell o' me.'
+
+ 'Fear na ye that, my lord,' quo' Willie:
+ 'By the faith o' my body, Lord Scroope,' he said,
+ 'I never yet lodged in a hostelrie
+ But I paid my lawing before I gaed.'
+
+
+ THE KEEPER'S WRATH
+
+ Now word is gane to the bold Keeper,
+ In Branksome Ha' where that he lay,
+ That Lord Scroope has ta'en the Kinmont Willie,
+ Between the hours of night and day.
+
+ He has ta'en the table wi' his hand,
+ He garred the red wine spring on hie:
+ 'Now a curse upon my head,' he said,
+ 'But avengËd of Lord Scroope I'll be!
+
+ O is my basnet a widow's curch?
+ Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?
+ Or my arm a lady's lily hand,
+ That an English lord should lightly me!
+
+ And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,
+ Against the truce of Border tide?
+ And forgotten that the bold Buccleuch
+ Is keeper here on the Scottish side?
+
+ And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,
+ Withouten either dread or fear?
+ And forgotten that the bold Buccleuch
+ Can back a steed or shake a spear?
+
+ O were there war between the lands,
+ As well I wot that there is none,
+ I would slight Carlisle castle high,
+ Though it were builded of marble stone.
+
+ I would set that castle in a lowe,
+ And slocken it with English blood!
+ There's never a man in Cumberland
+ Should ken where Carlisle castle stood.
+
+ But since nae war's between the lands,
+ And there is peace, and peace should be,
+ I'll neither harm English lad or lass,
+ And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!'
+
+
+ THE MARCH
+
+ He has called him forty Marchmen bold,
+ I trow they were of his ain name,
+ Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, called
+ The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.
+
+ He has called him forty Marchmen bold,
+ Were kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch;
+ With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,
+ And gluves of green, and feathers blue.
+
+ There were five and five before them a',
+ Wi' hunting-horns and bugles bright:
+ And five and five cam' wi' Buccleuch,
+ Like warden's men, arrayed for fight.
+
+ And five and five like a mason gang
+ That carried the ladders lang and hie;
+ And five and five like broken men;
+ And so they reached the Woodhouselee.
+
+ And as we crossed the 'Bateable Land,
+ When to the English side we held,
+ The first o' men that we met wi',
+ Whae suld it be but fause Sakelde?
+
+ 'Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?'
+ Quo' fause Sakelde; 'come tell to me!'
+ 'We go to hunt an English stag
+ Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.'
+
+ 'Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?'
+ Quo' fause Sakelde; 'come tell me true!'
+ 'We go to catch a rank reiver
+ Has broken faith wi' the bold Buccleuch.'
+
+ 'Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads,
+ Wi' a' your ladders lang and hie?'
+ 'We gang to herry a corbie's nest
+ That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.'
+
+ 'Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?'
+ Quo' fause Sakelde; 'come tell to me!'
+ Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,
+ And the never a word of lear had he.
+
+ 'Why trespass ye on the English side?
+ Row-footed outlaws, stand!' quo' he;
+ The never a word had Dickie to say,
+ Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.
+
+ Then on we held for Carlisle toun,
+ And at Staneshaw-Bank the Eden we crossed;
+ The water was great and meikle of spait,
+ But the never a horse nor man we lost.
+
+ And when we reached the Staneshaw-Bank,
+ The wind was rising loud and hie;
+ And there the Laird garred leave our steeds,
+ For fear that they should stamp and neigh.
+
+ And when we left the Staneshaw-Bank,
+ The wind began full loud to blaw;
+ But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,
+ When we came beneath the castle wa'.
+
+ We crept on knees, and held our breath,
+ Till we placed the ladders against the wa';
+ And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell
+ To mount the first before us a'.
+
+ He has ta'en the watchman by the throat,
+ He flung him down upon the lead:
+ 'Had there not been peace between our lands,
+ Upon the other side thou'dst gaed!
+
+ Now sound out, trumpets!' quo' Buccleuch;
+ 'Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!'
+ Then loud the warden's trumpet blew
+ _O wha dare meddle wi' me?_
+
+
+ THE RESCUE
+
+ Then speedilie to wark we gaed,
+ And raised the slogan ane and a',
+ And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,
+ And so we wan to the castle ha'.
+
+ They thought King James and a' his men
+ Had won the house wi' bow and spear;
+ It was but twenty Scots and ten
+ That put a thousand in sic a stear!
+
+ Wi' coulters and wi' forehammers
+ We garred the bars bang merrilie,
+ Until we came to the inner prison,
+ Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie.
+
+ And when we cam' to the lower prison,
+ Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie:
+ 'O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,
+ Upon the morn that thou's to die?'
+
+ 'O I sleep saft, and I wake aft;
+ It's lang since sleeping was fleyed frae me!
+ Gie my service back to my wife and bairns,
+ And a' gude fellows that spier for me.'
+
+ Then Red Rowan has hente him up,
+ The starkest man in Teviotdale:
+ 'Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
+ Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.
+
+ Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!
+ My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!' he cried;
+ 'I'll pay you for my lodging maill,
+ When first we meet on the Border side.'
+
+ Then shoulder high with shout and cry
+ We bore him down the ladder lang;
+ At every stride Red Rowan made,
+ I wot the Kinmont's airns played clang.
+
+ 'O mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie,
+ 'I have ridden horse baith wild and wood;
+ But a rougher beast than Red Rowan
+ I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode.
+
+ And mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie,
+ 'I've pricked a horse out oure the furs;
+ But since the day I backed a steed,
+ I never wore sic cumbrous spurs!'
+
+ We scarce had won the Staneshaw-Bank
+ When a' the Carlisle bells were rung,
+ And a thousand men on horse and foot
+ Cam' wi' the keen Lord Scroope along.
+
+ Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water,
+ Even where it flowed frae bank to brim,
+ And he has plunged in wi' a' his band,
+ And safely swam them through the stream.
+
+ He turned him on the other side,
+ And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he:
+ 'If ye like na my visit in merrie England,
+ In fair Scotland come visit me!'
+
+ All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,
+ He stood as still as rock of stane;
+ He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,
+ When through the water they had gane.
+
+ 'He is either himsell a devil frae hell,
+ Or else his mother a witch maun be;
+ I wadna have ridden that wan water
+ For a' the gowd in Christentie.'
+
+
+
+
+ XXX
+
+ THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL
+
+
+ Attend you, and give ear awhile,
+ And you shall understand
+ Of a battle fought upon the seas
+ By a ship of brave command.
+ The fight it was so glorious
+ Men's hearts it did ful-fill,
+ And it made them cry, 'To sea, to sea,
+ With the Angel Gabriel!'
+
+ This lusty ship of Bristol
+ Sailed out adventurously
+ Against the foes of England,
+ Her strength with them to try;
+ Well victualled, rigged, and manned she was,
+ With good provision still,
+ Which made men cry, 'To sea, to sea,
+ With the Angel Gabriel!'
+
+ The Captain, famous Netherway
+ (That was his noble name):
+ The Master--he was called John Mines--
+ A mariner of fame:
+ The Gunner, Thomas Watson,
+ A man of perfect skill:
+ With many another valiant heart
+ In the Angel Gabriel.
+
+ They waving up and down the seas
+ Upon the ocean main,
+ 'It is not long ago,' quoth they,
+ 'That England fought with Spain:
+ O would the Spaniard we might meet
+ Our stomachs to fulfil!
+ We would play him fair a noble bout
+ With our Angel Gabriel!'
+
+ They had no sooner spoken
+ But straight appeared in sight
+ Three lusty Spanish vessels
+ Of warlike trim and might;
+ With bloody resolution
+ They thought our men to spill,
+ And they vowed that they would make a prize
+ Of our Angel Gabriel.
+
+ Our gallant ship had in her
+ Full forty fighting men:
+ With twenty piece of ordnance
+ We played about them then,
+ With powder, shot, and bullets
+ Right well we worked our will,
+ And hot and bloody grew the fight
+ With our Angel Gabriel.
+
+ Our Captain to our Master said,
+ 'Take courage, Master bold!'
+ Our Master to the seamen said,
+ 'Stand fast, my hearts of gold!'
+ Our Gunner unto all the rest,
+ 'Brave hearts, be valiant still!
+ Fight on, fight on in the defence
+ Of our Angel Gabriel!'
+
+ We gave them such a broadside,
+ It smote their mast asunder,
+ And tore the bowsprit off their ship,
+ Which made the Spaniards wonder,
+ And causËd them in fear to cry,
+ With voices loud and shrill,
+ 'Help, help, or sunken we shall be
+ By the Angel Gabriel!'
+
+ So desperately they boarded us
+ For all our valiant shot,
+ Threescore of their best fighting men
+ Upon our decks were got;
+ And lo! at their first entrances
+ Full thirty did we kill,
+ And thus we cleared with speed the deck
+ Of our Angel Gabriel.
+
+ With that their three ships boarded us
+ Again with might and main,
+ But still our noble Englishmen
+ Cried out, 'A fig for Spain!'
+ Though seven times they boarded us
+ At last we showed our skill,
+ And made them feel what men we were
+ On the Angel Gabriel.
+
+ Seven hours this fight continued:
+ So many men lay dead,
+ With Spanish blood for fathoms round
+ The sea was coloured red.
+ Five hundred of their fighting men
+ We there outright did kill,
+ And many more were hurt and maimed
+ By our Angel Gabriel.
+
+ Then, seeing of these bloody spoils,
+ The rest made haste away:
+ For why, they said, it was no boot
+ The longer there to stay.
+ Then they fled into CalËs,
+ Where lie they must and will
+ For fear lest they should meet again
+ With our Angel Gabriel.
+
+ We had within our English ship
+ But only three men slain,
+ And five men hurt, the which I hope
+ Will soon be well again.
+ At Bristol we were landed,
+ And let us praise God still,
+ That thus hath blest our lusty hearts
+ And our Angel Gabriel.
+
+
+
+
+ XXXI
+
+ HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL
+
+
+ I wish I were where Helen lies,
+ Night and day on me she cries;
+ O that I were where Helen lies,
+ On fair Kirkconnell lea!
+
+ Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
+ And curst the hand that fired the shot,
+ When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
+ And died to succour me!
+
+ O thinkna ye my heart was sair
+ When my love dropt down, and spak' nae mair?
+ There did she swoon wi' meikle care,
+ On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+ As I went down the water side,
+ None but my foe to be my guide,
+ None but my foe to be my guide
+ On fair Kirkconnell lea;
+
+ I lighted down my sword to draw,
+ I hackËd him in pieces sma',
+ I hackËd him in pieces sma'
+ For her sake that died for me.
+
+ O Helen fair beyond compare!
+ I'll mak' a garland o' thy hair,
+ Shall bind my heart for evermair,
+ Until the day I dee!
+
+ O that I were where Helen lies!
+ Night and day on me she cries;
+ Out of my bed she bids me rise,
+ Says, 'Haste, and come to me!'
+
+ O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
+ If I were with thee I were blest,
+ Where thou lies low and takes thy rest,
+ On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+ I wish my grave were growing green,
+ A winding-sheet drawn ower my e'en,
+ And I in Helen's arms lying
+ On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+ I wish I were where Helen lies!
+ Night and day on me she cries,
+ And I am weary of the skies
+ For her sake that died for me.
+
+
+
+
+ XXXII
+
+ THE TWA CORBIES
+
+
+ As I was walking all alane,
+ I heard twa corbies making a mane:
+ The tane unto the tither say,
+ 'Where sall we gang and dine the day?'
+
+ 'In behint yon auld fail dyke
+ I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
+ And naebody kens that he lies there
+ But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.
+
+ His hound is to the hunting gane,
+ His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
+ His lady's ta'en another mate,
+ Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet.
+
+ Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
+ And I'll pike out his bonny blue e'en:
+ Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair
+ We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.
+
+ Mony a one for him makes mane,
+ But nane sall ken where he is gane:
+ O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
+ The wind sall blaw for evermair.'
+
+
+
+
+ XXXIII
+
+ THE BARD
+
+
+ 'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!
+ Confusion on thy banners wait!
+ Though fanned by Conquest's crimson wing
+ They mock the air with idle state.
+ Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,
+ Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail
+ To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
+ From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!'
+ Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
+ Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay,
+ As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
+ He wound with toilsome march his long array:
+ Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance;
+ 'To arms!' cried Mortimer, and couched his quivering lance.
+
+ On a rock, whose haughty brow
+ Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
+ Robed in the sable garb of woe
+ With haggard eyes the Poet stood
+ (Loose his beard and hoary hair
+ Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air),
+ And with a master's hand and prophet's fire
+ Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre:
+ 'Hark, how each giant oak and desert-cave
+ Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath!
+ O'er thee, O King! their hundred arms they wave,
+ Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;
+ Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,
+ To high-born Hoel's harp or soft Llewellyn's lay.
+
+ 'Cold is Cadwallo's tongue
+ That hushed the stormy main:
+ Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed:
+ Mountains, ye mourn in vain
+ Modred, whose magic song
+ Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head.
+ On dreary Arvon's shore they lie
+ Smeared with gore and ghastly pale:
+ Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail;
+ The famished eagle screams, and passes by.
+ Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,
+ Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes,
+ Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
+ Ye died amidst your dying country's cries!--
+ No more I weep. They do not sleep.
+ On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,
+ I see them sit; they linger yet,
+ Avengers of their native land:
+ With me in dreadful harmony they join,
+ And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
+
+ 'Weave the warp and weave the woof
+ The winding-sheet of Edward's race:
+ Give ample room and verge enough
+ The characters of hell to trace.
+ Mark the year and mark the night
+ When Severn shall re-echo with affright
+ The shrieks of death through Berkeley's roof that ring,
+ Shrieks of an agonising king!
+ She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
+ That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate,
+ From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs
+ The scourge of Heaven! What terrors round him wait!
+ Amazement in his van, with Flight combined,
+ And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
+
+ 'Mighty victor, mighty lord,
+ Low on his funeral couch he lies!
+ No pitying heart, no eye, afford
+ A tear to grace his obsequies.
+ Is the sable warrior fled?
+ Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.
+ The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born?
+ Gone to salute the rising morn.
+ Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows,
+ While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
+ In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes:
+ Youth on the prow and Pleasure at the helm:
+ Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway,
+ That hushed in grim repose expects his evening prey.
+
+ 'Fill high the sparkling bowl.
+ The rich repast prepare;
+ Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast:
+ Close by the regal chair
+ Fell Thirst and Famine scowl
+ A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.
+ Heard ye the din of battle bray,
+ Lance to lance and horse to horse?
+ Long years of havoc urge their destined course,
+ And through the kindred squadrons mow their way.
+ Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,
+ With many a foul and midnight murder fed,
+ Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame,
+ And spare the meek usurper's holy head!
+ Above, below, the rose of snow,
+ Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:
+ The bristled boar in infant-gore
+ Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
+ Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom,
+ Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.
+
+ 'Edward, lo! to sudden fate
+ (Weave we the woof; the thread is spun;)
+ Half of thy heart we consecrate.
+ (The web is wove; the work is done.)
+ Stay, O stay! nor thus forlorn
+ Leave me unblessed, unpitied, here to mourn:
+ In yon bright track that fires the western skies
+ They melt, they vanish from my eyes.
+ But O! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height
+ Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll?
+ Visions of glory, spare my aching sight,
+ Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
+ No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail:
+ All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia's issue, hail!
+
+ 'Girt with many a baron bold
+ Sublime their starry fronts they rear;
+ And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old
+ In bearded majesty, appear.
+ In the midst a form divine!
+ Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line:
+ Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face
+ Attempered sweet to virgin grace.
+ What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
+ What strains of vocal transport round her play?
+ Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;
+ They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
+ Bright Rapture calls and, soaring as she sings,
+ Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-coloured wings.
+
+ 'The verse adorn again
+ Fierce War and faithful Love
+ And Truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
+ In buskined measures move
+ Pale Grief and pleasing Pain,
+ With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
+ A voice as of the cherub-choir
+ Gales from blooming Eden bear,
+ And distant warblings lessen on my ear
+ That lost in long futurity expire.
+ Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud,
+ Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day?
+ To-morrow he repairs the golden flood
+ And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
+ Enough for me: with joy I see
+ The different doom our fates assign:
+ Be thine Despair and sceptred Care,
+ To triumph and to die are mine.'
+ He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
+ Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.
+
+ _Gray._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXIV
+
+ 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 plough the distant main:
+
+ But Kempenfelt is gone,
+ His victories are o'er;
+ And he and his eight hundred
+ Shall plough the wave no more.
+
+ _Cowper._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXV
+
+ BOADICEA
+
+
+ When the British warrior queen,
+ Bleeding from the Roman rods,
+ Sought with an indignant mien
+ Counsel of her country's gods,
+
+ Sage beneath the spreading oak
+ Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
+ Every burning word he spoke
+ Full of rage, and full of grief:
+
+ 'Princess! if our aged eyes
+ Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
+ 'Tis because resentment ties
+ All the terrors of our tongues.
+
+ Rome shall perish,--write that word
+ In the blood that she has spilt;
+ Perish hopeless and abhorred,
+ Deep in ruin as in guilt.
+
+ Rome, for empire far renowned,
+ Tramples on a thousand states;
+ Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,
+ Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!
+
+ Other Romans shall arise
+ Heedless of a soldier's name;
+ Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
+ Harmony the path to fame.
+
+ Then the progeny that springs
+ From the forests of our land,
+ Armed with thunder, clad with wings,
+ Shall a wider world command.
+
+ Regions CÊsar never knew
+ Thy posterity shall sway;
+ Where his eagles never flew,
+ None invincible as they.'
+
+ Such the bard's prophetic words,
+ Pregnant with celestial fire,
+ Bending as he swept the chords
+ Of his sweet but awful lyre.
+
+ She with all a monarch's pride
+ Felt them in her bosom glow,
+ Rushed to battle, fought, and died,
+ Dying, hurled them at the foe:
+
+ 'Ruffians, pitiless as proud,
+ Heaven awards the vengeance due;
+ Empire is on us bestowed,
+ Shame and ruin wait for you.'
+
+ _Cowper._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXVI
+
+ TO HIS LADY
+
+
+ If doughty deeds my lady please
+ Right soon I'll mount my steed;
+ And strong his arm, and fast his seat
+ That bears frae me the meed.
+ I'll wear thy colours in my cap
+ Thy picture at my heart;
+ And he that bends not to thine eye
+ Shall rue it to his smart!
+ Then tell me how to woo thee, Love;
+ O tell me how to woo thee!
+ For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,
+ Tho' ne'er another trow me.
+
+ If gay attire delight thine eye
+ I'll dight me in array;
+ I'll tend thy chamber door all night,
+ And squire thee all the day.
+ If sweetest sounds can win thine ear
+ These sounds I'll strive to catch;
+ Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell,
+ That voice that nane can match.
+
+ But if fond love thy heart can gain,
+ I never broke a vow;
+ Nae maiden lays her skaith to me,
+ I never loved but you.
+ For you alone I ride the ring,
+ For you I wear the blue;
+ For you alone I strive to sing,
+ O tell me how to woo!
+ Then tell me how to woo thee, Love;
+ O tell me how to woo thee!
+ For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,
+ Tho' ne'er another trow me.
+
+ _Graham of Gartmore._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXVII
+
+ CONSTANCY
+
+
+ Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear
+ The mainmast by the board;
+ My heart, with thoughts of thee, my dear,
+ And love well stored,
+ Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear,
+ The roaring winds, the raging sea,
+ In hopes on shore to be once more
+ Safe moored with thee!
+
+ Aloft while mountains high we go,
+ The whistling winds that scud along,
+ And surges roaring from below,
+ Shall my signal be to think on thee,
+ And this shall be my song:
+ Blow high, blow low--
+
+ And on that night, when all the crew,
+ The memory of their former lives
+ O'er flowing cans of flip renew,
+ And drink their sweethearts and their wives,
+ I'll heave a sigh and think on thee,
+ And, as the ship rolls through the sea,
+ The burden of my song shall be:
+ Blow high, blow low--
+
+ _Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXVIII
+
+ THE PERFECT SAILOR
+
+
+ Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
+ The darling of our crew;
+ No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
+ For death has broached him to.
+ His form was of the manliest beauty,
+ His heart was kind and soft,
+ Faithful, below, he did his duty,
+ But now he's gone aloft.
+
+ Tom never from his word departed,
+ His virtues were so rare,
+ His friends were many and true-hearted,
+ His Poll was kind and fair;
+ And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,
+ Ah, many's the time and oft!
+ But mirth is turned to melancholy,
+ For Tom is gone aloft.
+
+ Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
+ When He, who all commands,
+ Shall give, to call life's crew together,
+ The word to pipe all hands.
+ Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches,
+ In vain Tom's life has doffed,
+ For, though his body's under hatches
+ His soul has gone aloft.
+
+ _Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXIX
+
+ THE DESERTER
+
+
+ If sadly thinking,
+ With spirits sinking,
+ Could more than drinking
+ My cares compose,
+ A cure for sorrow
+ From sighs I'd borrow,
+ And hope to-morrow
+ Would end my woes.
+ But as in wailing
+ There's nought availing,
+ And Death unfailing
+ Will strike the blow,
+ Then for that reason,
+ And for a season,
+ Let us be merry
+ Before we go.
+
+ To joy a stranger,
+ A way-worn ranger,
+ In every danger
+ My course I've run;
+ Now hope all ending,
+ And Death befriending,
+ His last aid lending,
+ My cares are done:
+ No more a rover,
+ Or hapless lover,
+ My griefs are over,
+ My glass runs low;
+ Then for that reason,
+ And for a season,
+ Let us be merry
+ Before we go!
+
+ _Curran._
+
+
+
+
+ XL
+
+ THE ARETHUSA
+
+
+ Come, all ye jolly sailors bold,
+ Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
+ While English glory I unfold,
+ Huzza for the Arethusa!
+ She is a frigate tight and brave,
+ As ever stemmed the dashing wave;
+ Her men are staunch
+ To their fav'rite launch,
+ And when the foe shall meet our fire,
+ Sooner than strike, we'll all expire
+ On board of the Arethusa.
+
+ 'Twas with the spring fleet she went out
+ The English Channel to cruise about,
+ When four French sail, in show so stout
+ Bore down on the Arethusa.
+ The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie,
+ The Arethusa seemed to fly,
+ Not a sheet, or a tack,
+ Or a brace, did she slack;
+ Though the Frenchman laughed and thought it stuff,
+ But they knew not the handful of men, how tough,
+ On board of the Arethusa.
+
+ On deck five hundred men did dance,
+ The stoutest they could find in France;
+ We with two hundred did advance
+ On board of the Arethusa.
+ Our captain hailed the Frenchman, 'Ho!'
+ The Frenchman then cried out 'Hallo!'
+ 'Bear down, d'ye see,
+ To our Admiral's lee!'
+ 'No, no,' says the Frenchman, 'that can't be!'
+ 'Then I must lug you along with me,'
+ Says the saucy Arethusa.
+
+ The fight was off the Frenchman's land,
+ We forced them back upon their strand,
+ For we fought till not a stick could stand
+ Of the gallant Arethusa.
+ And now we've driven the foe ashore
+ Never to fight with Britons more,
+ Let each fill his glass
+ To his fav'rite lass;
+ A health to our captain and officers true,
+ And all that belong to the jovial crew
+ On board of the Arethusa.
+
+ _Prince Hoare._
+
+
+
+
+ XLI
+
+ THE BEAUTY OF TERROR
+
+
+ Tiger, tiger, burning bright
+ In the forests of the night,
+ What immortal hand or eye
+ Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
+
+ In what distant deeps or skies
+ Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
+ On what wings dare he aspire?
+ What the hand dare seize the fire?
+
+ And what shoulder, and what art,
+ Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
+ And when thy heart began to beat,
+ What dread hand? and what dread feet?
+
+ What the hammer? what the chain?
+ In what furnace was thy brain?
+ What the anvil? what dread grasp
+ Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
+
+ When the stars threw down their spears,
+ And watered heaven with their tears,
+ Did He smile His work to see?
+ Did He who made the lamb make thee?
+
+ Tiger, tiger, burning bright
+ In the forests of the night,
+ What immortal hand or eye
+ Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
+
+ _Blake._
+
+
+
+
+ XLII
+
+ DEFIANCE
+
+
+ Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong,
+ The wretch's destinie:
+ M'Pherson's time will not be long
+ On yonder gallows tree.
+
+ Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
+ Sae dauntingly gaed he;
+ He played a spring and danced it round,
+ Below the gallows tree.
+
+ Oh, what is death but parting breath?--
+ On monie a bloody plain
+ I've dared his face, and in this place
+ I scorn him yet again!
+
+ Untie these bands from off my hands,
+ And bring to me my sword!
+ And there's no a man in all Scotland,
+ But I'll brave him at a word.
+
+ I've lived a life of sturt and strife;
+ I die by treacherie:
+ It burns my heart I must depart
+ And not avengËd be.
+
+ Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,
+ And all beneath the sky!
+ May coward shame distain his name,
+ The wretch that dares not die!
+
+ Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
+ Sae dauntingly gaed he;
+ He played a spring and danced it round,
+ Below the gallows tree.
+
+ _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ XLIII
+
+ THE GOAL OF LIFE
+
+
+ Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
+ And never brought to min'?
+ Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
+ And days o' lang syne?
+
+ For auld lang syne, my dear,
+ For auld lang syne,
+ We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
+ For auld lang syne.
+
+ And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
+ And surely I'll be mine;
+ And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
+ For auld lang syne.
+
+ We twa hae run about the braes,
+ And pu'd the gowans fine;
+ But we've wandered mony a weary foot
+ Sin' auld lang syne.
+
+ We twa hae paidled i' the burn
+ From mornin' sun till dine;
+ But seas between us braid hae roared
+ Sin' auld lang syne.
+
+ And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,
+ And gie's a hand o' thine;
+ And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught
+ For auld lang syne.
+
+ For auld lang syne, my dear,
+ For auld lang syne,
+ We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
+ For auld lang syne.
+
+ _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ XLIV
+
+ BEFORE PARTING
+
+
+ Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,
+ An' fill it in a silver tassie;
+ That I may drink before I go
+ A service to my bonnie lassie.
+ The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,
+ Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry,
+ The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
+ And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.
+
+ The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
+ The glittering spears are rankËd ready,
+ The shouts o' war are heard afar,
+ The battle closes thick and bloody;
+ But it's no the roar o' sea or shore
+ Wad mak me langer wish to tarry,
+ Nor shout o' war that's heard afar,
+ It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.
+
+ _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ XLV
+
+ DEVOTION
+
+
+ O Mary, at thy window be,
+ It is the wished, the trysted hour!
+ Those smiles and glances let me see,
+ That mak the miser's treasure poor.
+ How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
+ A weary slave frae sun to sun,
+ Could I the rich reward secure,
+ The lovely Mary Morison!
+
+ Yestreen, when to the trembling string
+ The dance gaed through the lighted ha',
+ To thee my fancy took its wing,
+ I sat, but neither heard or saw;
+ Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
+ And yon the toast of a' the toun,
+ I sighed, and said amang them a',
+ 'Ye are na Mary Morison.'
+
+ O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
+ Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
+ Or canst thou break that heart of his
+ Whase only faut is loving thee?
+ If love for love thou wilt na gie,
+ At least be pity to me shown!
+ A thought ungentle canna be
+ The thought o' Mary Morison.
+
+ _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ XLVI
+
+ TRUE UNTIL DEATH
+
+
+ It was a' for our rightfu' King,
+ We left fair Scotland's strand;
+ It was a' for our rightfu' King
+ We e'er saw Irish land,
+ My dear,
+ We e'er saw Irish land.
+
+ Now a' is done that men can do,
+ And a' is done in vain;
+ My love and native land farewell,
+ For I maun cross the main,
+ My dear,
+ For I maun cross the main.
+
+ He turned him right and round about
+ Upon the Irish shore;
+ And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
+ With adieu for evermore,
+ My dear,
+ Adieu for evermore.
+
+ The sodger from the wars returns,
+ The sailor frae the main;
+ But I hae parted frae my love,
+ Never to meet again,
+ My dear,
+ Never to meet again.
+
+ When day is gane, and night is come,
+ And a' folk bound to sleep;
+ I think on him that's far awa,
+ The lee-lang night, and weep,
+ My dear,
+ The lee-lang night, and weep.
+
+ _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ XLVII
+
+ VENICE
+
+
+ Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee
+ And was the safeguard of the West: the worth
+ Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
+ Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.
+ She was a maiden City, bright and free;
+ No guile seduced, no force could violate;
+ And, when she took unto herself a Mate,
+ She must espouse the everlasting Sea.
+ And what if she had seen those glories fade,
+ Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
+ Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
+ When her long life hath reached its final day:
+ Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade
+ Of that which once was great is passed away.
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ XLVIII
+
+ DESTINY
+
+
+ It is not to be thought of that the Flood
+ Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
+ Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
+ Hath flowed, 'with pomp of waters, unwithstood,'
+ Roused though it be full often to a mood
+ Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
+ That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
+ Should perish; and to evil and to good
+ Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
+ Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
+ We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
+ That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
+ Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung
+ Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ XLIX
+
+ THE MOTHERLAND
+
+
+ When I have borne in memory what has tamed
+ Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart
+ When men change swords for ledgers, and desert
+ The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed
+ I had, my Country!--am I to be blamed?
+ But when I think of thee, and what thou art,
+ Verily, in the bottom of my heart,
+ Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.
+ But dearly must we prize thee; we who find
+ In thee a bulwark for the cause of men;
+ And I by my affection was beguiled.
+ What wonder if a Poet now and then,
+ Among the many movements of his mind,
+ Felt for thee as a lover or a child!
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ L
+
+ IDEAL
+
+
+ Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:
+ England hath need of thee; she is a fen
+ Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
+ Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
+ Have forfeited their ancient English dower
+ Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
+ Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
+ And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
+ Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:
+ Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:
+ Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
+ So didst thou travel on life's common way,
+ In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
+ The lowliest duties on itself did lay.
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ LI
+
+ TO DUTY
+
+
+ Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
+ O Duty! if that name thou love
+ Who art a light to guide, a rod
+ To check the erring, and reprove;
+ Thou, who art victory and law
+ When empty terrors overawe;
+ From vain temptations dost set free;
+ And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!
+
+ There are who ask not if thine eye
+ Be on them; who, in love and truth,
+ Where no misgiving is, rely
+ Upon the genial sense of youth:
+ Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
+ Who do thy work, and know it not:
+ May joy be theirs while life shall last!
+ And Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!
+
+ Serene will be our days and bright,
+ And happy will our nature be,
+ When love is an unerring light,
+ And joy its own security.
+ And they a blissful course may hold
+ Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
+ Live in the spirit of this creed;
+ Yet find that other strength, according to their need.
+
+ I, loving freedom, and untried;
+ No sport of every random gust,
+ Yet being to myself a guide,
+ Too blindly have reposed my trust:
+ And oft, when in my heart was heard
+ Thy timely mandate, I deferred
+ The task, in smoother walks to stray;
+ But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
+
+ Through no disturbance of my soul
+ Or strong compunction in me wrought,
+ I supplicate for thy control;
+ But in the quietness of thought:
+ Me this unchartered freedom tires;
+ I feel the weight of chance-desires:
+ My hopes no more must change their name,
+ I long for a repose that ever is the same.
+
+ Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
+ The Godhead's most benignant grace;
+ Nor know we anything so fair
+ As is the smile upon thy face:
+ Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
+ And fragrance in thy footing treads;
+ Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
+ And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong.
+
+ To humbler functions, awful Power!
+ I call thee: I myself commend
+ Unto thy guidance from this hour;
+ O let my weakness have an end!
+ Give unto me, made lowly wise,
+ The spirit of self-sacrifice;
+ The confidence of reason give;
+ And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ LII
+
+ TWO VICTORIES
+
+
+ I said, when evil men are strong,
+ No life is good, no pleasure long,
+ A weak and cowardly untruth!
+ Our Clifford was a happy Youth,
+ And thankful through a weary time
+ That brought him up to manhood's prime.
+ Again, he wanders forth at will,
+ And tends a flock from hill to hill:
+ His garb is humble; ne'er was seen
+ Such garb with such a noble mien;
+ Among the shepherd grooms no mate
+ Hath he, a Child of strength and state!
+ Yet lacks not friends for simple glee,
+ Nor yet for higher sympathy.
+ To his side the fallow-deer
+ Came, and rested without fear;
+ The eagle, lord of land and sea,
+ Stooped down to pay him fealty;
+ And both the undying fish that swim
+ Through Bowscale-Tarn did wait on him;
+ The pair were servants of his eye
+ In their immortality;
+ And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright,
+ Moved to and fro, for his delight.
+ He knew the rocks which Angels haunt
+ Upon the mountains visitant;
+ He hath kenned them taking wing:
+ And into caves where Faeries sing
+ He hath entered; and been told
+ By Voices how men lived of old.
+ Among the heavens his eye can see
+ The face of thing that is to be;
+ And, if that men report him right,
+ His tongue could whisper words of might.
+ Now another day is come,
+ Fitter hope, and nobler doom;
+ He hath thrown aside his crook,
+ And hath buried deep his book;
+ Armour rusting in his halls
+ On the blood of Clifford calls:
+ 'Quell the Scot!' exclaims the Lance;
+ 'Bear me to the heart of France,'
+ Is the longing of the Shield;
+ Tell thy name, thou trembling field;
+ Field of death, where'er thou be,
+ Groan thou with our victory!
+ Happy day, and mighty hour,
+ When our Shepherd in his power,
+ Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword,
+ To his ancestors restored
+ Like a reappearing Star,
+ Like a glory from afar,
+ First shall head the flock of war!
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ LIII
+
+ IN MEMORIAM
+
+ NELSON: PITT: FOX
+
+
+ To mute and to material things
+ New life revolving summer brings;
+ The genial call dead Nature hears,
+ And in her glory reappears.
+ But O my Country's wintry state
+ What second spring shall renovate?
+ What powerful call shall bid arise
+ The buried warlike and the wise;
+ The mind that thought for Britain's weal,
+ The hand that grasped the victor steel?
+ The vernal sun new life bestows
+ Even on the meanest flower that blows;
+ But vainly, vainly may he shine,
+ Where glory weeps o'er NELSON's shrine;
+ And vainly pierce the solemn gloom,
+ That shrouds, O PITT, thy hallowed tomb!
+
+ Deep graved in every British heart,
+ O never let those names depart!
+ Say to your sons,--Lo, here his grave,
+ Who victor died on Gadite wave;
+ To him, as to the burning levin,
+ Short, bright, resistless course was given.
+ Where'er his country's foes were found
+ Was heard the fated thunder's sound,
+ Till burst the bolt on yonder shore,
+ Rolled, blazed, destroyed,--and was no more.
+
+ Nor mourn ye less his perished worth,
+ Who bade the conqueror go forth,
+ And launched that thunderbolt of war
+ On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar;
+ Who, born to guide such high emprise,
+ For Britain's weal was early wise;
+ Alas! to whom the Almighty gave,
+ For Britain's sins, an early grave!
+ His worth, who in his mightiest hour
+ A bauble held the pride of power,
+ Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf,
+ And served his Albion for herself;
+ Who, when the frantic crowd amain
+ Strained at subjection's bursting rein,
+ O'er their wild mood full conquest gained,
+ The pride he would not crush restrained,
+ Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause,
+ And brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's laws.
+
+ Hadst thou but lived, though stripped of power,
+ A watchman on the lonely tower,
+ Thy thrilling trump had roused the land,
+ When fraud or danger were at hand;
+ By thee, as by the beacon-light,
+ Our pilots had kept course aright;
+ As some proud column, though alone,
+ Thy strength had propped the tottering throne
+ Now is the stately column broke,
+ The beacon-light is quenched in smoke,
+ The trumpet's silver sound is still,
+ The warder silent on the hill!
+
+ O think, how to his latest day,
+ When death, just hovering, claimed his prey,
+ With Palinure's unaltered mood
+ Firm at his dangerous post he stood;
+ Each call for needful rest repelled,
+ With dying hand the rudder held,
+ Till in his fall with fateful sway,
+ The steerage of the realm gave way!
+ Then, while on Britain's thousand plains
+ One unpolluted church remains,
+ Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around
+ The bloody tocsin's maddening sound,
+ But still, upon the hallowed day,
+ Convoke the swains to praise and pray;
+ While faith and civil peace are dear,
+ Grace this cold marble with a tear,--
+ He, who preserved them, PITT, lies here!
+
+ Nor yet suppress the generous sigh,
+ Because his rival slumbers nigh;
+ Nor be thy _requiescat_ dumb,
+ Lest it be said o'er FOX's tomb.
+ For talents mourn, untimely lost,
+ When best employed, and wanted most;
+ Mourn genius high, and lore profound,
+ And wit that loved to play, not wound;
+ And all the reasoning powers divine,
+ To penetrate, resolve, combine;
+ And feelings keen, and fancy's glow,--
+ They sleep with him who sleeps below:
+ And, if thou mourn'st they could not save
+ From error him who owns this grave,
+ Be every harsher thought suppressed,
+ And sacred be the last long rest.
+ _Here_, where the end of earthly things
+ Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings;
+ Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue,
+ Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung;
+ _Here_, where the fretted aisles prolong
+ The distant notes of holy song,
+ As if some angel spoke agen,
+ 'All peace on earth, good-will to men';
+ If ever from an English heart
+ O, _here_ let prejudice depart,
+ And, partial feeling cast aside,
+ Record, that FOX a Briton died!
+ When Europe crouched to France's yoke,
+ And Austria bent, and Prussia broke,
+ And the firm Russian's purpose brave
+ Was bartered by a timorous slave,
+ Even then dishonour's peace he spurned,
+ The sullied olive-branch returned,
+ Stood for his country's glory fast,
+ And nailed her colours to the mast!
+ Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave
+ A portion in this honoured grave,
+ And ne'er held marble in its trust
+ Of two such wondrous men the dust.
+
+ With more than mortal powers endowed,
+ How high they soared above the crowd!
+ Theirs was no common party race,
+ Jostling by dark intrigue for place;
+ Like fabled Gods, their mighty war
+ Shook realms and nations in its jar;
+ Beneath each banner proud to stand,
+ Looked up the noblest of the land,
+ Till through the British world were known
+ The names of PITT and FOX alone.
+ Spells of such force no wizard grave
+ E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave,
+ Though his could drain the ocean dry,
+ And force the planets from the sky.
+ These spells are spent, and, spent with these
+ The wine of life is on the lees.
+ Genius, and taste, and talent gone,
+ For ever tombed beneath the stone,
+ Where--taming thought to human pride!--
+ The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.
+ Drop upon FOX's grave the tear,
+ 'Twill trickle to his rival's bier;
+ O'er PITT's the mournful requiem sound,
+ And FOX's shall the notes rebound.
+ The solemn echo seems to cry,--
+ 'Here let their discord with them die.
+ Speak not for those a separate doom
+ Whom fate made Brothers in the tomb;
+ But search the land of living men,
+ Where wilt thou find their like agen?'
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LIV
+
+ LOCHINVAR
+
+
+ O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
+ Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
+ And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,
+ He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
+ So faithful in love and so dauntless in war,
+ There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
+
+ He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
+ He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
+ But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
+ The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
+ For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
+ Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
+
+ So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
+ Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:
+ Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
+ (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
+ 'O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
+ Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?'
+
+ 'I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;
+ Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
+ And now am I come with this lost love of mine
+ To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
+ There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far
+ That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.'
+
+ The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up,
+ He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
+ She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
+ With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
+ He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,
+ 'Now tread we a measure!' said young Lochinvar.
+
+ So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
+ That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
+ While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
+ And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
+ And the bride-maidens whispered, ''Twere better by far,
+ To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.'
+
+ One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
+ When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
+ So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
+ So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
+ 'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
+ They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar.
+
+ There was mounting 'mong GrÊmes of the Netherby clan;
+ Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
+ There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
+ But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
+ So daring in love and so dauntless in war,
+ Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LV
+
+ FLODDEN
+
+
+ THE MARCH
+
+ Next morn the Baron climbed the tower,
+ To view afar the Scottish power
+ Encamped on Flodden edge:
+ The white pavilions made a show,
+ Like remnants of the winter snow,
+ Along the dusky ridge.
+ Long Marmion looked: at length his eye
+ Unusual movement might descry
+ Amid the shifting lines:
+ The Scottish host drawn out appears,
+ For flashing on the hedge of spears
+ The eastern sunbeam shines.
+ Their front now deepening, now extending;
+ Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending,
+ Now drawing back, and now descending,
+ The skilful Marmion well could know,
+ They watched the motions of some foe
+ Who traversed on the plain below.
+
+ Even so it was. From Flodden ridge
+ The Scots beheld the English host
+ Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post,
+ And heedful watched them as they crossed
+ The Till by Twisel bridge.
+ High sight it is and haughty, while
+ They dive into the deep defile;
+ Beneath the caverned cliff they fall,
+ Beneath the castle's airy wall.
+ By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree,
+ Troop after troop are disappearing;
+ Troop after troop their banners rearing
+ Upon the eastern bank you see.
+ Still pouring down the rocky den,
+ Where flows the sullen Till,
+ And rising from the dim-wood glen,
+ Standards on standards, men on men,
+ In slow succession still,
+ And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch,
+ And pressing on in ceaseless march,
+ To gain the opposing hill.
+ That morn to many a trumpet clang,
+ Twisel! thy rocks deep echo rang;
+ And many a chief of birth and rank,
+ Saint Helen! at thy fountain drank.
+ Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see
+ In spring-tide bloom so lavishly,
+ Had then from many an axe its doom,
+ To give the marching columns room.
+
+ And why stands Scotland idly now,
+ Dark Flodden! on thy airy brow,
+ Since England gains the pass the while,
+ And struggles through the deep defile?
+ What checks the fiery soul of James?
+ Why sits that champion of the dames
+ Inactive on his steed,
+ And sees between him and his land,
+ Between him and Tweed's southern strand,
+ His host Lord Surrey lead?
+ What 'vails the vain knight-errant's brand?
+ O, Douglas, for thy leading wand!
+ Fierce Randolph, for thy speed!
+ O for one hour of Wallace wight,
+ Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight,
+ And cry 'Saint Andrew and our right!'
+ Another sight had seen that morn,
+ From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn,
+ And Flodden had been Bannockburn!
+ The precious hour has passed in vain,
+ And England's host has gained the plain;
+ Wheeling their march, and circling still,
+ Around the base of Flodden hill.
+
+
+ THE ATTACK
+
+ 'But see! look up--on Flodden bent
+ The Scottish foe has fired his tent.'
+ And sudden, as he spoke,
+ From the sharp ridges of the hill,
+ All downward to the banks of Till
+ Was wreathed in sable smoke.
+ Volumed and fast, and rolling far,
+ The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,
+ As down the hill they broke;
+ Nor martial shout nor minstrel tone
+ Announced their march; their tread alone,
+ At times one warning trumpet blown,
+ At times a stifled hum,
+ Told England, from his mountain-throne
+ King James did rushing come.
+ Scarce could they hear, or see their foes,
+ Until at weapon-point they close.
+ They close in clouds of smoke and dust,
+ With sword-sway and with lance's thrust;
+ And such a yell was there
+ Of sudden and portentous birth,
+ As if men fought upon the earth
+ And fiends in upper air;
+ O life and death were in the shout,
+ Recoil and rally, charge and rout,
+ And triumph and despair.
+ Long looked the anxious squires; their eye
+ Could in the darkness nought descry.
+
+ At length the freshening western blast
+ Aside the shroud of battle cast;
+ And first the ridge of mingled spears
+ Above the brightening cloud appears;
+ And in the smoke the pennons flew,
+ As in the storm the white sea-mew.
+ Then marked they, dashing broad and far,
+ The broken billows of the war,
+ And plumËd crests of chieftains brave
+ Floating like foam upon the wave;
+ But nought distinct they see:
+ Wide raged the battle on the plain;
+ Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain;
+ Fell England's arrow-flight like rain;
+ Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,
+ Wild and disorderly.
+ Amid the scene of tumult, high
+ They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly:
+ And stainless Tunstall's banner white
+ And Edmund Howard's lion bright
+ Still bear them bravely in the fight:
+ Although against them come
+ Of gallant Gordons many a one,
+ And many a stubborn Badenoch-man,
+ And many a rugged Border clan,
+ With Huntly and with Home.
+
+ Far on the left, unseen the while,
+ Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;
+ Though there the western mountaineer
+ Rushed with bare bosom on the spear,
+ And flung the feeble targe aside,
+ And with both hands the broadsword plied.
+ 'Twas vain: but Fortune, on the right,
+ With fickle smile cheered Scotland's fight.
+ Then fell that spotless banner white,
+ The Howard's lion fell;
+ Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew
+ With wavering flight, while fiercer grew
+ Around the battle-yell.
+ The Border slogan rent the sky!
+ A Home! a Gordon! was the cry:
+ Loud were the clanging blows;
+ Advanced, forced back, now low, now high,
+ The pennon sank and rose;
+ As bends the bark's mast in the gale,
+ When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail,
+ It wavered 'mid the foes.
+
+
+ THE LAST STAND
+
+ By this, though deep the evening fell,
+ Still rose the battle's deadly swell,
+ For still the Scots, around their King,
+ Unbroken, fought in desperate ring.
+ Where's now their victor vaward wing,
+ Where Huntly, and where Home?
+ O for a blast of that dread horn,
+ On Fontarabian echoes borne,
+ That to King Charles did come,
+ When Roland brave, and Olivier,
+ And every paladin and peer,
+ On Roncesvalles died!
+ Such blast might warn them, not in vain,
+ To quit the plunder of the slain,
+ And turn the doubtful day again,
+ While yet on Flodden side
+ Afar the Royal Standard flies,
+ And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies
+ Our Caledonian pride!
+
+ But as they left the dark'ning heath,
+ More desperate grew the strife of death.
+ The English shafts in volleys hailed,
+ In headlong charge their horse assailed;
+ Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep
+ To break the Scottish circle deep
+ That fought around their King.
+ But yet, though thick the shafts as snow,
+ Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,
+ Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow,
+ Unbroken was the ring;
+ The stubborn spear-men still made good
+ Their dark impenetrable wood,
+ Each stepping where his comrade stood,
+ The instant that he fell.
+ No thought was there of dastard flight;
+ Linked in the serried phalanx tight,
+ Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,
+ As fearlessly and well;
+ Till utter darkness closed her wing
+ O'er their thin host and wounded King.
+ Then skilful Surrey's sage commands
+ Led back from strife his shattered bands;
+ And from the charge they drew,
+ As mountain waves from wasted lands
+ Sweep back to ocean blue.
+ Then did their loss his foemen know;
+ Their King, their Lords, their mightiest low,
+ They melted from the field, as snow,
+ When streams are swoln and south winds blow,
+ Dissolves in silent dew.
+ Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash,
+ While many a broken band
+ Disordered through her currents dash,
+ To gain the Scottish land;
+ To town and tower, to town and dale,
+ To tell red Flodden's dismal tale,
+ And raise the universal wail.
+ Tradition, legend, tune, and song
+ Shall many an age that wail prolong:
+ Still from the sire the son shall hear
+ Of the stern strife and carnage drear
+ Of Flodden's fatal field,
+ Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear,
+ And broken was her shield!
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LVI
+
+ THE CHASE
+
+
+ The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
+ Where danced the moon on Monan's rill,
+ And deep his midnight lair had made
+ In lone Glenartney's hazel shade;
+ But, when the sun his beacon red
+ Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head,
+ The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay
+ Resounded up the rocky way,
+ And faint from farther distance borne
+ Were heard the clanging hoof and horn.
+
+ As Chief, who hears his warder call,
+ 'To arms! the foemen storm the wall,'
+ The antlered monarch of the waste
+ Sprang from his heathery couch in haste.
+ But, ere his fleet career he took,
+ The dew-drops from his flanks he shook;
+ Like crested leader proud and high,
+ Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky;
+ A moment gazed adown the dale,
+ A moment snuffed the tainted gale,
+ A moment listened to the cry
+ That thickened as the chase drew nigh;
+ Then, as the headmost foes appeared,
+ With one brave bound the copse he cleared,
+ And, stretching forward free and far,
+ Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.
+
+ Yelled on the view the opening pack;
+ Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back:
+ To many a mingled sound at once
+ The awakened mountain gave response.
+ A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong,
+ Clattered a hundred steeds along,
+ Their peal the merry horns rang out,
+ A hundred voices joined the shout;
+ With hark and whoop and wild halloo
+ No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew.
+ Far from the tumult fled the roe,
+ Close in her covert cowered the doe,
+ The falcon from her cairn on high
+ Cast on the rout a wondering eye,
+ Till far beyond her piercing ken
+ The hurricane had swept the glen.
+ Faint and more faint, its failing din
+ Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn,
+ And silence settled wide and still
+ On the lone wood and mighty hill.
+
+ Less loud the sounds of silvan war
+ Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var,
+ And roused the cavern where, 'tis told,
+ A giant made his den of old;
+ For ere that steep ascent was won,
+ High in his pathway hung the sun,
+ And many a gallant, stayed perforce,
+ Was fain to breathe his faltering horse,
+ And of the trackers of the deer
+ Scarce half the lessening pack was near;
+ So shrewdly on the mountain-side
+ Had the bold burst their mettle tried.
+
+ The noble stag was pausing now
+ Upon the mountain's southern brow,
+ Where broad extended, far beneath,
+ The varied realms of fair Menteith.
+ With anxious eye he wandered o'er
+ Mountain and meadow, moss and moor,
+ And pondered refuge from his toil
+ By far Lochard or Aberfoyle.
+ But nearer was the copsewood grey
+ That waved and wept on Loch-Achray,
+ And mingled with the pine-trees blue
+ On the bold cliffs of Benvenue.
+ Fresh vigour with the hope returned,
+ With flying foot the heath he spurned,
+ Held westward with unwearied race,
+ And left behind the panting chase.
+
+ 'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er,
+ As swept the hunt through Cambus-more;
+ What reins were tightened in despair,
+ When rose Benledi's ridge in air;
+ Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath,
+ Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith,
+ For twice that day from shore to shore
+ The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er.
+ Few were the stragglers, following far,
+ That reached the lake of Vennachar;
+ And when the Brigg of Turk was won,
+ The headmost horseman rode alone.
+
+ Alone, but with unbated zeal,
+ That horseman plied the scourge and steel;
+ For jaded now and spent with toil,
+ Embossed with foam and dark with soil,
+ While every gasp with sobs he drew,
+ The labouring stag strained full in view.
+ Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed,
+ Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed,
+ Fast on his flying traces came
+ And all but won that desperate game;
+ For scarce a spear's length from his haunch
+ Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds staunch;
+ Nor nearer might the dogs attain,
+ Nor farther might the quarry strain.
+ Thus up the margin of the lake,
+ Between the precipice and brake,
+ O'er stock and rock their race they take.
+
+ The Hunter marked that mountain high,
+ The lone lake's western boundary,
+ And deemed the stag must turn to bay
+ Where that huge rampart barred the way;
+ Already glorying in the prize,
+ Measured his antlers with his eyes;
+ For the death-wound and death-halloo
+ Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew;
+ But thundering as he came prepared,
+ With ready arm and weapon bared,
+ The wily quarry shunned the shock,
+ And turned him from the opposing rock;
+ Then, dashing down a darksome glen,
+ Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,
+ In the deep Trosach's wildest nook
+ His solitary refuge took.
+ There, while close couched, the thicket shed
+ Cold dews and wild-flowers on his head,
+ He heard the baffled dogs in vain
+ Rave through the hollow pass amain,
+ Chiding the rocks that yelled again.
+
+ Close on the hounds the hunter came,
+ To cheer them on the vanished game;
+ But, stumbling in the rugged dell,
+ The gallant horse exhausted fell.
+ The impatient rider strove in vain
+ To rouse him with the spur and rein,
+ For the good steed, his labours o'er,
+ Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more;
+ Then touched with pity and remorse
+ He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse.
+ 'I little thought, when first thy rein
+ I slacked upon the banks of Seine,
+ That Highland eagle e'er should feed
+ On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed!
+ Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day,
+ That costs thy life, my gallant grey!'
+
+ Then through the dell his horn resounds,
+ From vain pursuit to call the hounds.
+ Back limped with slow and crippled pace
+ The sulky leaders of the chase;
+ Close to their master's side they pressed,
+ With drooping tail and humbled crest;
+ But still the dingle's hollow throat
+ Prolonged the swelling bugle-note.
+ The owlets started from their dream,
+ The eagles answered with their scream,
+ Round and around the sounds were cast,
+ Till echoes seemed an answering blast;
+ And on the hunter hied his way,
+ To join some comrades of the day.
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LVII
+
+ THE OUTLAW
+
+
+ O, Brignall banks are wild and fair,
+ And Greta woods are green,
+ And you may gather garlands there
+ Would grace a summer queen.
+ And as I rode by Dalton-hall,
+ Beneath the turrets high,
+ A Maiden on the castle wall
+ Was singing merrily:
+
+ 'O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
+ And Greta woods are green;
+ I'd rather rove with Edmund there
+ Than reign our English queen.'
+
+ 'If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me,
+ To leave both tower and town,
+ Thou first must guess what life lead we
+ That dwell by dale and down.
+ And if thou canst that riddle read,
+ As read full well you may,
+ Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed,
+ As blythe as Queen of May.'
+
+ Yet sang she, 'Brignall banks are fair,
+ And Greta woods are green;
+ I'd rather rove with Edmund there
+ Than reign our English queen.
+
+ I read you, by your bugle-horn
+ And by your palfrey good,
+ I read you for a Ranger sworn
+ To keep the king's greenwood.'
+ 'A Ranger, lady, winds his horn,
+ And 'tis at peep of light;
+ His blast is heard at merry morn,
+ And mine at dead of night.'
+
+ Yet sang she 'Brignall banks are fair,
+ And Greta woods are gay;
+ I would I were with Edmund there,
+ To reign his Queen of May!
+
+ With burnished brand and musketoon
+ So gallantly you come,
+ I read you for a bold Dragoon
+ That lists the tuck of drum.'
+ 'I list no more the tuck of drum,
+ No more the trumpet hear;
+ But when the beetle sounds his hum,
+ My comrades take the spear.
+
+ And O! though Brignall banks be fair,
+ And Greta woods be gay,
+ Yet mickle must the maiden dare
+ Would reign my Queen of May!
+
+ Maiden! a nameless life I lead,
+ A nameless death I'll die!
+ The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead,
+ Were better mate than I!
+ And when I'm with my comrades met,
+ Beneath the Greenwood bough,
+ What once we were we all forget,
+ Nor think what we are now.
+
+ Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
+ And Greta woods are green,
+ And you may gather garlands there
+ Would grace a summer queen.'
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LVIII
+
+ PIBROCH
+
+
+ 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!
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LIX
+
+ THE OMNIPOTENT
+
+
+ 'Why sitt'st thou by that ruined hall,
+ Thou agËd carle so stern and grey?
+ Dost thou its former pride recall,
+ Or ponder how it passed away?'
+
+ 'Know'st thou not me?' the Deep Voice cried;
+ 'So long enjoyed, so often misused,
+ Alternate, in thy fickle pride,
+ Desired, neglected, and accused!
+
+ Before my breath, like blazing flax,
+ Man and his marvels pass away!
+ And changing empires wane and wax,
+ Are founded, flourish, and decay.
+
+ Redeem mine hours--the space is brief--
+ While in my glass the sand-grains shiver,
+ And measureless thy joy or grief,
+ When TIME and thou shalt part for ever!'
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LX
+
+ THE RED HARLAW
+
+
+ The herring loves the merry moonlight,
+ The mackerel loves the wind,
+ But the oyster loves the dredging sang,
+ For they come of a gentle kind.
+
+ Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle,
+ And listen, great and sma',
+ And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl
+ That fought on the red Harlaw.
+
+ The cronach's cried on Bennachie,
+ And doun the Don and a',
+ And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be
+ For the sair field of Harlaw.
+
+ They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,
+ They hae bridled a hundred black,
+ With a chafron of steel on each horse's head
+ And a good knight upon his back.
+
+ They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
+ A mile, but barely ten,
+ When Donald came branking down the brae
+ Wi' twenty thousand men.
+
+ Their tartans they were waving wide,
+ Their glaives were glancing clear,
+ The pibrochs rang frae side to side,
+ Would deafen ye to hear.
+
+ The great Earl in his stirrups stood,
+ That Highland host to see:
+ 'Now here a knight that's stout and good
+ May prove a jeopardie:
+
+ What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay,
+ That rides beside my reyne,
+ Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,
+ And I were Roland Cheyne?
+
+ To turn the rein were sin and shame,
+ To fight were wondrous peril:
+ What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,
+ Were ye Glenallan's Earl?'
+
+ 'Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,
+ And ye were Roland Cheyne,
+ The spur should be in my horse's side,
+ And the bridle upon his mane.
+
+ If they hae twenty thousand blades,
+ And we twice ten times ten,
+ Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,
+ And we are mail-clad men.
+
+ My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude,
+ As through the moorland fern,
+ Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude
+ Grow cauld for Highland kerne.'
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LXI
+
+ FAREWELL
+
+
+ Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear
+ Has left its last soft tone with you;
+ Its next must join the seaward cheer,
+ And shout among the shouting crew.
+
+ The accents which I scarce could form
+ Beneath your frown's controlling check,
+ Must give the word, above the storm,
+ To cut the mast and clear the wreck.
+
+ The timid eye I dared not raise,
+ The hand that shook when pressed to thine,
+ Must point the guns upon the chase,
+ Must bid the deadly cutlass shine.
+
+ To all I love, or hope, or fear,
+ Honour or own, a long adieu!
+ To all that life has soft and dear,
+ Farewell! save memory of you!
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LXII
+
+ BONNY DUNDEE
+
+
+ To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke,
+ 'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;
+ So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,
+ Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
+ Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;
+ Come open the West Port, and let me gang free,
+ And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!'
+
+ Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,
+ The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;
+ But the Provost, douce man, said, 'Just e'en let him be,
+ The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee.'
+
+ As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,
+ Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow;
+ But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee,
+ Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee!
+
+ With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was crammed,
+ As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged;
+ There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e,
+ As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,
+ And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers;
+ But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free,
+ At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock,
+ And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke;
+ 'Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three
+ For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.'
+
+ The Gordon demands of him which way he goes:
+ 'Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!
+ Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,
+ Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth,
+ If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North;
+ There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three,
+ Will cry _hoigh!_ for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ There's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide;
+ There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside;
+ The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free
+ At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks,
+ Ere I owe an usurper, I'll couch with the fox;
+ And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee,
+ You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!'
+
+ He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown,
+ The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on,
+ Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee
+ Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
+ Come saddle the horses and call up the men,
+ Come open your gates, and let me gae free,
+ For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!
+
+ _Sir Walter Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LXIII
+
+ ROMANCE
+
+
+ In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
+ A stately pleasure-dome decree:
+ Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
+ Through caverns measureless to man
+ Down to a sunless sea.
+ So twice five miles of fertile ground
+ With walls and towers were girdled round:
+ And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills
+ Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
+ And here were forests ancient as the hills,
+ Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
+
+ But O! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
+ Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
+ A savage place! as holy and enchanted
+ As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
+ By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
+ And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
+ As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
+ A mighty fountain momently was forced:
+ Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
+ Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
+ Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
+ And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
+ It flung up momently the sacred river.
+ Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
+ Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
+ Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
+ And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
+ And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
+ Ancestral voices prophesying war!
+
+ The shadow of the dome of pleasure
+ Floated midway on the waves;
+ Where was heard the mingled measure
+ From the fountain and the caves.
+ It was a miracle of rare device,
+ A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
+ A damsel with a dulcimer
+ In a vision once I saw:
+ It was an Abyssinian maid,
+ And on her dulcimer she played,
+ Singing of Mount Abora.
+ Could I revive within me
+ Her symphony and song,
+ To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
+ That with music loud and long,
+ I would build that dome in air,
+ That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
+ And all who heard should see them there,
+ And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
+ His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
+ Weave a circle round him thrice,
+ And close your eyes with holy dread,
+ For he on honey-dew hath fed,
+ And drunk the milk of Paradise.
+
+ _Coleridge._
+
+
+
+
+ LXIV
+
+ SACRIFICE
+
+
+ Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom
+ At Aulis, and when all beside the King
+ Had gone away, took his right hand, and said,
+ 'O father! I am young and very happy.
+ I do not think the pious Calchas heard
+ Distinctly what the Goddess spake. Old-age
+ Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew
+ My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood
+ While I was resting on her knee both arms
+ And hitting it to make her mind my words,
+ And looking in her face, and she in mine,
+ Might he not also hear one word amiss,
+ Spoken from so far off, even from Olympus?'
+ The father placed his cheek upon her head,
+ And tears dropt down it, but the king of men
+ Replied not. Then the maiden spake once more.
+ 'O father! say'st thou nothing? Hear'st thou not
+ Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour,
+ Listened to fondly, and awakened me
+ To hear my voice amid the voice of birds,
+ When it was inarticulate as theirs,
+ And the down deadened it within the nest?'
+ He moved her gently from him, silent still,
+ And this, and this alone, brought tears from her,
+ Although she saw fate nearer: then with sighs,
+ 'I thought to have laid down my hair before
+ Benignant Artemis, and not have dimmed
+ Her polisht altar with my virgin blood;
+ I thought to have selected the white flowers
+ To please the Nymphs, and to have asked of each
+ By name, and with no sorrowful regret,
+ Whether, since both my parents willed the change,
+ I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipt brow;
+ And (after those who mind us girls the most)
+ Adore our own Athena, that she would
+ Regard me mildly with her azure eyes.
+ But, father! to see you no more, and see
+ Your love, O father! go ere I am gone.' ...
+ Gently he moved her off, and drew her back,
+ Bending his lofty head far over hers,
+ And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst.
+ He turned away; not far, but silent still.
+ She now first shuddered; for in him, so nigh,
+ So long a silence seemed the approach of death,
+ And like it. Once again she raised her voice.
+ 'O father! if the ships are now detained,
+ And all your vows move not the Gods above,
+ When the knife strikes me there will be one prayer
+ The less to them: and purer can there be
+ Any, or more fervent than the daughter's prayer
+ For her dear father's safety and success?'
+ A groan that shook him shook not his resolve.
+ An aged man now entered, and without
+ One word, stept slowly on, and took the wrist
+ Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw
+ The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes.
+ Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried,
+ 'O father! grieve no more: the ships can sail.'
+
+ _Landor._
+
+
+
+
+ LXV
+
+ 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 half-way 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 live-long 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 ploughing 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 favour 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 BonapartÈ.
+
+ _Campbell._
+
+
+
+
+ LXVI
+
+ 'YE MARINERS'
+
+
+ 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.
+
+ _Campbell._
+
+
+
+
+ LXVII
+
+ 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!
+
+ _Campbell._
+
+
+
+
+ LXVIII
+
+ BATTLE SONG
+
+
+ Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark;
+ What then? 'Tis day!
+ We sleep no more; the cock crows--hark!
+ To arms! away!
+ They come! they come! the knell is rung
+ Of us or them;
+ Wide o'er their march the pomp is flung
+ Of gold and gem.
+ What collared hound of lawless sway,
+ To famine dear,
+ What pensioned slave of Attila,
+ Leads in the rear?
+ Come they from Scythian wilds afar
+ Our blood to spill?
+ Wear they the livery of the Czar?
+ They do his will.
+ Nor tasselled silk, nor epaulette,
+ Nor plume, nor torse--
+ No splendour gilds, all sternly met,
+ Our foot and horse.
+ But, dark and still, we inly glow,
+ Condensed in ire!
+ Strike, tawdry slaves, and ye shall know
+ Our gloom is fire.
+ In vain your pomp, ye evil powers,
+ Insults the land;
+ Wrongs, vengeance, and _the cause_ are ours,
+ And God's right hand!
+ Madmen! they trample into snakes
+ The wormy clod!
+ Like fire, beneath their feet awakes
+ The sword of God!
+ Behind, before, above, below,
+ They rouse the brave;
+ Where'er they go, they make a foe,
+ Or find a grave.
+
+ _Elliott._
+
+
+
+
+ LXIX
+
+ LOYALTY
+
+
+ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
+ O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
+ When the flower is i' the bud and the leaf is on the tree,
+ The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie;
+ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
+ O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
+
+ The green leaf o' loyaltie's begun for to fa',
+ The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a';
+ But I'll water 't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie,
+ An' green it will grow in my ain countrie.
+ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
+ O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
+
+ The great are now gane, a' wha ventured to save;
+ The new grass is springing on the tap o' their grave:
+ But the sun thro' the mirk blinks blythe in my e'e,
+ 'I'll shine on ye yet in yere ain countrie.'
+ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
+ Hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
+
+ _Cunningham._
+
+
+
+
+ LXX
+
+ A SEA-SONG
+
+
+ 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.
+
+ O 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 hornËd 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.
+
+ _Cunningham._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXI
+
+ 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 south-west 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!
+
+ _Procter._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXII
+
+ 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 for ever 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!
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXIII
+
+ THE STORMING OF CORINTH
+
+
+ THE SIGNAL
+
+ The night is past, and shines the sun
+ As if that morn were a jocund one.
+ Lightly and brightly breaks away
+ The Morning from her mantle grey,
+ And the noon will look on a sultry day.
+ Hark to the trump, and the drum,
+ And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,
+ And the flap of the banners that flit as they're borne,
+ And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum,
+ And the clash, and the shout, 'They come! they come!'
+ The horsetails are plucked from the ground, and the sword
+ From its sheath; and they form, and but wait for the word.
+ Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman,
+ Strike your tents, and throng to the van;
+ Mount ye, spur ye, skirr the plain,
+ That the fugitive may flee in vain,
+ When he breaks from the town; and none escape,
+ Aged or young, in the Christian shape;
+ While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,
+ Bloodstain the breach through which they pass.
+ The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein;
+ Curved is each neck, and flowing each mane;
+ White is the foam of their champ on the bit:
+ The spears are uplifted; the matches are lit;
+ The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar,
+ And crush the wall they have crumbled before:
+ Forms in his phalanx each janizar;
+ Alp at their head; his right arm is bare,
+ So is the blade of his scimitar;
+ The khan and the pachas are all at their post;
+ The vizier himself at the head of the host.
+ When the culverin's signal is fired, then on;
+ Leave not in Corinth a living one--
+ A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls,
+ A hearth in her mansions, a stone on her walls.
+ God and the prophet--Alla Hu!
+ Up to the skies with that wild halloo!
+ 'There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale;
+ And your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail?
+ He who first downs with the red cross may crave
+ His heart's dearest wish; let him ask it, and have!'
+ Thus uttered Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier;
+ The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear,
+ And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire:--
+ Silence--hark to the signal--fire!
+
+
+ THE ASSAULT
+
+ As the spring-tides, with heavy plash,
+ From the cliffs invading dash
+ Huge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow,
+ Till white and thundering down they go,
+ Like the avalanche's snow
+ On the Alpine vales below;
+ Thus at length, outbreathed and worn,
+ Corinth's sons were downward borne
+ By the long and oft renewed
+ Charge of the Moslem multitude.
+ In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell,
+ Heaped by the host of the infidel,
+ Hand to hand, and foot to foot:
+ Nothing there, save death, was mute:
+ Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry
+ For quarter or for victory,
+ Mingle there with the volleying thunder,
+ Which makes the distant cities wonder
+ How the sounding battle goes,
+ If with them, or for their foes;
+ If they must mourn, or may rejoice
+ In that annihilating voice,
+ Which pierces the deep hills through and through
+ With an echo dread and new:
+ You might have heard it, on that day,
+ O'er Salamis and Megara;
+ (We have heard the hearers say,)
+ Even unto PirÊus' bay.
+
+ From the point of encountering blades to the hilt,
+ Sabres and swords with blood were gilt;
+ But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun,
+ And all but the after carnage done,
+ Shriller shrieks now mingling come
+ From within the plundered dome:
+ Hark to the haste of flying feet
+ That splash in the blood of the slippery street;
+ But here and there, where 'vantage ground
+ Against the foe may still be found,
+ Desperate groups, of twelve or ten,
+ Make a pause, and turn again--
+ With banded backs against the wall,
+ Fiercely stand, or fighting fall.
+
+ There stood an old man--his hairs were white,
+ But his veteran arm was full of might:
+ So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray,
+ The dead before him, on that day,
+ In a semicircle lay;
+ Still he combated unwounded,
+ Though retreating, unsurrounded.
+ Many a scar of former fight
+ Lurked beneath his corselet bright;
+ But of every wound his body bore,
+ Each and all had been ta'en before:
+ Though aged, he was so iron of limb,
+ Few of our youth could cope with him,
+ And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay,
+ Outnumbered his thin hairs of silver grey.
+ From right to left his sabre swept;
+ Many an Othman mother wept
+ Sons that were unborn, when dipped
+ His weapon first in Moslem gore,
+ Ere his years could count a score.
+ Of all he might have been the sire
+ Who fell that day beneath his ire:
+ For, sonless left long years ago,
+ His wrath made many a childless foe;
+ And since the day, when in the strait
+ His only boy had met his fate,
+ His parent's iron hand did doom
+ More than a human hecatomb.
+ If shades by carnage be appeased,
+ Patroclus' spirit less was pleased
+ Than his, Minotti's son, who died
+ Where Asia's bounds and ours divide.
+ Buried he lay, where thousands before
+ For thousands of years were inhumed on the shore;
+ What of them is left, to tell
+ Where they lie, and how they fell?
+ Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves;
+ But they live in the verse that immortally saves.
+
+
+ THE MAGAZINE
+
+ Darkly, sternly, and all alone,
+ Minotti stood o'er the altar-stone:
+ Madonna's face upon him shone,
+ Painted in heavenly hues above,
+ With eyes of light and looks of love;
+ And placed upon that holy shrine
+ To fix our thoughts on things divine,
+ When pictured there, we kneeling see
+ Her, and the boy-God on her knee,
+ Smiling sweetly on each prayer
+ To heaven, as if to waft it there.
+ Still she smiled; even now she smiles,
+ Though slaughter streams along her aisles:
+ Minotti lifted his aged eye,
+ And made the sign of a cross with a sigh,
+ Then seized a torch which blazed thereby;
+ And still he stood, while with steel and flame
+ Inward and onward the Mussulman came.
+
+ The vaults beneath the mosaic stone
+ Contained the dead of ages gone;
+ Their names were on the graven floor,
+ But now illegible with gore;
+ The carvËd crests, and curious hues
+ The varied marble's veins diffuse,
+ Were smeared, and slippery, stained, and strown
+ With broken swords and helms o'erthrown:
+ There were dead above, and the dead below
+ Lay cold in many a coffined row;
+ You might see them piled in sable state,
+ By a pale light through a gloomy grate;
+ But War had entered their dark caves,
+ And stored along the vaulted graves
+ Her sulphurous treasures, thickly spread
+ In masses by the fleshless dead:
+ Here, throughout the siege, had been
+ The Christians' chiefest magazine;
+ To these a late formed train now led,
+ Minotti's last and stern resource
+ Against the foe's o'erwhelming force.
+
+ The foe came on, and few remain
+ To strive, and those must strive in vain:
+ For lack of further lives, to slake
+ The thirst of vengeance now awake,
+ With barbarous blows they gash the dead,
+ And lop the already lifeless head,
+ And fell the statues from their niche,
+ And spoil the shrines of offerings rich,
+ And from each other's rude hands wrest
+ The silver vessels saints had blessed.
+ To the high altar on they go;
+ O, but it made a glorious show!
+ On its table still behold
+ The cup of consecrated gold;
+ Massy and deep, a glittering prize,
+ Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes:
+ That morn it held the holy wine,
+ Converted by Christ to his blood so divine,
+ Which his worshippers drank at the break of day,
+ To shrive their souls ere they joined in the fray.
+ Still a few drops within it lay;
+ And round the sacred table glow
+ Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row,
+ From the purest metal cast;
+ A spoil--the richest, and the last.
+
+ So near they came, the nearest stretched
+ To grasp the spoil he almost reached,
+ When old Minotti's hand
+ Touched with the torch the train--
+ 'Tis fired!
+ Spire, vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain,
+ The turbaned victors, the Christian band,
+ All that of living or dead remain,
+ Hurl'd on high with the shivered fane,
+ In one wild roar expired!
+ The shattered town--the walls thrown down--
+ The waves a moment backward bent--
+ The hills that shake, although unrent,
+ As if an earthquake passed--
+ The thousand shapeless things all driven
+ In cloud and flame athwart the heaven
+ By that tremendous blast--
+ Proclaimed the desperate conflict o'er
+ On that too long afflicted shore:
+ Up to the sky like rockets go
+ All that mingled there below:
+ Many a tall and goodly man,
+ Scorched and shrivelled to a span,
+ When he fell to earth again
+ Like a cinder strewed the plain:
+ Down the ashes shower like rain;
+ Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles
+ With a thousand circling wrinkles;
+ Some fell on the shore, but far away
+ Scattered o'er the isthmus lay;
+ Christian or Moslem, which be they?
+ Let their mother say and say!
+ When in cradled rest they lay,
+ And each nursing mother smiled
+ On the sweet sleep of her child,
+ Little deemed she such a day
+ Would rend those tender limbs away.
+ Not the matrons that them bore
+ Could discern their offspring more;
+ That one moment left no trace
+ More of human form or face
+ Save a scattered scalp or bone:
+ And down came blazing rafters, strown
+ Around, and many a falling stone,
+ Deeply dinted in the clay,
+ All blackened there and reeking lay.
+ All the living things that heard
+ That deadly earth-shock disappeared:
+ The wild birds flew; the wild dogs fled,
+ And howling left the unburied dead;
+ The camels from their keepers broke;
+ The distant steer forsook the yoke--
+ The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain,
+ And burst his girth, and tore his rein;
+ The bull-frog's note from out the marsh
+ Deep-mouthed arose, and doubly harsh;
+ The wolves yelled on the caverned hill
+ Where echo rolled in thunder still;
+ The jackals' troop in gathered cry
+ Bayed from afar complainingly,
+ With a mixed and mournful sound,
+ Like crying babe, and beaten hound:
+ With sudden wing and ruffled breast
+ The eagle left his rocky nest,
+ And mounted nearer to the sun,
+ The clouds beneath him seemed so dun;
+ Their smoke assailed his startled beak,
+ And made him higher soar and shriek--
+ Thus was Corinth lost and won!
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXIV
+
+ ALHAMA
+
+
+ The Moorish King rides up and down,
+ Through Granada's royal town;
+ From Elvira's gates to those
+ Of Bivarambla on he goes.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Letters to the monarch tell
+ How Alhama's city fell:
+ In the fire the scroll he threw,
+ And the messenger he slew.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,
+ And through the street directs his course;
+ Through the street of Zacatin
+ To the Alhambra spurring in.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ When the Alhambra walls he gained,
+ On the moment he ordained
+ That the trumpet straight should sound
+ With the silver clarion round.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And when the hollow drums of war
+ Beat the loud alarm afar,
+ That the Moors of town and plain
+ Might answer to the martial strain--
+ Woe is me, Alhama!--
+
+ Then the Moors, by this aware,
+ That bloody Mars recalled them there
+ One by one, and two by two,
+ To a mighty squadron grew.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Out then spake an aged Moor
+ In these words the king before,
+ 'Wherefore call on us, O King?
+ What may mean this gathering?'
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ 'Friends! ye have, alas! to know
+ Of a most disastrous blow;
+ That the Christians, stern and bold,
+ Have obtained Alhama's hold.'
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Out then spake old Alfaqui,
+ With his beard so white to see,
+ 'Good King! thou art justly served,
+ Good King! this thou hast deserved.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ By thee were slain, in evil hour,
+ The Abencerrage, Granada's flower;
+ And strangers were received by thee
+ Of Cordova the Chivalry.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And for this, O King! is sent
+ On thee a double chastisement:
+ Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,
+ One last wreck shall overwhelm.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ He who holds no laws in awe,
+ He must perish by the law;
+ And Granada must be won,
+ And thyself with her undone.'
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Fire flashed from out the old Moor's eyes,
+ The monarch's wrath began to rise,
+ Because he answered, and because
+ He spake exceeding well of laws.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ 'There is no law to say such things
+ As may disgust the ear of kings:'
+ Thus, snorting with his choler, said
+ The Moorish King, and doomed him dead.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!
+ Though thy beard so hoary be,
+ The King hath sent to have thee seized,
+ For Alhama's loss displeased.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And to fix thy head upon
+ High Alhambra's loftiest stone;
+ That this for thee should be the law,
+ And others tremble when they saw.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ 'Cavalier, and man of worth!
+ Let these words of mine go forth!
+ Let the Moorish Monarch know,
+ That to him I nothing owe.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ But on my soul Alhama weighs,
+ And on my inmost spirit preys;
+ And if the King his land hath lost,
+ Yet others may have lost the most.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Sires have lost their children, wives
+ Their lords, and valiant men their lives!
+ One what best his love might claim
+ Hath lost, another wealth, or fame.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ I lost a damsel in that hour,
+ Of all the land the loveliest flower;
+ Doubloons a hundred I would pay,
+ And think her ransom cheap that day.'
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And as these things the old Moor said,
+ They severed from the trunk his head;
+ And to the Alhambra's wall with speed
+ 'Twas carried, as the King decreed.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And men and infants therein weep
+ Their loss, so heavy and so deep;
+ Granada's ladies, all she rears
+ Within her walls, burst into tears.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And from the windows o'er the walls
+ The sable web of mourning falls;
+ The King weeps as a woman o'er
+ His loss, for it is much and sore.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXV
+
+ FRIENDSHIP
+
+
+ My boat is on the shore,
+ And my bark is on the sea;
+ But, before I go, Tom Moore,
+ Here's a double health to thee!
+
+ Here's a sigh to those who love me,
+ And a smile to those who hate;
+ And, whatever sky's above me,
+ Here's a heart for every fate.
+
+ Though the ocean roar around me,
+ Yet it still shall bear me on;
+ Though a desert should surround me,
+ It hath springs that may be won.
+
+ Were 't the last drop in the well,
+ As I gasped upon the brink,
+ Ere my fainting spirit fell,
+ 'Tis to thee that I would drink.
+
+ With that water, as this wine,
+ The libation I would pour
+ Should be, 'Peace with thine and mine,
+ And a health to thee, Tom Moore!'
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXVI
+
+ THE RACE WITH DEATH
+
+
+ O Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls
+ Are level with the waters, there shall be
+ A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,
+ A loud lament along the sweeping sea!
+ If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,
+ What should thy sons do?--anything but weep:
+ And yet they only murmur in their sleep.
+ In contrast with their fathers--as the slime,
+ The dull green ooze of the receding deep,
+ Is with the dashing of the spring-tide foam
+ That drives the sailor shipless to his home,
+ Are they to those that were; and thus they creep,
+ Crouching and crab-like, through their sapping streets.
+ O agony! that centuries should reap
+ No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred years
+ Of wealth and glory turned to dust and tears,
+ And every monument the stranger meets,
+ Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets;
+ And even the Lion all subdued appears,
+ And the harsh sound of the barbarian drum
+ With dull and daily dissonance repeats
+ The echo of thy tyrant's voice along
+ The soft waves, once all musical to song,
+ That heaved beneath the moonlight with the throng
+ Of gondolas and to the busy hum
+ Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds
+ Were but the overbeating of the heart,
+ And flow of too much happiness, which needs
+ The aid of age to turn its course apart
+ From the luxuriant and voluptuous flood
+ Of sweet sensations, battling with the blood.
+ But these are better than the gloomy errors,
+ The weeds of nations in their last decay,
+ When Vice walks forth with her unsoftened terrors,
+ And Mirth is madness, and but smiles to slay;
+ And Hope is nothing but a false delay,
+ The sick man's lightening half an hour ere death,
+ When Faintness, the last mortal birth of Pain,
+ And apathy of limb, the dull beginning
+ Of the cold staggering race which Death is winning,
+ Steals vein by vein and pulse by pulse away;
+ Yet so relieving the o'er-tortured clay,
+ To him appears renewal of his breath,
+ And freedom the mere numbness of his chain;
+ And then he talks of life, and how again
+ He feels his spirits soaring--albeit weak,
+ And of the fresher air, which he would seek:
+ And as he whispers knows not that he gasps,
+ That his thin finger feels not what it clasps;
+ And so the film comes o'er him, and the dizzy
+ Chamber swims round and round, and shadows busy,
+ At which he vainly catches, flit and gleam,
+ Till the last rattle chokes the strangled scream,
+ And all is ice and blackness, and the earth
+ That which it was the moment ere our birth.
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXVII
+
+ THE GLORY THAT WAS GREECE
+
+
+ The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
+ Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
+ Where grew the arts of war and peace,
+ Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
+ Eternal summer gilds them yet,
+ But all except their sun is set.
+
+ The Scian and the Teian muse,
+ The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
+ Have found the fame your shores refuse:
+ Their place of birth alone is mute
+ To sounds which echo further west
+ Than your sires' 'Islands of the Blest.'
+
+ The mountains look on Marathon--
+ And Marathon looks on the sea;
+ And, musing there an hour alone,
+ I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
+ For, standing on the Persians' grave,
+ I could not deem myself a slave.
+
+ A king sate on the rocky brow
+ Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
+ And ships by thousands lay below,
+ And men in nations;--all were his!
+ He counted them at break of day,
+ And when the sun set, where were they?
+
+ And where are they? and where art thou,
+ My country? On thy voiceless shore
+ The heroic lay is tuneless now,
+ The heroic bosom beats no more!
+ And must thy lyre, so long divine,
+ Degenerate into hands like mine?
+
+ 'Tis something in the dearth of fame,
+ Though linked among a fettered race,
+ To feel at least a patriot's shame,
+ Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
+ For what is left the poet here?
+ For Greeks a blush, for Greece a tear!
+
+ Must _we_ but weep o'er days more blest?
+ Must _we_ but blush? Our fathers bled.
+ Earth! render back from out thy breast
+ A remnant of our Spartan dead!
+ Of the three hundred grant but three,
+ To make a new ThermopylÊ!
+
+ What, silent still? and silent all?
+ Ah! no: the voices of the dead
+ Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
+ And answer, 'Let one living head,
+ But one arise,--we come, we come!'
+ 'Tis but the living who are dumb.
+
+ In vain--in vain: strike other chords;
+ Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
+ Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
+ And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
+ Hark! rising to the ignoble call,
+ How answers each bold Bacchanal!
+
+ You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;
+ Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
+ Of two such lessons, why forget
+ The nobler and the manlier one?
+ You have the letters Cadmus gave;
+ Think ye he meant them for a slave?
+
+ Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
+ We will not think of themes like these!
+ It made Anacreon's song divine:
+ He served--but served Polycrates:
+ A tyrant; but our masters then
+ Were still, at least, our countrymen.
+
+ The tyrant of the Chersonese
+ Was freedom's best and bravest friend;
+ _That_ tyrant was Miltiades!
+ Oh! that the present hour would lend
+ Another despot of the kind!
+ Such chains as his were sure to bind.
+
+ Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
+ On Suli's rock and Parga's shore
+ Exists the remnant of a line
+ Such as the Doric mothers bore;
+ And there, perhaps, some seed is sown
+ The Heracleidan blood might own.
+
+ Trust not for freedom to the Franks--
+ They have a king who buys and sells;
+ In native swords and native ranks
+ The only hope of courage dwells:
+ But Turkish force and Latin fraud
+ Would break your shield, however broad.
+
+ Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
+ Our virgins dance beneath the shade--
+ I see their glorious black eyes shine;
+ But, gazing on each glowing maid,
+ My own the burning tear-drop laves,
+ To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
+
+ Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
+ Where nothing save the waves and I
+ May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
+ There, swan-like, let me sing and die:
+ A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine--
+ Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXVIII
+
+ HAIL AND FAREWELL
+
+
+ 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
+ Since others it hath ceased to move:
+ Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
+ Still let me love!
+
+ My days are in the yellow leaf;
+ The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
+ The worm, the canker, and the grief
+ Are mine alone!
+
+ The fire that on my bosom preys
+ Is lone as some volcanic isle;
+ No torch is kindled at its blaze--
+ A funeral pile.
+
+ The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
+ The exalted portion of the pain
+ And power of love, I cannot share,
+ But wear the chain.
+
+ But 'tis not thus, and 'tis not here,
+ Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor _now_
+ Where glory decks the hero's bier,
+ Or binds his brow.
+
+ The sword, the banner, and the field,
+ Glory and Greece, around me see!
+ The Spartan borne upon his shield
+ Was not more free.
+
+ Awake! (not Greece--she _is_ awake!)
+ Awake, my spirit! Think through _whom_
+ Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
+ And then strike home!
+
+ Tread those reviving passions down,
+ Unworthy manhood! unto thee
+ Indifferent should the smile or frown
+ Of beauty be.
+
+ If thou regrett'st thy youth, _why live?_
+ The lad of honourable death
+ Is here: up to the field, and give
+ Away thy breath!
+
+ Seek out--less often sought than found--
+ A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
+ Then look around, and choose thy ground,
+ And take thy rest.
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXIX
+
+ AFTER CORUNNA
+
+
+ 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 enclosed his breast,
+ Nor 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,
+ How 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.
+
+ _Wolfe._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXX
+
+ THE OLD NAVY
+
+
+ The captain stood on the carronade: 'First lieutenant,' says he,
+ 'Send all my merry men aft here, for they must list to me;
+ I haven't the gift of the gab, my sons--because I'm bred to the sea;
+ That ship there is a Frenchman, who means to fight with we.
+ And odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea,
+ I've fought 'gainst every odds--but I've gained the victory!
+
+ That ship there is a Frenchman, and if we don't take _she_,
+ 'Tis a thousand bullets to one, that she will capture _we_;
+ I haven't the gift of the gab, my boys; so each man to his gun;
+ If she's not mine in half an hour, I'll flog each mother's son.
+ For odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea,
+ I've fought 'gainst every odds--and I've gained the victory!'
+
+ We fought for twenty minutes, when the Frenchman had enough;
+ 'I little thought,' said he, 'that your men were of such stuff';
+ Our captain took the Frenchman's sword, a low bow made to _he_;
+ 'I haven't the gift of the gab, monsieur, but polite I wish to be.
+ And odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea,
+ I've fought 'gainst every odds--and I've gained the victory!'
+
+ Our captain sent for all of us: 'My merry men,' said he,
+ 'I haven't the gift of the gab, my lads, but yet I thankful be.
+ You've done your duty handsomely, each man stood to his gun;
+ If you hadn't, you villains, as sure as day, I'd have flogged each
+ mother's son.
+ For odds bobs, hammer and tongs, as long as I'm at sea,
+ I'll fight 'gainst every odds--and I'll gain the victory!'
+
+ _Marryat._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXI
+
+ CASABIANCA
+
+
+ The boy stood on the burning deck
+ Whence all but he had fled;
+ The flame that lit the battle's wreck
+ Shone round him o'er the dead.
+
+ Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
+ As born to rule the storm:
+ A creature of heroic blood,
+ A proud though child-like form.
+
+ The flames rolled on--he would not go
+ Without his father's word;
+ That father, faint in death below,
+ His voice no longer heard.
+
+ He called aloud; 'Say, father! say
+ If yet my task is done!'
+ He knew not that the chieftain lay
+ Unconscious of his son.
+
+ 'Speak, father!' once again he cried,
+ 'If I may yet be gone!'
+ And but the booming shots replied,
+ And fast the flames rolled on.
+
+ Upon his brow he felt their breath,
+ And in his waving hair;
+ He looked from that lone post of death
+ In still yet brave despair,
+
+ And shouted but once more aloud,
+ 'My father! must I stay?'
+ While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
+ The wreathing fires made way.
+
+ They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
+ They caught the flag on high,
+ And streamed above the gallant child
+ Like banners in the sky.
+
+ There came a burst of thunder-sound--
+ The boy--O! where was he?
+ Ask of the winds that far around
+ With fragments strewed the sea:
+
+ With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
+ That well had borne their part!
+ But the noblest thing which perished there
+ Was that young faithful heart.
+
+ _Hemans._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXII
+
+ 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.
+
+ _Hemans._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXIII
+
+ TO THE ADVENTUROUS
+
+
+ Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,
+ And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
+ Round many western islands have I been
+ Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
+ Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
+ That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne:
+ Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
+ Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
+ Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
+ When a new planet swims into his ken;
+ Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
+ He stared at the Pacific--and all his men
+ Looked at each other with a wild surmise--
+ Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
+
+ _Keats._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXIV
+
+ HORATIUS
+
+
+ THE TRYSTING
+
+ Lars Porsena of Clusium
+ By the Nine Gods he swore
+ That the great house of Tarquin
+ Should suffer wrong no more.
+ By the Nine Gods he swore it,
+ And named a trysting day,
+ And bade his messengers ride forth
+ East and west and south and north
+ To summon his array.
+
+ East and west and south and north
+ The messengers ride fast,
+ And tower and town and cottage
+ Have heard the trumpet's blast.
+ Shame on the false Etruscan
+ Who lingers in his home,
+ When Porsena of Clusium
+ Is on the march for Rome.
+
+ The horsemen and the footmen
+ Are pouring in amain
+ From many a stately market-place,
+ From many a fruitful plain;
+ From many a lonely hamlet
+ Which, hid by beech and pine,
+ Like an eagle's nest hangs on the crest
+ Of purple Apennine;
+
+ From lordly VolaterrÊ,
+ Where scowls the far-famed hold
+ Piled by the hands of giants
+ For godlike kings of old;
+ From sea-girt Populonia
+ Whose sentinels descry
+ Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops
+ Fringing the southern sky;
+
+ From the proud mart of PisÊ,
+ Queen of the western waves,
+ Where ride Massilia's triremes
+ Heavy with fair-haired slaves;
+ From where sweet Clanis wanders
+ Through corn and vines and flowers;
+ From where Cortona lifts to heaven
+ Her diadem of towers.
+
+ Tall are the oaks whose acorns
+ Drop in dark Auser's rill;
+ Fat are the stags that champ the boughs
+ Of the Ciminian hill;
+ Beyond all streams Clitumnus
+ Is to the herdsman dear;
+ Best of all pools the fowler loves
+ The great Volsinian mere.
+
+ But now no stroke of woodman
+ Is heard by Auser's rill;
+ No hunter tracks the stag's green path
+ Up the Ciminian hill;
+ Unwatched along Clitumnus
+ Grazes the milk-white steer;
+ Unharmed the water-fowl may dip
+ In the Volsinian mere.
+
+ The harvests of Arretium
+ This year old men shall reap;
+ This year young boys in Umbro
+ Shall plunge the struggling sheep;
+ And in the vats of Luna
+ This year the must shall foam
+ Round the white feet of laughing girls
+ Whose sires have marched to Rome.
+
+ There be thirty chosen prophets,
+ The wisest of the land,
+ Who alway by Lars Porsena
+ Both morn and evening stand:
+ Evening and morn the Thirty
+ Have turned the verses o'er,
+ Traced from the right on linen white
+ By mighty seers of yore.
+
+ And with one voice the Thirty
+ Have their glad answer given:
+ 'Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena;
+ Go forth, beloved of Heaven;
+ Go, and return in glory
+ To Clusium's royal dome,
+ And hang round Nurscia's altars
+ The golden shields of Rome.'
+
+ And now hath every city
+ Sent up her tale of men;
+ The foot are fourscore thousand,
+ The horse are thousands ten.
+ Before the gates of Sutrium
+ Is met the great array.
+ A proud man was Lars Porsena
+ Upon the trysting day!
+
+ For all the Etruscan armies
+ Were ranged beneath his eye,
+ And many a banished Roman,
+ And many a stout ally;
+ And with a mighty following
+ To join the muster came
+ The Tusculan Mamilius,
+ Prince of the Latian name.
+
+
+ THE TROUBLE IN ROME
+
+ But by the yellow Tiber
+ Was tumult and affright:
+ From all the spacious champaign
+ To Rome men took their flight.
+ A mile around the city
+ The throng stopped up the ways;
+ A fearful sight it was to see
+ Through two long nights and days.
+
+ For aged folk on crutches,
+ And women great with child,
+ And mothers sobbing over babes
+ That clung to them and smiled,
+ And sick men borne in litters
+ High on the necks of slaves,
+ And troops of sun-burned husbandmen
+ With reaping-hooks and staves,
+
+ And droves of mules and asses
+ Laden with skins of wine,
+ And endless flocks of goats and sheep,
+ And endless herds of kine,
+ And endless trains of waggons
+ That creaked beneath the weight
+ Of corn-sacks and of household goods,
+ Choked every roaring gate.
+
+ Now from the rock Tarpeian
+ Could the wan burghers spy
+ The line of blazing villages
+ Red in the midnight sky.
+ The Fathers of the City,
+ They sat all night and day,
+ For every hour some horseman came
+ With tidings of dismay.
+
+ To eastward and to westward
+ Have spread the Tuscan bands;
+ Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote
+ In Crustumerium stands.
+ Verbenna down to Ostia
+ Hath wasted all the plain;
+ Astur hath stormed Janiculum,
+ And the stout guards are slain.
+
+ I wis, in all the Senate
+ There was no heart so bold
+ But sore it ached, and fast it beat,
+ When that ill news was told.
+ Forthwith up rose the Consul,
+ Up rose the Fathers all;
+ In haste they girded up their gowns,
+ And hied them to the wall.
+
+ They held a council standing
+ Before the River-Gate;
+ Short time was there, ye well may guess,
+ For musing or debate.
+ Out spake the Consul roundly:
+ 'The bridge must straight go down;
+ For, since Janiculum is lost,
+ Nought else can save the town.'
+
+ Just then a scout came flying,
+ All wild with haste and fear:
+ 'To arms! to arms! Sir Consul:
+ Lars Porsena is here.'
+ On the low hills to westward
+ The Consul fixed his eye,
+ And saw the swarthy storm of dust
+ Rise fast along the sky.
+
+ And nearer fast and nearer
+ Doth the red whirlwind come;
+ And louder still and still more loud,
+ From underneath that rolling cloud
+ Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud,
+ The trampling, and the hum.
+ And plainly and more plainly
+ Now through the gloom appears,
+ Far to left and far to right,
+ In broken gleams of dark-blue light,
+ The long array of helmets bright,
+ The long array of spears.
+
+ And plainly and more plainly
+ Above that glimmering line
+ Now might ye see the banners
+ Of twelve fair cities shine;
+ But the banner of proud Clusium
+ Was highest of them all,
+ The terror of the Umbrian,
+ The terror of the Gaul.
+
+ And plainly and more plainly
+ Now might the burghers know,
+ By port and vest, by horse and crest,
+ Each warlike Lucumo.
+ There Cilnius of Arretium
+ On his fleet roan was seen;
+ And Astur of the fourfold shield,
+ Girt with the brand none else may wield,
+ Tolumnius with the belt of gold,
+ And dark Verbenna from the hold
+ By reedy Thrasymene.
+
+ Fast by the royal standard
+ O'erlooking all the war,
+ Lars Porsena of Clusium
+ Sate in his ivory car.
+ By the right wheel rode Mamilius,
+ Prince of the Latian name;
+ And by the left false Sextus,
+ That wrought the deed of shame.
+
+ But when the face of Sextus
+ Was seen among the foes,
+ A yell that rent the firmament
+ From all the town arose.
+ On the house-tops was no woman
+ But spat towards him, and hissed;
+ No child but screamed out curses,
+ And shook its little fist.
+
+ But the Consul's brow was sad,
+ And the Consul's speech was low,
+ And darkly looked he at the wall,
+ And darkly at the foe.
+ 'Their van will be upon us
+ Before the bridge goes down;
+ And if they once may win the bridge,
+ What hope to save the town?'
+
+ Then out spake brave Horatius,
+ The Captain of the gate:
+ 'To every man upon this earth
+ Death cometh soon or late;
+ And how can man die better
+ Than facing fearful odds,
+ For the ashes of his fathers
+ And the temples of his Gods,
+
+ And for the tender mother
+ Who dandled him to rest,
+ And for the wife who nurses
+ His baby at her breast,
+ And for the holy maidens
+ Who feed the eternal flame,
+ To save them from false Sextus
+ That wrought the deed of shame?
+
+ Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
+ With all the speed ye may;
+ I, with two more to help me,
+ Will hold the foe in play.
+ In yon strait path a thousand
+ May well be stopped by three.
+ Now who will stand on either hand,
+ And keep the bridge with me?'
+
+ Then out spake Spurius Lartius,
+ A Ramnian proud was he:
+ 'Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
+ And keep the bridge with thee.'
+ And out spake strong Heminius,
+ Of Titian blood was he:
+ 'I will abide on thy left side,
+ And keep the bridge with thee.'
+
+ 'Horatius,' quoth the Consul,
+ 'As thou sayest, so let it be.'
+ And straight against that great array
+ Forth went the dauntless Three.
+ For Romans in Rome's quarrel
+ Spared neither land nor gold,
+ Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+ Then none was for a party;
+ Then all were for the state;
+ Then the great man helped the poor,
+ And the poor man loved the great:
+ Then lands were fairly portioned;
+ Then spoils were fairly sold:
+ The Romans were like brothers
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+ Now Roman is to Roman
+ More hateful than a foe,
+ And the Tribunes beard the high,
+ And the Fathers grind the low.
+ As we wax hot in faction,
+ In battle we wax cold:
+ Wherefore men fight not as they fought
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+
+ THE KEEPING OF THE BRIDGE
+
+ Now while the Three were tightening
+ Their harness on their backs,
+ The Consul was the foremost man
+ To take in hand an axe:
+ And Fathers mixed with Commons
+ Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
+ And smote upon the planks above,
+ And loosed the props below.
+
+ Meanwhile the Tuscan army,
+ Right glorious to behold,
+ Came flashing back the noonday light,
+ Rank behind rank, like surges bright
+ Of a broad sea of gold.
+ Four hundred trumpets sounded
+ A peal of warlike glee,
+ As that great host, with measured tread,
+ And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,
+ Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head,
+ Where stood the dauntless Three.
+
+ The Three stood calm and silent,
+ And looked upon the foes,
+ And a great shout of laughter
+ From all the vanguard rose:
+ And forth three chiefs came spurring
+ Before that deep array;
+ To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,
+ And lifted high their shields, and flew
+ To win the narrow way;
+
+ Aunus from green Tifernum,
+ Lord of the Hill of Vines;
+ And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves
+ Sicken in Ilva's mines;
+ And Picus, long to Clusium
+ Vassal in peace and war,
+ Who led to fight his Umbrian powers
+ From that grey crag where, girt with towers,
+ The fortress of Nequinum lowers
+ O'er the pale waves of Nar.
+
+ Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus
+ Into the stream beneath:
+ Herminius struck at Seius,
+ And clove him to the teeth:
+ At Picus brave Horatius
+ Darted one fiery thrust,
+ And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms
+ Clashed in the bloody dust.
+
+ Then Ocnus of Falerii
+ Rushed on the Roman Three;
+ And Lausulus of Urgo,
+ The rover of the sea;
+ And Aruns of Volsinium,
+ Who slew the great wild boar,
+ The great wild boar that had his den
+ Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen,
+ And wasted fields, and slaughtered men,
+ Along Albinia's shore.
+
+ Herminius smote down Aruns:
+ Lartius laid Ocnus low:
+ Right to the heart of Lausulus
+ Horatius sent a blow.
+ 'Lie there,' he cried, 'fell pirate!
+ No more, aghast and pale,
+ From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark
+ The track of thy destroying bark.
+ No more Campania's hinds shall fly
+ To woods and caverns when they spy
+ Thy thrice-accursed sail.'
+
+ But now no sound of laughter
+ Was heard amongst the foes.
+ A wild and wrathful clamour
+ From all the vanguard rose.
+ Six spears' lengths from the entrance
+ Halted that deep array,
+ And for a space no man came forth
+ To win the narrow way.
+
+ But hark! the cry is Astur:
+ And lo! the ranks divide;
+ And the great Lord of Luna
+ Comes with his stately stride.
+ Upon his ample shoulders
+ Clangs loud the fourfold shield,
+ And in his hand he shakes the brand
+ Which none but he can wield.
+
+ He smiled on those bold Romans
+ A smile serene and high;
+ He eyed the flinching Tuscans,
+ And scorn was in his eye.
+ Quoth he, 'The she-wolf's litter
+ Stands savagely at bay:
+ But will ye dare to follow,
+ If Astur clears the way?'
+
+ Then, whirling up his broadsword
+ With both hands to the height,
+ He rushed against Horatius,
+ And smote with all his might.
+ With shield and blade Horatius
+ Right deftly turned the blow.
+ The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh;
+ It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh:
+ The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
+ To see the red blood flow.
+
+ He reeled, and on Herminius
+ He leaned one breathing-space;
+ Then, like a wild cat mad with wounds,
+ Sprang right at Astur's face.
+ Through teeth, and skull, and helmet,
+ So fierce a thrust he sped
+ The good sword stood a handbreadth out
+ Behind the Tuscan's head.
+
+ And the great Lord of Luna
+ Fell at that deadly stroke,
+ As falls on Mount Alvernus
+ A thunder-smitten oak:
+ Far o'er the crashing forest
+ The giant arms lie spread;
+ And the pale augurs, muttering low,
+ Gaze on the blasted head.
+
+ On Astur's throat Horatius
+ Right firmly pressed his heel,
+ And thrice and four times tugged amain,
+ Ere he wrenched out the steel.
+ 'And see,' he cried, 'the welcome,
+ Fair guests, that waits you here!
+ What noble Lucumo comes next
+ To taste our Roman cheer?'
+
+ But at his haughty challenge
+ A sullen murmur ran,
+ Mingled of wrath and shame and dread,
+ Along that glittering van.
+ There lacked not men of prowess,
+ Nor men of lordly race;
+ For all Etruria's noblest
+ Were round the fatal place.
+
+ But all Etruria's noblest
+ Felt their hearts sink to see
+ On the earth the bloody corpses,
+ In the path the dauntless Three:
+ And, from the ghastly entrance
+ Where those bold Romans stood,
+ All shrank, like boys who unaware,
+ Ranging the woods to start a hare,
+ Come to the mouth of the dark lair
+ Where, growling low, a fierce old bear
+ Lies amidst bones and blood.
+
+ Was none who would be foremost
+ To lead such dire attack;
+ But those behind cried 'Forward!'
+ And those before cried 'Back!'
+ And backward now and forward
+ Wavers the deep array;
+ And on the tossing sea of steel,
+ To and fro the standards reel;
+ And the victorious trumpet-peal
+ Dies fitfully away.
+
+ Yet one man for one moment
+ Strode out before the crowd;
+ Well known was he to all the Three,
+ And they gave him greeting loud.
+ 'Now welcome, welcome, Sextus!
+ Now welcome to thy home!
+ Why dost thou stay, and turn away?
+ Here lies the road to Rome.'
+
+ Thrice looked he at the city;
+ Thrice looked he at the dead;
+ And thrice came on in fury,
+ And thrice turned back in dread:
+ And, white with fear and hatred,
+ Scowled at the narrow way
+ Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,
+ The bravest Tuscans lay.
+
+ But meanwhile axe and lever
+ Have manfully been plied;
+ And now the bridge hangs tottering
+ Above the boiling tide.
+ 'Come back, come back, Horatius!'
+ Loud cried the Fathers all.
+ 'Back, Lartius! back, Herminius!
+ Back, ere the ruin fall!'
+
+ Back darted Spurius Lartius;
+ Herminius darted back:
+ And, as they passed, beneath their feet
+ They felt the timbers crack.
+ But, when they turned their faces,
+ And on the farther shore
+ Saw brave Horatius stand alone,
+ They would have crossed once more.
+
+ But with a crash like thunder
+ Fell every loosened beam,
+ And, like a dam, the mighty wreck
+ Lay right athwart the stream:
+ And a long shout of triumph
+ Rose from the walls of Rome,
+ As to the highest turret-tops
+ Was splashed the yellow foam.
+
+ And, like a horse unbroken
+ When first he feels the rein,
+ The furious river struggled hard,
+ And tossed his tawny mane;
+ And burst the curb, and bounded,
+ Rejoicing to be free;
+ And whirling down, in fierce career,
+ Battlement, and plank, and pier,
+ Rushed headlong to the sea.
+
+
+ FATHER TIBER
+
+ Alone stood brave Horatius,
+ But constant still in mind;
+ Thrice thirty thousand foes before,
+ And the broad flood behind.
+ 'Down with him!' cried false Sextus,
+ With a smile on his pale face.
+ 'Now yield thee,' cried Lars Porsena,
+ 'Now yield thee to our grace.'
+
+ Round turned he, as not deigning
+ Those craven ranks to see;
+ Nought spake he to Lars Porsena,
+ To Sextus nought spake he;
+ But he saw on Palatinus
+ The white porch of his home;
+ And he spake to the noble river
+ That rolls by the towers of Rome.
+
+ 'O Tiber! father Tiber!
+ To whom the Romans pray,
+ A Roman's life, a Roman's arms,
+ Take thou in charge this day!'
+ So he spake, and speaking sheathed
+ The good sword by his side,
+ And with his harness on his back
+ Plunged headlong in the tide.
+
+ No sound of joy or sorrow
+ Was heard from either bank;
+ But friends and foes in dumb surprise,
+ With parted lips and straining eyes,
+ Stood gazing where he sank;
+ And when above the surges
+ They saw his crest appear,
+ All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
+ And even the ranks of Tuscany
+ Could scarce forbear to cheer.
+
+ But fiercely ran the current,
+ Swollen high by months of rain:
+ And fast his blood was flowing;
+ And he was sore in pain,
+ And heavy with his armour,
+ And spent with changing blows:
+ And oft they thought him sinking,
+ But still again he rose.
+
+ Never, I ween, did swimmer,
+ In such an evil case,
+ Struggle through such a raging flood
+ Safe to the landing-place:
+ But his limbs were borne up bravely
+ By the brave heart within,
+ And our good father Tiber
+ Bare bravely up his chin.
+
+ 'Curse on him!' quoth false Sextus;
+ 'Will not the villain drown?
+ But for this stay ere close of day
+ We should have sacked the town!'
+ 'Heaven help him!' quoth Lars Porsena,
+ 'And bring him safe to shore;
+ For such a gallant feat of arms
+ Was never seen before.'
+
+ And now he feels the bottom;
+ Now on dry earth he stands;
+ Now round him throng the Fathers
+ To press his gory hands;
+ And now with shouts and clapping,
+ And noise of weeping loud,
+ He enters through the River-Gate,
+ Borne by the joyous crowd.
+
+ They gave him of the corn-land,
+ That was of public right,
+ As much as two strong oxen
+ Could plough from morn till night;
+ And they made a molten image,
+ And set it up on high,
+ And there it stands unto this day
+ To witness if I lie.
+
+ It stands in the Comitium
+ Plain for all folk to see;
+ Horatius in his harness,
+ Halting upon one knee:
+ And underneath is written,
+ In letters all of gold,
+ How valiantly he kept the bridge
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+ And still his name sounds stirring
+ Unto the men of Rome,
+ As the trumpet-blast that cries to them
+ To charge the Volscian home;
+ And wives still pray to Juno
+ For boys with hearts as bold
+ As his who kept the bridge so well
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+ And in the nights of winter,
+ When the cold north winds blow,
+ And the long howling of the wolves
+ Is heard amidst the snow;
+ When round the lonely cottage
+ Roars loud the tempest's din,
+ And the good logs of Algidus
+ Roar louder yet within;
+
+ When the oldest cask is opened,
+ And the largest lamp is lit;
+ When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
+ And the kid turns on the spit;
+ When young and old in circle
+ Around the firebrands close;
+ When the girls are weaving baskets,
+ And the lads are shaping bows;
+
+ When the goodman mends his armour
+ And trims his helmet's plume;
+ When the goodwife's shuttle merrily
+ Goes flashing through the loom;
+ With weeping and with laughter
+ Still is the story told,
+ How well Horatius kept the bridge
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+ _Macaulay._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXV
+
+ THE ARMADA
+
+
+ Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise;
+ I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,
+ When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain
+ The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.
+ It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,
+ There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;
+ Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,
+ At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile.
+ At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace;
+ And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase.
+ Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall;
+ The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty hall;
+ Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast,
+ And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post.
+ With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes;
+ Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums;
+ His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space;
+ For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace.
+ And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,
+ As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.
+ Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,
+ And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down!
+ So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,
+ Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and CÊsar's eagle shield.
+ So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay,
+ And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay.
+ Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight: ho! scatter flowers,
+ fair maids:
+ Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute; ho! gallants, draw your blades:
+ Thou sun, shine on her joyously: ye breezes, waft her wide;
+ Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner of our pride.
+
+ The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold;
+ The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;
+ Night sank upon the dusky beach and on the purple sea,
+ Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be.
+ From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,
+ That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;
+ For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread,
+ High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head.
+ Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,
+ Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.
+ The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves:
+ The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves!
+ O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew:
+ He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.
+ Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town,
+ And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down;
+ The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,
+ And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light:
+ Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like silence broke,
+ And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke.
+ At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires;
+ At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;
+ From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear;
+ And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer;
+ And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,
+ And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street;
+ And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,
+ As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in.
+ And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went,
+ And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.
+ Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;
+ High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north;
+ And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still:
+ All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill:
+ Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales,
+ Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy huts of Wales,
+ Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height,
+ Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light,
+ Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,
+ And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain;
+ Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,
+ And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent;
+ Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile,
+ And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.
+
+ _Macaulay._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXVI
+
+ THE LAST BUCCANEER
+
+
+ The winds were yelling, the waves were swelling,
+ The sky was black and drear,
+ When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship without a name
+ Alongside the last Buccaneer.
+
+ 'Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale,
+ When all others drive bare on the seas?
+ Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador,
+ Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees?'
+
+ 'From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line can sound,
+ Without rudder or needle we steer;
+ Above, below, our bark dies the sea-fowl and the shark,
+ As we fly by the last Buccaneer.
+
+ To-night there shall be heard on the rocks of Cape de Verde
+ A loud crash and a louder roar;
+ And to-morrow shall the deep with a heavy moaning sweep
+ The corpses and wreck to the shore,'
+
+ The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride
+ In the breath of the citron shades;
+ And Severn's towering mast securely now hies fast,
+ Through the seas of the balmy Trades.
+
+ From St Jago's wealthy port, from Havannah's royal fort,
+ The seaman goes forth without fear;
+ For since that stormy night not a mortal hath had sight
+ Of the flag of the last Buccaneer.
+
+ _Macaulay._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXVII
+
+ A JACOBITE'S EPITAPH
+
+
+ To my true king I offered free from stain
+ Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain.
+ For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth, away,
+ And one dear hope, that was more prized than they.
+ For him I languished in a foreign clime,
+ Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime;
+ Heard on Lavernia Scargill's whispering trees,
+ And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees;
+ Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep,
+ Each morning started from the dream to weep;
+ Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave
+ The resting-place I asked--an early grave.
+ Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone,
+ From that proud country which was once mine own,
+ By those white cliffs I never more must see,
+ By that dear language which I speak like thee,
+ Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear
+ O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.
+
+ _Macaulay._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXVIII
+
+ THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN
+
+
+ A good sword and a trusty hand!
+ A merry heart and true!
+ King James's men shall understand
+ What Cornish lads can do.
+
+ And have they fixed the where and when?
+ And shall Trelawny die?
+ Here's twenty thousand Cornish men
+ Will know the reason why!
+
+ Out spake their captain brave and bold,
+ A merry wight was he:
+ 'If London Tower were Michael's hold,
+ We'll set Trelawny free!
+
+ We'll cross the Tamar, land to land,
+ The Severn is no stay,
+ With "one and all," and hand in hand,
+ And who shall bid us nay?
+
+ And when we come to London Wall,
+ A pleasant sight to view,
+ Come forth! come forth! ye cowards all,
+ Here's men as good as you.
+
+ Trelawny he's in keep and hold,
+ Trelawny he may die;
+ But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold
+ Will know the reason why!'
+
+ _Hawker._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXIX
+
+ THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP
+
+
+ THE MODEL
+
+ 'Build me straight, O worthy Master!
+ Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel,
+ That shall laugh at all disaster,
+ And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!'
+
+ The merchant's word
+ Delighted the Master heard;
+ For his heart was in his work, and the heart
+ Giveth grace unto every Art.
+ A quiet smile played round his lips,
+ As the eddies and dimples of the tide
+ Play round the bows of ships,
+ That steadily at anchor ride.
+ And with a voice that was full of glee,
+ He answered, 'Ere long we will launch
+ A vessel as goodly, and strong, and staunch,
+ As ever weathered a wintry sea!'
+
+ And first with nicest skill and art,
+ Perfect and finished in every part,
+ A little model the Master wrought,
+ Which should be to the larger plan
+ What the child is to the man,
+ Its counterpart in miniature;
+ That with a hand more swift and sure
+ The greater labour might be brought
+ To answer to his inward thought.
+ And as he laboured, his mind ran o'er
+ The various ships that were built of yore,
+ And above them all, and strangest of all,
+ Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall,
+ Whose picture was hanging on the wall,
+ With bows and stern raised high in air,
+ And balconies hanging here and there,
+ And signal lanterns and flags afloat,
+ And eight round towers, like those that frown
+ From some old castle, looking down
+ Upon the drawbridge and the moat.
+ And he said with a smile, 'Our ship, I wis,
+ Shall be of another form than this!'
+
+ It was of another form, indeed;
+ Built for freight, and yet for speed,
+ A beautiful and gallant craft;
+ Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast,
+ Pressing down upon sail and mast,
+ Might not the sharp bows overwhelm;
+ Broad in the beam, but sloping aft
+ With graceful curve and slow degrees,
+ That she might be docile to the helm,
+ And that the currents of parted seas,
+ Closing behind, with mighty force,
+ Might aid and not impede her course.
+
+
+ THE BUILDERS
+
+ In the ship-yard stood the Master,
+ With the model of the vessel,
+ That should laugh at all disaster,
+ And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!
+
+ Covering many a rood of ground,
+ Lay the timber piled around;
+ Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak,
+ And scattered here and there, with these,
+ The knarred and crooked cedar knees;
+ Brought from regions far away,
+ From Pascagoula's sunny bay,
+ And the banks of the roaring Roanoke!
+ Ah! what a wondrous thing it is
+ To note how many wheels of toil
+ One thought, one word, can set in motion!
+ There's not a ship that sails the ocean,
+ But every climate, every soil,
+ Must bring its tribute, great or small,
+ And help to build the wooden wall!
+
+ The sun was rising o'er the sea,
+ And long the level shadows lay,
+ As if they, too, the beams would be
+ Of some great, airy argosy,
+ Framed and launched in a single day.
+ That silent architect, the sun,
+ Had hewn and laid them every one,
+ Ere the work of man was yet begun.
+ Beside the Master, when he spoke,
+ A youth, against an anchor leaning,
+ Listened to catch his slightest meaning.
+ Only the long waves, as they broke
+ In ripples on the pebbly beach,
+ Interrupted the old man's speech.
+
+ Beautiful they were, in sooth,
+ The old man and the fiery youth!
+ The old man, in whose busy brain
+ Many a ship that sailed the main
+ Was modelled o'er and o'er again;--
+ The fiery youth, who was to be
+ The heir of his dexterity,
+ The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand,
+ When he had built and launched from land
+ What the elder head had planned.
+
+ 'Thus,' said he, 'will we build this ship!
+ Lay square the blocks upon the slip,
+ And follow well this plan of mine.
+ Choose the timbers with greatest care;
+ Of all that is unsound beware;
+ For only what is sound and strong
+ To this vessel shall belong.
+ Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine
+ Here together shall combine.
+ A goodly frame, and a goodly fame,
+ And the UNION be her name!
+ For the day that gives her to the sea
+ Shall give my daughter unto thee!'
+
+ The Master's word
+ EnrapturËd the young man heard;
+ And as he turned his face aside,
+ With a look of joy and a thrill of pride,
+ Standing before
+ Her father's door,
+ He saw the form of his promised bride.
+ The sun shone on her golden hair,
+ And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair,
+ With the breath of morn and the soft sea air.
+ Like a beauteous barge was she,
+ Still at rest on the sandy beach,
+ Just beyond the billow's reach;
+ But he
+ Was the restless, seething, stormy sea!
+
+ Ah! how skilful grows the hand
+ That obeyeth Love's command!
+ It is the heart, and not the brain,
+ That to the highest doth attain,
+ And he who followeth Love's behest
+ Far exceedeth all the rest!
+ Thus with the rising of the sun
+ Was the noble task begun,
+ And soon throughout the ship-yard's bounds
+ Were heard the intermingled sounds
+ Of axes and of mallets, plied
+ With vigourous arms on every side;
+ Plied so deftly and so well,
+ That ere the shadows of evening fell,
+ The keel of oak for a noble ship,
+ Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong,
+ Was lying ready, and stretched along
+ The blocks, well placed upon the slip.
+ Happy, thrice happy, every one
+ Who sees his labour well begun,
+ And not perplexed and multiplied,
+ By idly waiting for time and tide!
+
+ And when the hot, long day was o'er,
+ The young man at the Master's door
+ Sat with the maiden calm and still.
+ And within the porch, a little more
+ Removed beyond the evening chill,
+ The father sat, and told them tales
+ Of wrecks in the great September gales,
+ Of pirates upon the Spanish Main,
+ And ships that never came back again;
+ The chance and change of a sailor's life,
+ Want and plenty, rest and strife,
+ His roving fancy, like the wind,
+ That nothing can stay and nothing can bind:
+ And the magic charm of foreign lands,
+ With shadows of palms and shining sands,
+ Where the tumbling surf,
+ O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar,
+ Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar,
+ As he lies alone and asleep on the turf.
+
+ And the trembling maiden held her breath
+ At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea,
+ With all its terror and mystery,
+ The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death,
+ That divides and yet unites mankind!
+ And whenever the old man paused, a gleam
+ From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume
+ The silent group in the twilight gloom,
+ And thoughtful faces, as in a dream;
+ And for a moment one might mark
+ What had been hidden by the dark,
+ That the head of the maiden lay at rest,
+ Tenderly, on the young man's breast!
+
+
+ IN THE SHIP-YARD
+
+ Day by day the vessel grew,
+ With timbers fashioned strong and true,
+ Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee,
+ Till, framed with perfect symmetry,
+ A skeleton ship rose up to view!
+ And round the bows and along the side
+ The heavy hammers and mallets plied,
+ Till after many a week, at length,
+ Wonderful for form and strength,
+ Sublime in its enormous bulk,
+ Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk!
+ And around it columns of smoke, upwreathing,
+ Rose from the boiling, bubbling, seething
+ Caldron that glowed,
+ And overflowed
+ With the black tar, heated for the sheathing.
+ And amid the clamours
+ Of clattering hammers,
+ He who listened heard now and then
+ The song of the Master and his men:--
+
+ 'Build me straight, O worthy Master,
+ Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel,
+ That shall laugh at all disaster,
+ And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!'
+
+ With oaken brace and copper band,
+ Lay the rudder on the sand,
+ That, like a thought, should have control
+ Over the movement of the whole;
+ And near it the anchor, whose giant hand
+ Would reach down and grapple with the land,
+ And immovable and fast
+ Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast!
+ And at the bows an image stood,
+ By a cunning artist carved in wood,
+ With robes of white, that far behind
+ Seemed to be fluttering in the wind.
+ It was not shaped in a classic mould,
+ Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old,
+ Or Naiad rising from the water,
+ But modelled from the Master's daughter!
+ On many a dreary and misty night
+ 'Twill be seen by the rays of the signal light,
+ Speeding along through the rain and the dark,
+ Like a ghost in its snow-white sark,
+ The pilot of some phantom bark,
+ Guiding the vessel in its flight
+ By a path none other knows aright,
+ Behold, at last,
+ Each tall and tapering mast
+ Is swung into its place;
+ Shrouds and stays
+ Holding it firm and fast!
+
+ Long ago,
+ In the deer-haunted forests of Maine,
+ When upon mountain and plain
+ Lay the snow,
+ They fell--those lordly pines!
+ Those grand, majestic pines!
+ 'Mid shouts and cheers
+ The jaded steers,
+ Panting beneath the goad,
+ Dragged down the weary, winding road
+ Those captive kings so straight and tall,
+ To be shorn of their streaming hair
+ And, naked and bare,
+ To feel the stress and the strain
+ Of the wind and the reeling main,
+ Whose roar
+ Would remind them for evermore
+ Of their native forest they should not see again.
+ And everywhere
+ The slender, graceful spars
+ Poise aloft in the air,
+ And at the mast head,
+ White, blue, and red,
+ A flag unrolls the stripes and stars,
+ Ah! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless,
+ In foreign harbours shall behold
+ That flag unrolled,
+ 'Twill be as a friendly hand
+ Stretched out from his native land,
+ Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless.
+
+
+ THE TWO BRIDALS
+
+ All is finished! and at length
+ Has come the bridal day
+ Of beauty and of strength.
+ To-day the vessel shall be launched!
+ With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched,
+ And o'er the bay,
+ Slowly, in all his splendours dight,
+ The great sun rises to behold the sight.
+ The ocean old,
+ Centuries old,
+ Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled,
+ Paces restless to and fro
+ Up and down the sands of gold.
+ His beating heart is not at rest;
+ And far and wide,
+ With ceaseless flow,
+ His beard of snow
+ Heaves with the heaving of his breast.
+
+ He waits impatient for his bride.
+ There she stands,
+ With her foot upon the sands,
+ Decked with flags and streamers gay
+ In honour of her marriage day,
+ Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending,
+ Round her like a veil descending,
+ Ready to be
+ The bride of the grey, old sea.
+
+ On the deck another bride
+ Is standing by her lover's side.
+ Shadows from the flags and shrouds,
+ Like the shadows cast by clouds,
+ Broken by many a sunny fleck,
+ Fall around them on the deck.
+
+ The prayer is said,
+ The service read,
+ The joyous bridegroom bows his head,
+ And in tears the good old Master
+ Shakes the brown hand of his son,
+ Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek
+ In silence, for he cannot speak,
+ And ever faster
+ Down his own the tears begin to run.
+ The worthy pastor--
+ The shepherd of that wandering flock,
+ That has the ocean for its wold,
+ That has the vessel for its fold,
+ Leaping ever from rock to rock--
+ Spake, with accents mild and clear,
+ Words of warning, words of cheer,
+ But tedious to the bridegroom's ear.
+ He knew the chart,
+ Of the sailor's heart,
+ All its pleasures and its griefs,
+ All its shallows and rocky reefs,
+ All those secret currents that flow
+ With such resistless undertow,
+ And lift and drift with terrible force,
+ The will from its moorings and its course.
+ Therefore he spake, and thus said he:
+
+ 'Like unto ships far off at sea,
+ Outward or homeward bound, are we.
+ Before, behind, and all around,
+ Floats and swings the horizon's bound,
+ Seems at its distant rim to rise
+ And climb the crystal wall of the skies,
+ And then again to turn and sink,
+ As if we could slide from its outer brink.
+ Ah! it is not the sea,
+ It is not the sea that sinks and shelves,
+ But ourselves
+ That rock and rise
+ With endless and uneasy motion,
+ Now touching the very skies,
+ Now sinking into the depths of ocean.
+ Ah! if our souls but poise and swing
+ Like the compass in its brazen ring,
+ Ever level, and ever true
+ To the toil and the task we have to do,
+ We shall sail securely, and safely reach
+ The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach
+ The sights we see, and the sounds we hear,
+ Will be those of joy and not of fear!'
+
+ Then the Master,
+ With a gesture of command,
+ Waved his hand;
+ And at the word,
+ Loud and sudden there was heard,
+ All around them and below,
+ The sound of hammers, blow on blow,
+ Knocking away the shores and spurs.
+ And see! she stirs!
+ She starts--she moves--she seems to feel
+ The thrill of life along her keel,
+ And, spurning with her foot the ground,
+ With one exulting, joyous bound,
+ She leaps into the ocean's arms!
+ And lo! from the assembled crowd
+ There rose a shout, prolonged and loud,
+ That to the ocean seemed to say,--
+ 'Take her, O bridegroom, old and grey,
+ Take her to thy protecting arms,
+ With all her youth and all her charms!'
+
+ How beautiful she is! How fair
+ She lies within those arms, that press
+ Her form with many a soft caress
+ Of tenderness and watchful care!
+ Sail forth into the sea, O ship!
+ Through wind and wave, right onward steer!
+ The moistened eye, the trembling lip,
+ Are not the signs of doubt or fear.
+
+ Sail forth into the sea of life,
+ O gentle, loving, trusting wife,
+ And safe from all adversity
+ Upon the bosom of that sea
+ Thy comings and thy goings be!
+ For gentleness and love and trust
+ Prevail o'er angry wave and gust;
+ And in the wreck of noble lives
+ Something immortal still survives!
+
+ Thou, too, sail on, O ship of State!
+ Sail on, O Union, strong and great!
+ Humanity with all its fears,
+ With all the hopes of future years,
+ Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
+ We know what Master laid thy keel,
+ What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
+ Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
+ What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
+ In what a forge and what a heat
+ Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
+ Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
+ 'Tis of the wave and not the rock;
+ 'Tis but the flapping of the sail,
+ And not a rent made by the gale!
+ In spite of rock and tempest's roar,
+ In spite of false lights on the shore,
+ Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!
+ Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
+ Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
+ Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,
+ Are all with thee,--are all with thee!
+
+ _Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+ XC
+
+ THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE
+
+
+ Othere, the old sea-captain,
+ Who dwelt in Helgoland,
+ To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth,
+ Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth,
+ Which he held in his brown right hand.
+
+ His figure was tall and stately,
+ Like a boy's his eye appeared;
+ His hair was yellow as hay,
+ But threads of a silvery grey
+ Gleamed in his tawny beard.
+
+ Hearty and hale was Othere,
+ His cheek had the colour of oak;
+ With a kind of laugh in his speech,
+ Like the sea-tide on a beach,
+ As unto the king he spoke.
+
+ And Alfred, King of the Saxons,
+ Had a book upon his knees,
+ And wrote down the wondrous tale
+ Of him who was first to sail
+ Into the Arctic seas.
+
+ 'So far I live to the northward,
+ No man lives north of me;
+ To the east are wild mountain-chains,
+ And beyond them meres and plains;
+ To the westward all is sea.
+
+ So far I live to the northward,
+ From the harbour of Skeringes-hale,
+ If you only sailed by day
+ With a fair wind all the way,
+ More than a month would you sail.
+
+ I own six hundred reindeer,
+ With sheep and swine beside;
+ I have tribute from the Finns,
+ Whalebone and reindeer-skins,
+ And ropes of walrus-hide.
+
+ I ploughed the land with horses,
+ But my heart was ill at ease,
+ For the old seafaring men
+ Came to me now and then,
+ With their sagas of the seas;--
+
+ Of Iceland and of Greenland,
+ And the stormy Hebrides,
+ And the undiscovered deep;--
+ I could not eat nor sleep
+ For thinking of those seas.
+
+ To the northward stretched the desert,
+ How far I fain would know;
+ So at last I sallied forth,
+ And three days sailed due north,
+ As far as the whale-ships go.
+
+ To the west of me was the ocean,
+ To the right the desolate shore,
+ But I did not slacken sail
+ For the walrus or the whale,
+ Till after three days more.
+
+ The days grew longer and longer,
+ Till they became as one,
+ And southward through the haze
+ I saw the sullen blaze
+ Of the red midnight sun.
+
+ And then uprose before me,
+ Upon the water's edge,
+ The huge and haggard shape
+ Of that unknown North Cape,
+ Whose form is like a wedge.
+
+ The sea was rough and stormy,
+ The tempest howled and wailed,
+ And the sea-fog, like a ghost,
+ Haunted that dreary coast,
+ But onward still I sailed.
+
+ Four days I steered to eastward,
+ Four days without a night:
+ Round in a fiery ring
+ Went the great sun, O King,
+ With red and lurid light.'
+
+ Here Alfred, King of the Saxons,
+ Ceased writing for a while;
+ And raised his eyes from his book,
+ With a strange and puzzled look,
+ And an incredulous smile.
+
+ But Othere, the old sea-captain,
+ He neither paused nor stirred,
+ Till the King listened, and then
+ Once more took up his pen,
+ And wrote down every word.
+
+ 'And now the land,' said Othere,
+ 'Bent southward suddenly,
+ And I followed the curving shore,
+ And ever southward bore
+ Into a nameless sea.
+
+ And there we hunted the walrus,
+ The narwhale, and the seal;
+ Ha! 'twas a noble game!
+ And like the lightning's flame
+ Flew our harpoons of steel.
+
+ There were six of us all together,
+ Norsemen of Helgoland;
+ In two days and no more
+ We killed of them threescore,
+ And dragged them to the strand.'
+
+ Here Alfred, the Truth-Teller,
+ Suddenly closed his book,
+ And lifted his blue eyes,
+ With doubt and strange surmise
+ Depicted in their look.
+
+ And Othere, the old sea-captain,
+ Stared at him wild and weird,
+ Then smiled till his shining teeth
+ Gleamed white from underneath
+ His tawny, quivering beard.
+
+ And to the King of the Saxons,
+ In witness of the truth,
+ Raising his noble head,
+ He stretched his brown hand, and said,
+ 'Behold this walrus-tooth!'
+
+ _Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+ XCI
+
+ THE CUMBERLAND
+
+
+ At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,
+ On board of the Cumberland, sloop of war;
+ And at times from the fortress across the bay
+ The alarum of drums swept past,
+ Or a bugle blast
+ From the camp on the shore.
+
+ Then far away to the south uprose
+ A little feather of snow-white smoke,
+ And we knew that the iron ship of our foes
+ Was steadily steering its course
+ To try the force
+ Of our ribs of oak.
+
+ Down upon us heavily runs,
+ Silent and sullen, the floating fort;
+ Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,
+ And leaps the terrible death,
+ With fiery breath,
+ From each open port.
+
+ We are not idle, but send her straight
+ Defiance back in a full broadside!
+ As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,
+ Rebounds our heavier hail
+ From each iron scale
+ Of the monster's hide.
+
+ 'Strike your flag!' the rebel cries,
+ In his arrogant old plantation strain
+ 'Never!' our gallant Morris replies;
+ 'It is better to sink than to yield!'
+ And the whole air pealed
+ With the cheers of our men.
+
+ Then, like a kraken huge and black,
+ She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp!
+ Down went the Cumberland all a wreck,
+ With a sudden shudder of death,
+ And the cannon's breath
+ For her dying gasp.
+
+ Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay,
+ Still floated our flag at the mainmast head.
+ Lord, how beautiful was thy day!
+ Every waft of the air
+ Was a whisper of prayer,
+ Or a dirge for the dead.
+
+ Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas,
+ Ye are at peace in the troubled stream!
+ Ho! brave land! with hearts like these,
+ Thy flag that is rent in twain
+ Shall be one again,
+ And without a seam!
+
+ _Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+ XCII
+
+ A DUTCH PICTURE
+
+
+ Simon Danz has come home again,
+ From cruising about with his buccaneers;
+ He has singed the beard of the King of Spain,
+ And carried away the Dean of Jaen
+ And sold him in Algiers.
+
+ In his house by the Maes, with its roof of tiles
+ And weathercocks flying aloft in air,
+ There are silver tankards of antique styles,
+ Plunder of convent and castle, and piles
+ Of carpets rich and rare.
+
+ In his tulip-garden there by the town,
+ Overlooking the sluggish stream,
+ With his Moorish cap and dressing-gown,
+ The old sea-captain, hale and brown,
+ Walks in a waking dream.
+
+ A smile in his grey mustachio lurks
+ Whenever he thinks of the King of Spain,
+ And the listed tulips look like Turks,
+ And the silent gardener as he works
+ Is changed to the Dean of Jaen.
+
+ The windmills on the outermost
+ Verge of the landscape in the haze,
+ To him are towers on the Spanish coast
+ With whiskered sentinels at their post,
+ Though this is the river Maes.
+
+ But when the winter rains begin,
+ He sits and smokes by the blazing brands,
+ And old seafaring men come in,
+ Goat-bearded, grey, and with double chin,
+ And rings upon their hands.
+
+ They sit there in the shadow and shine
+ Of the flickering fire of the winter night;
+ Figures in colour and design
+ Like those by Rembrandt of the Rhine,
+ Half darkness and half light.
+
+ And they talk of their ventures lost or won,
+ And their talk is ever and ever the same,
+ While they drink the red wine of Tarragon,
+ From the cellars of some Spanish Don
+ Or convent set on flame.
+
+ Restless at times, with heavy strides
+ He paces his parlour to and fro;
+ He is like a ship that at anchor rides,
+ And swings with the rising and falling tides,
+ And tugs at her anchor-tow.
+
+ Voices mysterious far and near,
+ Sound of the wind and sound of the sea,
+ Are calling and whispering in his ear,
+ 'Simon Danz! Why stayest thou here?
+ Come forth and follow me!'
+
+ So he thinks he shall take to the sea again
+ For one more cruise with his buccaneers,
+ To singe the beard of the King of Spain,
+ And capture another Dean of Jaen
+ And sell him in Algiers.
+
+ _Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+ XCIII
+
+ BARBARA FRIETCHIE
+
+
+ Up from the meadows rich with corn,
+ Clear in the cool September morn,
+
+ The clustered spires of Frederick stand
+ Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
+
+ Round about them orchards sweep,
+ Apple and peach tree fruited deep,
+
+ Fair as a garden of the Lord
+ To the eyes of the famished rebel horde
+
+ On that pleasant morn of the early fall
+ When Lee marched over the mountain wall,
+
+ Over the mountains winding down,
+ Horse and foot into Frederick town.
+
+ Forty flags with their silver stars,
+ Forty flags with their crimson bars,
+
+ Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
+ Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
+
+ Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
+ Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
+
+ Bravest of all in Frederick town,
+ She took up the flag the men hauled down;
+
+ In her attic window the staff she set,
+ To show that one heart was loyal yet.
+
+ Up the street came the rebel tread,
+ Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
+
+ Under his slouched hat left and right
+ He glanced; the old flag met his sight.
+
+ 'Halt!'--the dust-brown ranks stood fast.
+ 'Fire!'--out blazed the rifle-blast.
+
+ It shivered the window, pane and sash;
+ It rent the banner with seam and gash.
+
+ Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
+ Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;
+
+ She leaned far out on the window-sill,
+ And shook it forth with a royal will.
+
+ 'Shoot, if you must, this old grey head,
+ But spare your country's flag,' she said.
+
+ A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
+ Over the face of the leader came;
+
+ The nobler nature within him stirred
+ To life at that woman's deed and word:
+
+ 'Who touches a hair of yon grey head
+ Dies like a dog! March on!' he said.
+
+ All day long through Frederick street
+ Sounded the tread of marching feet:
+
+ All day long that free flag tost
+ Over the heads of the rebel host.
+
+ Ever its torn folds rose and fell
+ On the loyal winds that loved it well;
+
+ And through the hill-gaps sunset light
+ Shone over it with a warm good-night.
+
+ _Whittier._
+
+
+
+
+ XCIV
+
+ A BALLAD OF THE FLEET
+
+
+ At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,
+ And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away:
+ 'Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!'
+ Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: ''Fore God I am no coward;
+ But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear,
+ And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick.
+ We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?'
+
+ Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: 'I know you are no coward;
+ You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.
+ But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore.
+ I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard,
+ To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.'
+
+ So Lord Howard passed away with five ships of war that day,
+ Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven;
+ But Sir Richard bore in hand all the sick men from the land
+ Very carefully and slow,
+ Men of Bideford in Devon,
+ And we laid them on the ballast down below;
+ For we brought them all aboard,
+ And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain,
+ To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.
+
+ He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight,
+ And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight,
+ With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow.
+ 'Shall we fight or shall we fly?
+ Good Sir Richard, tell us now,
+ For to fight is but to die!
+ There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.'
+ And Sir Richard said again: 'We be all good English men.
+ Let us bang those dogs of Seville, the children of the devil,
+ For I never turned my back upon Don or devil yet.'
+
+ Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we roared a hurrah, and so
+ The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe,
+ With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below;
+ For half their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen,
+ And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea-lane between.
+
+ Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks and laughed,
+ Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft
+ Running on and on, till delayed
+ By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons,
+ And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns,
+ Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed.
+
+ And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud
+ Whence the thunderbolt will fall
+ Long and loud,
+ Four galleons drew away
+ From the Spanish fleet that day,
+ And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay,
+ And the battle thunder broke from them all.
+
+ But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and went,
+ Having that within her womb that had left her ill content;
+ And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand,
+ For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers,
+ And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes his ears
+ When he leaps from the water to the land.
+
+ And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea,
+ But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.
+ Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came,
+ Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder and flame;
+ Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her
+ shame.
+ For some were sunk and many were shattered, and so could fight us no
+ more--
+ God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?
+
+ For he said, 'Fight on! fight on!'
+ Though his vessel was all but a wreck;
+ And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone,
+ With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck,
+ But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead,
+ And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head,
+ And he said, 'Fight on! fight on!'
+
+ 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.
+
+ And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true,
+ And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap
+ That he dared her with one little ship and his English few;
+ Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew,
+ But they sank his body with honour down into the deep,
+ And they manned the Revenge with a swarthier alien crew,
+ And away she sailed with her loss and longed for her own;
+ When a wind from the lands they had ruined awoke from sleep,
+ And the water began to heave and the weather to moan,
+ And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew,
+ And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew,
+ Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their
+ flags,
+ And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shattered navy of Spain,
+ And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags
+ To be lost evermore in the main.
+
+ _Tennyson._
+
+
+
+
+ XCV
+
+ THE HEAVY BRIGADE
+
+
+ The charge of the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade!
+ Down the hill, down the hill, thousands of Russians,
+ Thousands of horsemen, drew to the valley--and stayed;
+ For Scarlett and Scarlett's three hundred were riding by
+ When the points of the Russian lances arose in the sky;
+ And he called, 'Left wheel into line!' and they wheeled and obeyed.
+ Then he looked at the host that had halted he knew not why,
+ And he turned half round, and he bad his trumpeter sound
+ To the charge, and he rode on ahead, as he waved his blade
+ To the gallant three hundred whose glory will never die--
+ 'Follow,' and up the hill, up the hill, up the hill,
+ Followed the Heavy Brigade.
+
+ The trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and the might of the fight!
+ Thousands of horsemen had gathered there on the height,
+ With a wing pushed out to the left and a wing to the right,
+ And who shall escape if they close? but he dashed up alone
+ Through the great grey slope of men,
+ Swayed his sabre, and held his own
+ Like an Englishman there and then;
+ All in a moment followed with force
+ Three that were next in their fiery course,
+ Wedged themselves in between horse and horse,
+ Fought for their lives in the narrow gap they had made--
+ Four amid thousands! and up the hill, up the hill,
+ Gallopt the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade.
+
+ Fell like a cannon-shot,
+ Burst like a thunderbolt,
+ Crashed like a hurricane,
+ Broke through the mass from below,
+ Drove through the midst of the foe,
+ Plunged up and down, to and fro,
+ Rode flashing blow upon blow,
+ Brave Inniskillens and Greys
+ Whirling their sabres in circles of light!
+ And some of us, all in amaze,
+ Who were held for a while from the fight,
+ And were only standing at gaze,
+ When the dark-muffled Russian crowd
+ Folded its wings from the left and the right,
+ And rolled them around like a cloud,--
+ O mad for the charge and the battle were we,
+ When our own good redcoats sank from sight,
+ Like drops of blood in a dark grey sea,
+ And we turned to each other, whispering, all dismayed,
+ 'Lost are the gallant three hundred of Scarlett's Brigade!'
+
+ 'Lost one and all' were the words
+ Muttered in our dismay;
+ But they rode like Victors and Lords
+ Through the forest of lances and swords
+ In the heart of the Russian hordes,
+ They rode, or they stood at bay--
+ Struck with the sword-hand and slew,
+ Down with the bridle-hand drew
+ The foe from the saddle and threw
+ Underfoot there in the fray--
+ Ranged like a storm or stood like a rock
+ In the wave of a stormy day;
+ Till suddenly shock upon shock
+ Staggered the mass from without,
+ Drove it in wild disarray,
+ For our men gallopt up with a cheer and a shout,
+ And the foemen surged, and wavered and reeled
+ Up the hill, up the hill, up the hill, out of the field,
+ And over the brow and away.
+
+ Glory to each and to all, and the charge that they made!
+ Glory to all the three hundred, and all the Brigade!
+
+ _Tennyson._
+
+
+
+
+ XCVI
+
+ THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS
+
+
+ Last night, among his fellow roughs,
+ He jested, quaffed, and swore;
+ A drunken private of the Buffs,
+ Who never looked before.
+ To-day, beneath the foeman's frown,
+ He stands in Elgin's place,
+ Ambassador from Britain's crown
+ And type of all her race.
+
+ Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught
+ Bewildered, and alone,
+ A heart, with English instinct fraught,
+ He yet can call his own.
+ Ay, tear his body limb from limb,
+ Bring cord, or axe, or flame:
+ He only knows, that not through _him_
+ Shall England come to shame.
+
+ Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed,
+ Like dreams, to come and go;
+ Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed,
+ One sheet of living snow;
+ The smoke, above his father's door,
+ In grey soft eddyings hung:
+ Must he then watch it rise no more,
+ Doomed by himself, so young?
+
+ Yes, honour calls!--with strength like steel
+ He put the vision by.
+ Let dusky Indians whine and kneel;
+ An English lad must die.
+ And thus, with eyes that would not shrink,
+ With knee to man unbent,
+ Unfaltering on its dreadful brink,
+ To his red grave he went.
+
+ Vain, mightiest fleets of iron frames;
+ Vain, those all-shattering guns;
+ Unless proud England keep, untamed,
+ The strong heart of her sons.
+ So, let his name through Europe ring--
+ A man of mean estate,
+ Who died, as firm as Sparta's king,
+ Because his soul was great.
+
+ _Doyle._
+
+
+
+
+ XCVII
+
+ THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR
+
+
+ Eleven men of England
+ A breastwork charged in vain;
+ Eleven men of England
+ Lie stripped, and gashed, and slain.
+ Slain; but of foes that guarded
+ Their rock-built fortress well,
+ Some twenty had been mastered,
+ When the last soldier fell.
+
+ Whilst Napier piloted his wondrous way
+ Across the sand-waves of the desert sea,
+ Then flashed at once, on each fierce clan, dismay,
+ Lord of their wild Truckee.
+ These missed the glen to which their steps were bent,
+ Mistook a mandate, from afar half heard,
+ And, in that glorious error, calmly went
+ To death without a word.
+
+ The robber-chief mused deeply
+ Above those daring dead;
+ 'Bring here,' at length he shouted,
+ 'Bring quick, the battle thread.
+ Let Eblis blast for ever
+ Their souls, if Allah will:
+ But we must keep unbroken
+ The old rules of the Hill.
+
+ Before the Ghiznee tiger
+ Leapt forth to burn and slay;
+ Before the holy Prophet
+ Taught our grim tribes to pray;
+ Before Secunder's lances
+ Pierced through each Indian glen;
+ The mountain laws of honour
+ Were framed for fearless men.
+
+ Still, when a chief dies bravely,
+ We bind with green _one_ wrist--
+ Green for the brave, for heroes
+ ONE crimson thread we twist.
+ Say ye, Oh gallant Hillmen,
+ For these, whose life has fled,
+ Which is the fitting colour,
+ The green one or the red?'
+
+ 'Our brethren, laid in honoured graves, may wear
+ Their green reward,' each noble savage said;
+ 'To these, whom hawks and hungry wolves shall tear,
+ Who dares deny the red?'
+
+ Thus conquering hate, and steadfast to the right,
+ Fresh from the heart that haughty verdict came;
+ Beneath a waning moon, each spectral height
+ Rolled back its loud acclaim.
+
+ Once more the chief gazed keenly
+ Down on those daring dead;
+ From his good sword their heart's blood
+ Crept to that crimson thread.
+ Once more he cried, 'The judgment,
+ Good friends, is wise and true,
+ But though the red _be_ given,
+ Have we not more to do?
+
+ These were not stirred by anger,
+ Nor yet by lust made bold;
+ Renown they thought above them,
+ Nor did they look for gold.
+ To them their leader's signal
+ Was as the voice of God:
+ Unmoved, and uncomplaining,
+ The path it showed they trod.
+
+ As, without sound or struggle,
+ The stars unhurrying march,
+ Where Allah's finger guides them,
+ Through yonder purple arch,
+ These Franks, sublimely silent,
+ Without a quickened breath,
+ Went in the strength of duty
+ Straight to their goal of death.
+
+ 'If I were now to ask you
+ To name our bravest man,
+ Ye all at once would answer,
+ They called him Mehrab Khan.
+ He sleeps among his fathers,
+ Dear to our native land,
+ With the bright mark he bled for
+ Firm round his faithful hand.
+
+ 'The songs they sing of Rustum
+ Fill all the past with light;
+ If truth be in their music,
+ He was a noble knight.
+ But were those heroes living
+ And strong for battle still,
+ Would Mehrab Khan or Rustum
+ Have climbed, like these, the hill?'
+
+ And they replied, 'Though Mehrab Khan was brave,
+ As chief, he chose himself what risks to run;
+ Prince Rustum lied, his forfeit life to save,
+ Which these had never done.'
+
+ 'Enough!' he shouted fiercely;
+ 'Doomed though they be to hell,
+ Bind fast the crimson trophy
+ Round BOTH wrists--bind it well.
+ Who knows but that great Allah
+ May grudge such matchless men,
+ With none so decked in heaven,
+ To the fiends' flaming den?'
+
+ Then all those gallant robbers
+ Shouted a stern 'Amen!'
+ They raised the slaughtered sergeant,
+ They raised his mangled ten.
+ And when we found their bodies
+ Left bleaching in the wind,
+ Around BOTH wrists in glory
+ That crimson thread was twined.
+
+ Then Napier's knightly heart, touched to the core,
+ Rung, like an echo, to that knightly deed,
+ He bade its memory live for evermore,
+ That those who run may read.
+
+ _Doyle._
+
+
+
+
+ XCVIII
+
+ HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA
+
+
+ Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-west died away;
+ Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;
+ Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;
+ In the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey;
+ 'Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?'--say,
+ Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,
+ While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.
+
+ _Browning._
+
+
+
+
+ XCIX
+
+ HERV… RIEL
+
+
+ On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,
+ Did the English fight the French,--woe to France!
+ And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter thro' the blue,
+ Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,
+ Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Rance,
+ With the English fleet in view.
+
+ 'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase;
+ First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville;
+ Close on him fled, great and small,
+ Twenty-two good ships in all;
+ And they signalled to the place
+ 'Help the winners of a race!
+ Get us guidance, give us harbour, take us quick--or, quicker still,
+ Here's the English can and will!'
+
+ Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board;
+ 'Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?' laughed they:
+ 'Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored,
+ Shall the _Formidable_ here with her twelve and eighty guns
+ Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,
+ Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,
+ And with flow at full beside?
+ Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide.
+ Reach the mooring? Rather say,
+ While rock stands or water runs,
+ Not a ship will leave the bay!'
+
+ Then was called a council straight.
+ Brief and bitter the debate:
+ 'Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow
+ All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,
+ For a prize to Plymouth Sound?
+ Better run the ships aground!'
+ (Ended Damfreville his speech).
+ Not a minute more to wait!
+ 'Let the Captains all and each
+ Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!
+ France must undergo her fate.
+
+ Give the word!' But no such word
+ Was ever spoke or heard;
+ For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these
+ --A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate--first, second, third?
+ No such man of mark, and meet
+ With his betters to compete!
+ But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet,
+ A poor coasting-pilot he, HervÈ Riel the Croisickese.
+
+ And, 'What mockery or malice have we here?' cries HervÈ Riel:
+ 'Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues?
+ Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell
+ On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell
+ 'Twixt the offing here and GrËve where the river disembogues?
+ Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for?
+ Morn and eve, night and day,
+ Have I piloted your bay,
+ Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.
+
+ Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues!
+ Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way!
+ Only let me lead the line,
+ Have the biggest ship to steer,
+ Get this _Formidable_ clear,
+ Make the others follow mine,
+ And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well,
+ Right to Solidor past GrËve,
+ And there lay them safe and sound;
+ And if one ship misbehave,
+ --Keel so much as grate the ground,
+ Why, I've nothing but my life,--here's my head!' cries HervÈ Riel.
+
+ Not a minute more to wait.
+ 'Steer us in, then, small and great!
+ Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!' cried his chief.
+ 'Captains, give the sailor place!
+ He is Admiral, in brief.'
+ Still the north-wind, by God's grace!
+ See the noble fellow's face,
+ As the big ship with a bound,
+ Clears the entry like a hound,
+ Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide seas profound!
+ See, safe thro' shoal and rock,
+ How they follow in a flock,
+ Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,
+ Not a spar that comes to grief!
+ The peril, see, is past,
+ All are harboured to the last,
+ And just as HervÈ Riel hollas 'Anchor!'--sure as fate
+ Up the English come, too late!
+
+ So, the storm subsides to calm:
+ They see the green trees wave
+ On the o'erlooking GrËve.
+ Hearts that bled are stanched with balm.
+ 'Just our rapture to enhance,
+ Let the English take the bay,
+ Gnash their teeth and glare askance,
+ As they cannonade away!
+ 'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!'
+ How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance!
+ Out burst all with one accord,
+ 'This is Paradise for Hell!
+ Let France, let France's King
+ Thank the man that did the thing!'
+ What a shout, and all one word,
+ 'HervÈ Riel!'
+ As he stepped in front once more,
+ Not a symptom of surprise
+ In the frank blue Breton eyes,
+ Just the same man as before.
+
+ Then said Damfreville, 'My friend,
+ I must speak out at the end,
+ Though I find the speaking hard.
+ Praise is deeper than the lips:
+ You have saved the King his ships,
+ You must name your own reward.
+ 'Faith our sun was near eclipse!
+ Demand whate'er you will,
+ France remains your debtor still.
+ Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not Damfreville.'
+
+ Then a beam of fun outbroke
+ On the bearded mouth that spoke,
+ As the honest heart laughed through
+ Those frank eyes of Breton blue:
+ 'Since I needs must say my say,
+ Since on board the duty's done,
+ And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?--
+ Since 'tis ask and have, I may--
+ Since the others go ashore--
+ Come! A good whole holiday!
+ Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!'
+ That he asked and that he got,--nothing more.
+
+ Name and deed alike are lost:
+ Not a pillar nor a post
+ In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell;
+ Not a head in white and black
+ On a single fishing smack,
+ In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack
+ All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell.
+ Go to Paris: rank on rank
+ Search the heroes flung pell-mell
+ On the Louvre, face and flank!
+ You shall look long enough ere you come to HervÈ Riel.
+ So, for better and for worse,
+ HervÈ Riel, accept my verse!
+ In my verse, HervÈ Riel, do thou once more
+ Save the squadron, honour France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!
+
+ _Browning._
+
+
+
+
+ C
+
+ THE DYING FIREMAN
+
+
+ I am the mashed fireman with breast-bone broken,
+ Tumbling walls buried me in their dÈbris,
+ Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades,
+ I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels,
+ They have cleared the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth.
+
+ I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my
+ sake,
+ Painless after all I lie, exhausted but not so unhappy,
+ White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of
+ their fire-caps,
+ The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.
+
+ _Whitman._
+
+
+
+
+ CI
+
+ A SEA-FIGHT
+
+
+ Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight?
+ Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
+ List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me.
+
+ 'Our foe was no skulk in his ship, I tell you (said he),
+ His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and
+ never was, and never will be;
+ Along the lowered eve he came horribly raking us.
+
+ We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touched,
+ My captain lashed fast with his own hands.
+
+ We had received some eighteen-pound shots under the water,
+ On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire,
+ killing all around and blowing up overhead.
+
+ Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark,
+ Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain,
+ and five feet of water reported,
+ The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to
+ give them a chance for themselves.
+
+ The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels,
+ They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.
+
+ Our frigate takes fire,
+ The other asks if we demand quarter?
+ If our colours are struck and the fighting done?
+
+ Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,
+ "We have not struck," he composedly cries, "we have just begun our part
+ of the fighting."
+
+ Only three guns are in use,
+ One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast,
+ Two well served with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear
+ his decks.
+
+ The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the
+ main-top,
+ They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.
+
+ Not a moment's cease,
+ The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the
+ powder-magazine.
+
+ One of the pumps had been shot away, it is generally thought we are
+ sinking.
+
+ Serene stands the little captain,
+ He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low,
+ His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.
+
+ Toward twelve, there in the beams of the moon, they surrender to us.'
+
+ _Whitman._
+
+
+
+
+ CII
+
+ BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!
+
+
+ Beat! beat! drums!--blow! bugles! blow!
+ Through the windows--through doors--burst like a ruthless force,
+ Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation,
+ Into the school where the scholar is studying;
+ Leave not the bridegroom quiet--no happiness must he have now with
+ his bride,
+ Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering
+ his grain,
+ So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums--so shrill, you bugles, blow.
+
+ Beat! beat! drums!--blow! bugles! blow!
+ Over the traffic of cities--over the rumble of wheels in the streets;
+ Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers must
+ sleep in those beds,
+ No bargainers' bargains by day--no brokers or speculators--would they
+ continue?
+ Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
+ Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
+ Then rattle quicker, heavier, drums--you bugles, wilder blow.
+
+ Beat! beat! drums!--blow! bugles! blow!
+ Make no parley--stop for no expostulation,
+ Mind not the timid--mind not the weeper or prayer,
+ Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,
+ Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties,
+ Make even the trestle to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the
+ hearses,
+ So strong you thump, O terrible drums--so loud, you bugles, blow.
+
+ _Whitman._
+
+
+
+
+ CIII
+
+ TWO VETERANS
+
+
+ The last sunbeam
+ Lightly falls from the finished Sabbath,
+ On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking
+ Down a new-made double grave.
+
+ Lo! the moon ascending,
+ Up from the east the silvery round moon,
+ Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,
+ Immense and silent moon.
+
+ I see a sad procession,
+ And I hear the sound of coming full-keyed bugles,
+ All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,
+ As with voices and with tears.
+
+ I hear the great drums pounding,
+ And the small drums steady whirring,
+ And every blow of the great convulsive drums
+ Strikes me through and through.
+
+ For the son is brought with the father,
+ (In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell,
+ Two veterans son and father dropt together,
+ And the double grave awaits them).
+
+ Now nearer blow the bugles,
+ And the drums strike more convulsive,
+ And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded,
+ And the strong dead-march enwraps me.
+
+ In the eastern sky up-buoying,
+ The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumined,
+ ('Tis some mother's large transparent face
+ In heaven brighter growing).
+
+ O strong dead-march you please me!
+ O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me!
+ O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial!
+ What I have I also give you.
+
+ The moon gives you light,
+ And the bugles and the drums give you music,
+ And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
+ My heart gives you love.
+
+ _Whitman._
+
+
+
+
+ CIV
+
+ THE PLEASANT ISLE OF AV»S
+
+
+ Oh England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high,
+ But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I;
+ And such a port for mariners I ne'er shall see again
+ As the pleasant Isle of AvËs, beside the Spanish main.
+
+ There were forty craft in AvËs that were both swift and stout,
+ All furnished well with small arms and cannons round about;
+ And a thousand men in AvËs made laws so fair and free
+ To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally.
+
+ Thence we sailed against the Spaniard with his hoards of plate and gold,
+ Which he wrung with cruel tortures from Indian folk of old;
+ Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as stone,
+ Who flog men and keel-haul them, and starve them to the bone.
+
+ O the palms grew high in AvËs, and fruits that shone like gold,
+ And the colibris and parrots they were gorgeous to behold;
+ And the negro maids to AvËs from bondage fast did flee,
+ To welcome gallant sailors, a-sweeping in from sea.
+
+ O sweet it was in AvËs to hear the landward breeze,
+ A-swing with good tobacco in a net between the trees,
+ With a negro lass to fan you, while you listened to the roar
+ Of the breakers on the reef outside, that never touched the shore.
+
+ But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be;
+ So the King's ships sailed on AvËs, and quite put down were we.
+ All day we fought like bulldogs, but they burst the booms at night;
+ And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the fight.
+
+ Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside,
+ Till, for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died;
+ But as I lay a-gasping, a Bristol sail came by,
+ And brought me home to England here, to beg until I die.
+
+ And now I'm old and going--I'm sure I can't tell where;
+ One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be worse off there:
+ If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main,
+ To the pleasant Isle of AvËs, to look at it once again.
+
+ _Kingsley._
+
+
+
+
+ CV
+
+ A WELCOME
+
+
+ Welcome, wild North-easter.
+ Shame it is to see
+ Odes to every zephyr;
+ Ne'er a verse to thee.
+ Welcome, black North-easter!
+ 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
+ Turns us out to play!
+ Sweep the golden reed-beds;
+ Crisp the lazy dyke;
+ 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 snow-flakes
+ Off the curdled sky.
+ Hark! The brave North-easter!
+ Breast-high lies the scent,
+ On by holt and headland,
+ Over heath and bent.
+ Chime, ye dappled darlings,
+ Through the sleet and snow.
+ Who can over-ride 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 grey weather
+ Breeds hard English men.
+ What's the soft South-wester?
+ 'Tis the ladies' breeze,
+ Bringing home their true-loves
+ Out of all the seas:
+ But the black North-easter,
+ 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!
+
+ _Kingsley._
+
+
+
+
+ CVI
+
+ THE BIRKENHEAD
+
+
+ Amid the loud ebriety of War,
+ With shouts of 'la Republique' and 'la Gloire,'
+ The Vengeur's crew, 'twas said, with flying flag
+ And broadside blazing level with the wave
+ Went down erect, defiant, to their grave
+ Beneath the sea.--'Twas but a Frenchman's brag,
+ Yet Europe rang with it for many a year.
+ Now we recount no fable; Europe, hear!
+ And when they tell thee 'England is a fen
+ Corrupt, a kingdom tottering to decay,
+ Her nerveless burghers lying an easy prey
+ For the first comer,' tell how the other day
+ A crew of half a thousand Englishmen
+ Went down into the deep in Simon's Bay!
+
+ Not with the cheer of battle in the throat,
+ Or cannon-glare and din to stir their blood,
+ But, roused from dreams of home to find their boat
+ Fast sinking, mustered on the deck they stood,
+ Biding God's pleasure and their chief's command.
+ Calm was the sea, but not less calm that band
+ Close ranged upon the poop, with bated breath
+ But flinching not though eye to eye with Death! Heroes!
+
+ Who were those Heroes? Veterans steeled
+ To face the King of Terrors mid the scaith
+ Of many an hurricane and trenchËd field?
+ Far other: weavers from the stocking-frame;
+ Boys from the plough; cornets with beardless chin,
+ But steeped in honour and in discipline!
+ Weep, Britain, for the Cape whose ill-starred name,
+ Long since divorced from Hope suggests but shame,
+ Disaster, and thy Captains held at bay
+ By naked hordes; but as thou weepest, thank
+ Heaven for those undegenerate sons who sank
+ Aboard the Birkenhead in Simon's Bay!
+
+ _Yule._
+
+
+
+
+ CVII
+
+ APOLLO
+
+
+ Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts
+ Thick breaks the red flame;
+ All Etna heaves fiercely
+ Her forest-clothed frame.
+
+ Not here, O Apollo!
+ Are haunts meet for thee.
+ But, where Helicon breaks down
+ In cliff to the sea,
+
+ Where the moon-silvered inlets
+ Send far their light voice
+ Up the still vale of Thisbe,
+ O speed, and rejoice!
+
+ On the sward at the cliff-top
+ Lie strewn the white flocks.
+ On the cliff-side the pigeons
+ Roost deep in the rocks.
+
+ In the moonlight the shepherds,
+ Soft lulled by the rills,
+ Lie wrapt in their blankets
+ Asleep on the hills.
+
+ --What forms are these coming
+ So white through the gloom?
+ What garments out-glistening
+ The gold-flowered broom?
+
+ What sweet-breathing presence
+ Out-perfumes the thyme?
+ What voices enrapture
+ The night's balmy prime?--
+
+ 'Tis Apollo comes leading
+ His choir, the Nine.
+ --The leader is fairest,
+ But all are divine.
+
+ They are lost in the hollows!
+ They stream up again!
+ What seeks on this mountain
+ The glorified train?--
+
+ They bathe on this mountain,
+ In the spring by the road;
+ Then on to Olympus,
+ Their endless abode.
+
+ --Whose praise do they mention?
+ Of what is it told?--
+ What will be for ever;
+ What was from of old.
+
+ First hymn they the Father
+ Of all things; and then,
+ The rest of immortals,
+ The action of men.
+
+ The day in his hotness,
+ The strife with the palm;
+ The night in her silence,
+ The stars in their calm.
+
+ _Arnold._
+
+
+
+
+ CVIII
+
+ THE DEATH OF SOHRAB
+
+
+ THE DUEL
+
+ He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts,
+ And he too drew his sword; at once they rushed
+ Together, as two eagles on one prey
+ Come rushing down together from the clouds,
+ One from the east, one from the west; their shields
+ Dashed with a clang together, and a din
+ Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters
+ Make often in the forest's heart at morn,
+ Of hewing axes, crashing trees--such blows
+ Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed.
+ And you would say that sun and stars took part
+ In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud
+ Grew suddenly in Heaven, and darkened the sun
+ Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose
+ Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain,
+ And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair.
+ In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they alone;
+ For both the on-looking hosts on either hand
+ Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure,
+ And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream.
+ But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes
+ And labouring breath; first Rustum struck the shield
+ Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-spiked spear
+ Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin,
+ And Rustum plucked it back with angry groan.
+ Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm,
+ Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest
+ He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume,
+ Never till now defiled, sank to the dust;
+ And Rustum bowed his head; but then the gloom
+ Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air,
+ And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse,
+ Who stood at hand, uttered a dreadful cry;--
+ No horse's cry was that, most like the roar
+ Of some pained desert-lion, who all day
+ Hath trailed the hunter's javelin in his side,
+ And comes at night to die upon the sand.
+ The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear,
+ And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream.
+ But Sohrab heard, and quailed not, but rushed on,
+ And struck again; and again Rustum bowed
+ His head; but this time all the blade, like glass,
+ Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm,
+ And in the hand the hilt remained alone.
+ Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes
+ Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear,
+ And shouted: _Rustum!_--Sohrab heard that shout,
+ And shrank amazed; back he recoiled one step,
+ And scanned with blinking eyes the advancing form;
+ And then he stood bewildered; and he dropped
+ His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side.
+ He reeled, and staggering back, sank to the ground;
+ And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell,
+ And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all
+ The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair--
+ Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet,
+ And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand.
+
+
+ SOHRAB
+
+ Then with a bitter smile, Rustum began:--
+ 'Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill
+ A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse,
+ And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent.
+ Or else that the great Rustum would come down
+ Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move
+ His heart to take a gift, and let thee go.
+ And then that all the Tartar host would praise
+ Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame,
+ To glad thy father in his weak old age.
+ Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man!
+ Dearer to the red jackels shalt thou be
+ Than to thy friends, and to thy father old,'
+ And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied:--
+ 'Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain.
+ Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man!
+ No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart.
+ For were I matched with ten such men as thee,
+ And I were that which till to-day I was,
+ They should be lying here, I standing there.
+ But that beloved name unnerved my arm--
+ That name, and something, I confess, in thee,
+ Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield
+ Fall; and thy spear transfix an unarmed foe.
+ And now thou boastest, and insultest my fate.
+ But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear:
+ The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death!
+ My father, whom I seek through all the world,
+ He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!'
+ As when some hunter in the spring hath found
+ A breeding eagle sitting on her nest,
+ Upon the craggy isle of a hill-lake,
+ And pierced her with an arrow as she rose,
+ And followed her to find her where she fell
+ Far off;--anon her mate comes winging back
+ From hunting, and a great way off decries
+ His huddling young left-sole; at that he checks
+ His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps
+ Circles above his eyry, with loud screams
+ Chiding his mate back to her nest; but she
+ Lies dying, with the arrow in her side,
+ In some far stony gorge out of his ken,
+ A heap of fluttering feathers--never more
+ Shall the lake glass her, flying over it;
+ Never the black and dripping precipices
+ Echo her stormy scream as she sails by--
+ As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss,
+ So Rustum knew not his own loss, but stood
+ Over his dying son, and knew him not.
+ But, with a cold, incredulous voice he said:
+ 'What prate is this of fathers and revenge?
+ The mighty Rustum never had a son.'
+ And with a failing voice Sohrab replied:
+ 'Ah yes, he had! and that lost son am I,
+ Surely the news will one day reach his ear,
+ Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long,
+ Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here;
+ And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap
+ To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee.
+ Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only son!
+ What will that grief, what will that vengeance be?
+ O could I live, till I that grief had seen!
+ Yet him I pity not so much, but her,
+ My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells
+ With that old king, her father, who grows grey
+ With age, and rules over the valiant Koords.
+ Her most I pity, who no more will see
+ Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp,
+ With spoils and honour, when the war is done.
+ But a dark rumour will be bruited up,
+ From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear;
+ And then will that defenceless woman learn
+ That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more,
+ But that in battle with a nameless foe,
+ By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain.'
+
+
+ THE RECOGNITION
+
+ He spoke, and as he ceased he wept aloud,
+ Thinking of her he left, and his own death.
+ He spoke; but Rustum listened plunged in thought.
+ Nor did he yet believe it was his son
+ Who spoke, although he called back names he knew;
+ For he had had sure tidings that the babe,
+ Which was in Ader-baijan born to him,
+ Had been a puny girl, no boy at all--
+ So that sad mother sent him word, for fear
+ Rustum should seek the boy, to train in arms.
+ And as he deemed that either Sohrab took,
+ By a false boast, the style of Rustum's son;
+ Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame.
+ So deemed he; yet he listened plunged in thought;
+ And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide
+ Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to shore
+ At the full moon; tears gathered in his eyes;
+ For he remembered his own early youth,
+ And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn,
+ The shepherd from his mountain-lodge descries
+ A far, bright city, smitten by the sun,
+ Through many rolling clouds--so Rustum saw
+ His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in her bloom;
+ And that old king, her father, who loved well
+ His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child
+ With joy; and all the pleasant life they led,
+ They three, in that long-distant summer-time--
+ The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt
+ And hound, and morn on those delightful hills
+ In Ader-baijan. And he saw that Youth,
+ Of age and looks to be his own dear son,
+ Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand,
+ Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe
+ Of an unskilful gardener has been cut,
+ Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed,
+ And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom,
+ On the mown, dying grass--so Sohrab lay,
+ Lovely in death, upon the common sand.
+ And Rustum gazed on him in grief, and said:
+ 'O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son
+ Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have loved:
+ Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men
+ Have told thee false--thou art not Rustum's son.
+ For Rustum had no son; one child he had--
+ But one--a girl; who with her mother now
+ Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us--
+ Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war.'
+ But Sohrab answered him in wrath; for now
+ The anguish of the deep-fixed spear grew fierce,
+ And he desirËd to draw forth the steel,
+ And let the blood flow free, and so to die--
+ But first he would convince his stubborn foe;
+ And, rising sternly on one arm, he said:
+ 'Man, who art thou who dost deny my words?
+ Truth sits upon the lips of dying men,
+ And falsehood, while I lived, was far from mine.
+ I tell thee, pricked upon this arm I bear
+ That seal which Rustum to my mother gave,
+ That she might prick it on the babe she bore.'
+ He spoke; and all the blood left Rustum's cheeks,
+ And his knees tottered, and he smote his hand
+ Against his breast, his heavy mailËd hand,
+ That the hard iron corselet clanked aloud;
+ And to his heart he pressed the other hand,
+ And in a hollow voice he spake and said:
+ 'Sohrab, that were a proof that could not lie!
+ If thou show this, then art thou Rustum's son.'
+ Then with weak hasty fingers Sohrab loosed
+ His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm,
+ And showed a sign in faint vermilion points
+ Pricked; as a cunning workman, in Pekin,
+ Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase,
+ An emperor's gift--at early morn he paints,
+ And all day long, and, when night comes, the lamp
+ Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands--
+ So delicately pricked the sign appeared
+ On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Rustum's seal.
+ It was that griffin, which of old reared Zal,
+ Rustum's great father, whom they left to die,
+ A helpless babe, among the mountain rocks;
+ Him that kind creature found, and reared, and loved--
+ Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign.
+ And Sohrab bared that image on his arm,
+ And himself scanned it long with mournful eyes,
+ And then he touched it with his hand and said:--
+ 'How sayest thou? Is that sign the proper sign
+ Of Rustum's son, or of some other man's?'
+
+
+ RUKSH THE HORSE
+
+ He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood
+ Speechless; and then he uttered one sharp cry:
+ _O boy--thy father!_--and his voice choked there.
+ And then a dark cloud passed before his eyes,
+ And his head swam, and he sank down to earth.
+ But Sohrab crawled to where he lay, and cast
+ His arms about his neck, and kissed his lips,
+ And with fond faltering fingers stroked his cheeks,
+ Trying to call him back to life; and life
+ Came back to Rustum, and he oped his eyes,
+ And they stood wide with horror; and he seized
+ In both his hands the dust which lay around,
+ And threw it on his head, and smirched his hair,--
+ His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms;
+ And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast,
+ And his sobs choked him; and he clutched his sword,
+ To draw it, and for ever let life out.
+ But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands,
+ And with a soothing voice he spake, and said:
+ 'Father, forbear! for I but meet to-day
+ The doom which at my birth was written down
+ In Heaven, and thou art Heaven's unconscious hand.
+ Surely my heart cried out that it was thou,
+ When first I saw thee; and thy heart spoke too,
+ I know it! but fate trod these promptings down
+ Under its iron heel; fate, fate engaged
+ The strife, and hurled me on my father's spear.
+ But let us speak no more of this! I find
+ My father; let me feel that I have found!
+ Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take
+ My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks,
+ And wash them with thy tears, and say: _My son!_
+ Quick! quick! for numbered are my sands of life,
+ And swift; for like the lightning to this field
+ I came, and like the wind I go away--
+ Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind.
+ But it was writ in Heaven that this should be.'
+ So said he, and his voice released the heart
+ Of Rustum and his tears broke forth; he cast
+ His arms round his son's neck, and wept aloud,
+ And kissed him. And awe fell on both the hosts,
+ When they saw Rustum's grief; and Ruksh the horse,
+ With his head bowing to the ground and mane
+ Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe
+ First to the one, then to the other moved
+ His head, as if inquiring what their grief
+ Might mean; and from his dark, compassionate eyes,
+ The big warm tears rolled down, and caked the sand.
+ But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said:--
+ 'Ruksh, now thou grievest; but, O Ruksh, thy feet
+ Should first have rotted on their nimble joints,
+ Or ere they brought thy master to this field!'
+ But Sohrab looked upon the horse and said:
+ 'Is this, then, Ruksh? How often in past days,
+ My mother told me of thee, thou brave steed,
+ My terrible father's terrible horse! and said,
+ That I should one day find thy lord and thee.
+ Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane!
+ O Ruksh, thou art more fortunate than I;
+ For thou hast gone where I shall never go,
+ And snuffed the breezes of my father's home.
+ And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan,
+ And seen the river of Helmund, and the Lake
+ Of Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself
+ Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee food,
+ Corn in a golden platter soaked with wine,
+ And said: _O Ruksh! bear Rustum well!_--but I
+ Have never known my grandsire's furrowed face,
+ Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan,
+ Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund stream;
+ But lodged among my father's foes, and seen
+ Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand,
+ Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste,
+ And the black Toorkman tents; and only drunk
+ The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend,
+ Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep,
+ The northern Sir; and this great Oxus stream,
+ The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die.'
+
+
+ RUSTUM
+
+ Then with a heavy groan, Rustum bewailed:
+ 'O that its waves were flowing over me!
+ O that I saw its grains of yellow silt
+ Roll tumbling in the current o'er my head!'
+ But with a grave mild voice, Sohrab replied:--
+ 'Desire not that, my father! thou must live.
+ For some are born to do great deeds, and live,
+ As some are born to be obscured, and die.
+ Do thou the deeds I die too young to do,
+ And reap a second glory in thine age;
+ Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine.
+ But come! thou seest this great host of men
+ Which follow me; I pray thee, slay not these!
+ Let me entreat for them; what have they done?
+ They followed me, my hope, my fame, my star.
+ Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace.
+ But me thou must bear hence, not send with them,
+ But carry me with thee to Seistan,
+ And place me on a bed, and mourn for me,
+ Thou, and the snow-haired Zal, and all thy friends.
+ And thou must lay me in that lovely earth,
+ And heap a stately mound above my bones,
+ And plant a far-seen pillar over all.
+ That so the passing horseman on the waste
+ May see my tomb a great way off, and cry;
+ _Sohrab, the mighty Rustum's son, lies here,
+ Whom his great father did in ignorance kill!_
+ And I be not forgotten in my grave.'
+ And, with a mournful voice, Rustum replied:
+ 'Fear not! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son,
+ So shall it be; for I will burn my tents,
+ And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me,
+ And carry thee away to Seistan,
+ And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee,
+ With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends.
+ And I will lay thee in that lovely earth,
+ And heap a stately mound above thy bones,
+ And plant a far-seen pillar over all,
+ And men shall not forget thee in thy grave.
+ And I will spare thy host; yea, let them go!
+ Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace!
+ What should I do with slaying any more?
+ For would that all whom I have ever slain
+ Might be once more alive--my bitterest foes,
+ And they who were called champions in their time,
+ And through whose death I won that fame I have--
+ And I were nothing but a common man,
+ A poor, mean soldier, and without renown,
+ So thou mightest live too, my son, my son!
+ Or rather would that I, even I myself,
+ Might now be lying on this bloody sand,
+ Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine,
+ Not thou of mine! and I might die, not thou;
+ And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan;
+ And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine;
+ And say: _O Son, I weep thee not too sore,
+ For willingly, I know, thou met'st thine end!_
+ But now in blood and battles was my youth,
+ And full of blood and battles is my age,
+ And I shall never end this life of blood.'
+ Then at the point of death, Sohrab replied:
+ 'A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man!
+ But thou shalt yet have peace; only not now,
+ Not yet! but thou shalt have it on that day,
+ When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship,
+ Thou and the other peers of Kai Khosroo
+ Returning home over the salt blue sea,
+ From laying thy dear master in his grave.'
+
+
+ NIGHT
+
+ And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said:
+ 'Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea!
+ Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure.'
+ He spoke; and Sohrab smiled on him, and took
+ The spear, and drew it from his side, and eased
+ His wound's imperious anguish; but the blood
+ Came welling from the open gash, and life
+ Flowed with the stream;--all down his cold white side
+ The crimson torrent ran, dim now and soiled,
+ Like the soiled tissue of white violets
+ Left, freshly gathered, on their native bank,
+ By children whom their nurses call with haste
+ Indoors from the sun's eye; his head dropped low,
+ His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, he lay--
+ White, with eyes closed; only when heavy gasps,
+ Deep heavy gasps quivering through all his frame,
+ Convulsed him back to life, he opened them,
+ And fixed them feebly on his father's face;
+ Till now all strength was ebbed, and from his limbs
+ Unwillingly the spirit fled away,
+ Regretting the warm mansion which it left,
+ And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world.
+ So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead;
+ And the great Rustum drew his horseman's cloak
+ Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son.
+ As those black granite pillars once high-reared
+ By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear
+ His house, now 'mid their broken flights of steps
+ Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side,
+ So in the sand lay Rustum by his son.
+ And night came down over the solemn waste,
+ And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair,
+ And darkened all; and a cold fog, with night,
+ Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose,
+ As of a great assembly loosed, and fires
+ Began to twinkle through the fog; for now
+ Both armies moved to camp, and took their meal;
+ The Persians took it on the open sands
+ Southward, the Tartars by the river marge;
+ And Rustum and his son were left alone.
+ But the majestic river floated on,
+ Out of the mist and hum of that low land,
+ Into the frosty starlight, and there moved,
+ Rejoicing, through the hushed Chorasmian waste,
+ Under the solitary moon;--he flowed
+ Right for the polar star, past OrgunjË,
+ Brimming, and bright, and large; then sands begin
+ To hem his watery march, and dam his streams,
+ And split his currents; that for many a league
+ The shorn and parcelled Oxus strains along
+ Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles--
+ Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had
+ In his high mountain cradle in Pamere
+ A foiled circuitous wanderer--till at last
+ The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and wide
+ His luminous home of waters opens, bright
+ And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars
+ Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea.
+
+ _Arnold._
+
+
+
+
+ CIX
+
+ FLEE FRO' THE PRESS
+
+
+ O born in days when wits were fresh and clear
+ And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames;
+ Before this strange disease of modern life,
+ With its sick hurry, its divided aims,
+ Its heads o'ertaxed, its palsied hearts, was rife--
+ Fly hence, our contact fear!
+ Still fly, plunge deeper in the bowering wood!
+ Averse, as Dido did with gesture stern
+ From her false friend's approach in Hades turn,
+ Wave us away and keep thy solitude!
+
+ Still nursing the unconquerable hope,
+ Still clutching the inviolable shade,
+ With a free, onward impulse brushing through,
+ By night, the silvered branches of the glade--
+ Far on the forest-skirts, where none pursue,
+ On some mild pastoral slope
+ Emerge, and resting on the moonlit pales
+ Freshen thy flowers as in former years
+ With dew, or listen with enchanted ears,
+ From the dark dingles, to the nightingales!
+
+ But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly!
+ For strong the infection of our mental strife,
+ Which, though it gives no bliss, yet spoils for rest;
+ And we should win thee from thy own fair life,
+ Like us distracted, and like us unblest.
+ Soon, soon thy cheer would die,
+ Thy hopes grow timorous, and unfixed thy powers,
+ And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made;
+ And then thy glad perennial youth would fade,
+ Fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours.
+
+ Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles!
+ As some grave Tyrian trader, from the sea,
+ Descried at sunrise an emerging prow
+ Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily,
+ The fringes of a southward-facing brow
+ Among the ∆gÊan isles;
+ And saw the merry Grecian coaster come,
+ Freighted with amber grapes, and Chian wine,
+ Green, bursting figs, and tunnies steeped in brine--
+ And knew the intruders on his ancient home,
+
+ The young light-hearted masters of the waves--
+ And snatched his rudder, and shook out more sail;
+ And day and night held on indignantly
+ O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale,
+ Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily,
+ To where the Atlantic raves
+ Outside the western straits; and unbent sails
+ There, where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of foam,
+ Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come;
+ And on the beach undid his corded bales.
+
+ _Arnold._
+
+
+
+
+ CX
+
+ SCHOOL FENCIBLES
+
+
+ We come in arms, we stand ten score,
+ Embattled on the castle green;
+ We grasp our firelocks tight, for war
+ Is threatening, and we see our Queen.
+ And 'Will the churls last out till we
+ Have duly hardened bones and thews
+ For scouring leagues of swamp and sea
+ Of braggart mobs and corsair crews?'
+ We ask; we fear not scoff or smile
+ At meek attire of blue and grey,
+ For the proud wrath that thrills our isle
+ Gives faith and force to this array.
+ So great a charm is England's right,
+ That hearts enlarged together flow,
+ And each man rises up a knight
+ To work the evil-thinkers woe.
+ And, girt with ancient truth and grace,
+ We do our service and our suit,
+ And each can be, whate'er his race,
+ A Chandos or a Montacute.
+ Thou, Mistress, whom we serve to-day,
+ Bless the real swords that we shall wield,
+ Repeat the call we now obey
+ In sunset lands, on some fair field.
+ Thy flag shall make some Huron rock
+ As dear to us as Windsor's keep,
+ And arms thy Thames hath nerved shall mock
+ The surgings of th' Ontarian deep.
+ The stately music of thy Guards,
+ Which times our march beneath thy ken,
+ Shall sound, with spells of sacred bards,
+ From heart to heart, when we are men.
+ And when we bleed on alien earth,
+ We'll call to mind how cheers of ours
+ Proclaimed a loud uncourtly mirth
+ Amongst thy glowing orange bowers.
+ And if for England's sake we fall,
+ So be it, so thy cross be won,
+ Fixed by kind hands on silvered pall,
+ And worn in death, for duty done.
+ Ah! thus we fondle Death, the soldier's mate,
+ Blending his image with the hopes of youth
+ To hallow all; meanwhile the hidden fate
+ Chills not our fancies with the iron truth.
+ Death from afar we call, and Death is here,
+ To choose out him who wears the loftiest mien;
+ And Grief, the cruel lord who knows no peer,
+ Breaks through the shield of love to pierce our Queen.
+
+ _Cory._
+
+
+
+
+ CXI
+
+ THE TWO CAPTAINS
+
+
+ When George the Third was reigning a hundred years ago,
+ He ordered Captain Farmer to chase the foreign foe.
+ 'You're not afraid of shot,' said he, 'you're not afraid of wreck,
+ So cruise about the west of France in the frigate called _Quebec_.
+
+ Quebec was once a Frenchman's town, but twenty years ago
+ King George the Second sent a man called General Wolfe, you know,
+ To clamber up a precipice and look into Quebec,
+ As you'd look down a hatchway when standing on the deck.
+
+ If Wolfe could beat the Frenchmen then so you can beat them now.
+ Before he got inside the town he died, I must allow.
+ But since the town was won for us it is a lucky name,
+ And you'll remember Wolfe's good work, and you shall do the same.'
+
+ Then Farmer said, 'I'll try, sir,' and Farmer bowed so low
+ That George could see his pigtail tied in a velvet bow.
+ George gave him his commission, and that it might be safer,
+ Signed 'King of Britain, King of France,' and sealed it with a wafer.
+
+ Then proud was Captain Farmer in a frigate of his own,
+ And grander on his quarter-deck than George upon the throne.
+ He'd two guns in his cabin, and on the spar-deck ten,
+ And twenty on the gun-deck, and more than ten score men.
+
+ And as a huntsman scours the brakes with sixteen brace of dogs,
+ With two-and-thirty cannon the ship explored the fogs.
+ From Cape la Hogue to Ushant, from Rochefort to Belleisle,
+ She hunted game till reef and mud were rubbing on her keel.
+
+ The fogs are dried, the frigate's side is bright with melting tar,
+ The lad up in the foretop sees square white sails afar;
+ The east wind drives three square-sailed masts from out the Breton bay,
+ And 'Clear for action!' Farmer shouts, and reefers yell 'Hooray!'
+
+ The Frenchman's captain had a name I wish I could pronounce;
+ A Breton gentleman was he, and wholly free from bounce,
+ One like those famous fellows who died by guillotine
+ For honour and the fleurs-de-lys and Antoinette the Queen.
+
+ The Catholic for Louis, the Protestant for George,
+ Each captain drew as bright a sword as saintly smiths could forge;
+ And both were simple seamen, but both could understand
+ How each was bound to win or die for flag and native land.
+
+ The French ship was _la Surveillante_, which means the watchful maid;
+ She folded up her head-dress and began to cannonade.
+ Her hull was clean, and ours was foul; we had to spread more sail.
+ On canvas, stays, and topsail yards her bullets came like hail.
+
+ Sore smitten were both captains, and many lads beside,
+ And still to cut our rigging the foreign gunners tried.
+ A sail-clad spar came flapping down athwart a blazing gun;
+ We could not quench the rushing flames, and so the Frenchman won.
+
+ Our quarter-deck was crowded, the waist was all aglow;
+ Men hung upon the taffrail half scorched, but loth to go;
+ Our captain sat where once he stood, and would not quit his chair.
+ He bade his comrades leap for life, and leave him bleeding there.
+
+ The guns were hushed on either side, the Frenchmen lowered boats,
+ They flung us planks and hencoops, and everything that floats.
+ They risked their lives, good fellows! to bring their rivals aid.
+ 'Twas by the conflagration the peace was strangely made.
+
+ _La Surveillante_ was like a sieve; the victors had no rest,
+ They had to dodge the east wind to reach the port of Brest,
+ And where the waves leapt lower, and the riddled ship went slower,
+ In triumph, yet in funeral guise, came fisher-boats to tow her.
+
+ They dealt with us as brethren, they mourned for Farmer dead;
+ And as the wounded captives passed each Breton bowed the head.
+ Then spoke the French Lieutenant, ''Twas fire that won, not we.
+ You never struck your flag to us; you'll go to England free.'
+
+ 'Twas the sixth day of October, seventeen hundred seventy-nine,
+ A year when nations ventured against us to combine,
+ _Quebec_ was burnt and Farmer slain, by us remembered not;
+ But thanks be to the French book wherein they're not forgot.
+
+ Now you, if you've to fight the French, my youngster, bear in mind
+ Those seamen of King Louis so chivalrous and kind;
+ Think of the Breton gentlemen who took our lads to Brest,
+ And treat some rescued Breton as a comrade and a guest.
+
+ _Cory._
+
+
+
+
+ CXII
+
+ THE HEAD OF BRAN
+
+
+ When the head of Bran
+ Was firm on British shoulders,
+ God made a man!
+ Cried all beholders.
+
+ Steel could not resist
+ The weight his arm would rattle;
+ He with naked fist
+ Has brained a knight in battle.
+
+ He marched on the foe,
+ And never counted numbers;
+ Foreign widows know
+ The hosts he sent to slumbers.
+
+ As a street you scan
+ That's towered by the steeple,
+ So the head of Bran
+ Rose o'er his people.
+
+ 'Death's my neighbour,'
+ Quoth Bran the blest;
+ 'Christian labour
+ Brings Christian rest.
+ From the trunk sever
+ The head of Bran,
+ That which never
+ Has bent to man!
+
+ That which never
+ To men has bowed
+ Shall live ever
+ To shame the shroud:
+ Shall live ever
+ To face the foe;
+ Sever it, sever,
+ And with one blow.
+
+ Be it written,
+ That all I wrought
+ Was for Britain,
+ In deed and thought:
+ Be it written,
+ That, while I die,
+ "Glory to Britain!"
+ Is my last cry.
+
+ "Glory to Britain!"
+ Death echoes me round.
+ Glory to Britain!
+ The world shall resound.
+ Glory to Britain!
+ In ruin and fall,
+ Glory to Britain!
+ Is heard over all.'
+
+ Burn, Sun, down the sea!
+ Bran lies low with thee.
+
+ Burst, Morn, from the main!
+ Bran so shall rise again.
+
+ Blow, Wind, from the field!
+ Bran's Head is the Briton's shield.
+
+ Beam, Star, in the west!
+ Bright burns the Head of Bran the Blest.
+
+ Crimson-footed like the stork,
+ From great ruts of slaughter,
+ Warriors of the Golden Torque
+ Cross the lifting water.
+ Princes seven, enchaining hands,
+ Bear the live Head homeward.
+ Lo! it speaks, and still commands;
+ Gazing far out foamward.
+
+ Fiery words of lightning sense
+ Down the hollows thunder;
+ Forest hostels know not whence
+ Comes the speech, and wonder.
+ City-castles, on the steep
+ Where the faithful Severn
+ House at midnight, hear in sleep
+ Laughter under heaven.
+
+ Lilies, swimming on the mere,
+ In the castle shadow,
+ Under draw their heads, and Fear
+ Walks the misty meadow;
+ Tremble not, it is not Death
+ Pledging dark espousal:
+ 'Tis the Head of endless breath,
+ Challenging carousal!
+
+ Brim the horn! a health is drunk,
+ Now, that shall keep going:
+ Life is but the pebble sunk,
+ Deeds, the circle growing!
+ Fill, and pledge the Head of Bran!
+ While his lead they follow,
+ Long shall heads in Britain plan
+ Speech Death cannot swallow.
+
+ _George Meredith._
+
+
+
+
+ CXIII
+
+ THE SLAYING OF THE NIBLUNGS
+
+
+ HOGNI
+
+ Ye shall know that in Atli's feast-hall on the side that joined the house
+ Were many carven doorways whose work was glorious
+ With marble stones and gold-work, and their doors of beaten brass:
+ Lo now, in the merry morning how the story cometh to pass!
+ --While the echoes of the trumpet yet fill the people's ears,
+ And Hogni casts by the war-horn, and his Dwarf-wrought sword uprears,
+ All those doors aforesaid open, and in pour the streams of steel,
+ The best of the Eastland champions, the bold men of Atli's weal:
+ They raise no cry of battle nor cast forth threat of woe,
+ And their helmed and hidden faces from each other none may know:
+ Then a light in the hall ariseth, and the fire of battle runs
+ All adown the front of the Niblungs in the face of the mighty ones;
+ All eyes are set upon them, hard drawn is every breath,
+ Ere the foremost points be mingled and death be blent with death.
+ --All eyes save the eyes of Hogni; but e'en as the edges meet,
+ He turneth about for a moment to the gold of the kingly seat,
+ Then aback to the front of battle; there then, as the lightning-flash
+ Through the dark night showeth the city when the clouds of heaven clash,
+ And the gazer shrinketh backward, yet he seeth from end to end
+ The street and the merry market, and the windows of his friend,
+ And the pavement where his footsteps yester'en returning trod,
+ Now white and changed and dreadful 'neath the threatening voice of God;
+ So Hogni seeth Gudrun, and the face he used to know,
+ Unspeakable, unchanging, with white unknitted brow
+ With half-closed lips untrembling, with deedless hands and cold
+ Laid still on knees that stir not, and the linen's moveless fold.
+
+ Turned Hogni unto the spear-wall, and smote from where he stood,
+ And hewed with his sword two-handed as the axe-man in a wood:
+ Before his sword was a champion, and the edges clave to the chin,
+ And the first man fell in the feast-hall of those that should fall
+ therein.
+ Then man with man was dealing, and the Niblung host of war
+ Was swept by the leaping iron, as the rock anigh the shore
+ By the ice-cold waves of winter: yet a moment Gunnar stayed
+ As high in his hand unblooded he shook his awful blade;
+ And he cried: 'O Eastland champions, do ye behold it here,
+ The sword of the ancient Giuki? Fall on and have no fear,
+ But slay and be slain and be famous, if your master's will it be!
+ Yet are we the blameless Niblungs, and bidden guests are we:
+ So forbear, if ye wander hood-winked, nor for nothing slay and be slain;
+ For I know not what to tell you of the dead that live again.'
+
+ So he saith in the midst of the foemen with his war-flame reared on high,
+ But all about and around him goes up a bitter cry
+ From the iron men of Atli, and the bickering of the steel
+ Sends a roar up to the roof-ridge, and the Niblung war-ranks reel
+ Behind the steadfast Gunnar: but lo! have ye seen the corn,
+ While yet men grind the sickle, by the wind-streak overborne
+ When the sudden rain sweeps downward, and summer groweth black,
+ And the smitten wood-side roareth 'neath the driving thunder-wrack?
+ So before the wise-heart Hogni shrank the champions of the East,
+ As his great voice shook the timbers in the hall of Atli's feast.
+ There he smote, and beheld not the smitten, and by nought were his edges
+ stopped;
+ He smote, and the dead were thrust from him; a hand with its shield he
+ lopped;
+ There met him Atli's marshal, and his arm at the shoulder he shred;
+ Three swords were upreared against him of the best of the kin of the
+ dead;
+ And he struck off a head to the rightward, and his sword through a throat
+ he thrust,
+ But the third stroke fell on his helm-crest, and he stooped to the ruddy
+ dust,
+ And uprose as the ancient Giant, and both his hands were wet:
+ Red then was the world to his eyen, as his hand to the labour he set;
+ Swords shook and fell in his pathway, huge bodies leapt and fell,
+ Harsh grided shield and war-helm like the tempest-smitten bell,
+ And the war-cries ran together, and no man his brother knew,
+ And the dead men loaded the living, as he went the war-wood through;
+ And man 'gainst man was huddled, till no sword rose to smite,
+ And clear stood the glorious Hogni in an island of the fight,
+ And there ran a river of death 'twixt the Niblung and his foes,
+ And therefrom the terror of men and the wrath of the Gods arose.
+
+
+ GUNNAR
+
+ Now fell the sword of Gunnar, and rose up red in the air,
+ And hearkened the song of the Niblung, as his voice rang glad and clear,
+ And rejoiced and leapt at the Eastmen, and cried as it met the rings
+ Of a Giant of King Atli and a murder-wolf of kings;
+ But it quenched its thirst in his entrails, and knew the heart in his
+ breast,
+ And hearkened the praise of Gunnar, and lingered not to rest,
+ But fell upon Atli's brother, and stayed not in his brain;
+ Then he fell, and the King leapt over, and clave a neck atwain,
+ And leapt o'er the sweep of a pole-axe, and thrust a lord in the throat,
+ And King Atli's banner-bearer through shield and hauberk smote;
+ Then he laughed on the huddled East-folk, and against their war-shields
+ drave
+ While the white swords tossed about him, and that archer's skull he clave
+ Whom Atli had bought in the Southlands for many a pound of gold;
+ And the dark-skinned fell upon Gunnar, and over his war-shield rolled,
+ And cumbered his sword for a season, and the many blades fell on,
+ And sheared the cloudy helm-crest and rents in his hauberk won,
+ And the red blood ran from Gunnar; till that Giuki's sword outburst,
+ As the fire-tongue from the smoulder that the leafy heap hath nursed,
+ And unshielded smote King Gunnar, and sent the Niblung song
+ Through the quaking stems of battle in the hall of Atli's wrong:
+ Then he rent the knitted war-hedge till by Hogni's side he stood,
+ And kissed him amidst of the spear-hail, and their cheeks were wet with
+ blood.
+
+ Then on came the Niblung bucklers, and they drave the East-folk home,
+ As the bows of the oar-driven long-ship beat off the waves in foam:
+ They leave their dead behind them, and they come to the doors and the
+ wall,
+ And a few last spears from the fleeing amidst their shield-hedge fall:
+ But the doors clash to in their faces, as the fleeing rout they drive,
+ And fain would follow after; and none is left alive
+ In the feast-hall of King Atli, save those fishes of the net,
+ And the white and silent woman above the slaughter set.
+
+ Then biddeth the heart-wise Hogni, and men to the windows climb,
+ And uplift the war-grey corpses, dead drift of the stormy time,
+ And cast them adown to their people: thence they come aback and say
+ That scarce shall ye see the houses, and no whit the wheel-worn way
+ For the spears and shields of the Eastlands that the merchant city
+ throng;
+ And back to the Niblung burg-gate the way seemed weary-long.
+
+ Yet passeth hour on hour, and the doors they watch and ward
+ But a long while hear no mail-clash, nor the ringing of the sword;
+ Then droop the Niblung children, and their wounds are waxen chill,
+ And they think of the burg by the river, and the builded holy hill,
+ And their eyes are set on Gudrun as of men who would beseech;
+ But unlearned are they in craving, and know not dastard's speech.
+ Then doth Giuki's first-begotten a deed most fair to be told,
+ For his fair harp Gunnar taketh, and the warp of silver and gold;
+ With the hand of a cunning harper he dealeth with the strings,
+ And his voice in their midst goeth upward, as of ancient days he sings,
+ Of the days before the Niblungs, and the days that shall be yet;
+ Till the hour of toil and smiting the warrior hearts forget,
+ Nor hear the gathering foemen, nor the sound of swords aloof:
+ Then clear the song of Gunnar goes up to the dusky roof,
+ And the coming spear-host tarries, and the bearers of the woe
+ Through the cloisters of King Atli with lingering footsteps go.
+
+ But Hogni looketh on Gudrun, and no change in her face he sees,
+ And no stir in her folded linen and the deedless hands on her knees:
+ Then from Gunnar's side he hasteneth; and lo! the open door,
+ And a foeman treadeth the pavement, and his lips are on Atli's floor,
+ For Hogni is death in the doorway: then the Niblungs turn on the foe,
+ And the hosts are mingled together, and blow cries out on blow.
+
+
+ GUDRUN
+
+ Still the song goeth up from Gunnar, though his harp to earth be laid;
+ But he fighteth exceeding wisely, and is many a warrior's aid,
+ And he shieldeth and delivereth, and his eyes search through the hall,
+ And woe is he for his fellows, as his battle-brethren fall;
+ For the turmoil hideth little from that glorious folk-king's eyes,
+ And o'er all he beholdeth Gudrun, and his soul is waxen wise,
+ And he saith: 'We shall look on Sigurd, and Sigmund of old days,
+ And see the boughs of the Branstock o'er the ancient Volsung's praise.'
+
+ Woe's me for the wrath of Hogni! From the door he giveth aback
+ That the Eastland slayers may enter to the murder and the wrack:
+ Then he rageth and driveth the battle to the golden kingly seat,
+ And the last of the foes he slayeth by Gudrun's very feet,
+ That the red blood splasheth her raiment; and his own blood therewithal
+ He casteth aloft before her, and the drops on her white hands fall:
+ But nought she seeth or heedeth, and again he turns to fight,
+ Nor heedeth stroke nor wounding so he a foe may smite:
+ Then the battle opens before him, and the Niblungs draw to his side;
+ As death in the world first fashioned, through the feast-hall doth he
+ stride.
+ And so once more do the Niblungs sweep that murder-flood of men
+ From the hall of toils and treason, and the doors swing to again.
+ Then again is there peace for a little within the fateful fold;
+ But the Niblungs look about them, and but few folk they behold
+ Upright on their feet for the battle: now they climb aloft no more,
+ Nor cast the dead from the windows; but they raise a rampart of war,
+ And its stones are the fallen East-folk, and no lowly wall is that.
+
+ Therein was Gunnar the mighty: on the shields of men he sat,
+ And the sons of his people hearkened, for his hand through the
+ harp-strings ran,
+ And he sang in the hall of his foeman of the Gods and the making of man,
+ And how season was sundered from season in the days of the fashioning,
+ And became the Summer and Autumn, and became the Winter and Spring;
+ He sang of men's hunger and labour, and their love and their breeding
+ of broil.
+ And their hope that is fostered of famine, and their rest that is
+ fashioned of toil:
+ Fame then and the sword he sang of, and the hour of the hardy and wise,
+ When the last of the living shall perish, and the first of the dead
+ shall arise,
+ And the torch shall be lit in the daylight, and God unto man shall pray,
+ And the heart shall cry out for the hand in the fight of the uttermost
+ day.
+ So he sang, and beheld not Gudrun, save as long ago he saw
+ His sister, the little maiden of the face without a flaw:
+ But wearily Hogni beheld her, and no change in her face there was,
+ And long thereon gazed Hogni, and set his brows as the brass,
+ Though the hands of the King were weary, and weak his knees were grown,
+ And he felt as a man unholpen in a waste land wending alone.
+
+
+ THE SONS OF GIUKI
+
+ Now the noon was long passed over when again the rumour arose,
+ And through the doors cast open flowed in the river of foes:
+ They flooded the hall of the murder, and surged round that rampart of
+ dead;
+ No war-duke ran before them, no lord to the onset led,
+ But the thralls shot spears at adventure, and shot out shafts from afar,
+ Till the misty hall was blinded with the bitter drift of war:
+ Few and faint were the Niblung children, and their wounds were waxen
+ acold,
+ And they saw the Hell-gates open as they stood in their grimly hold:
+ Yet thrice stormed out King Hogni, thrice stormed out Gunnar the King,
+ Thrice fell they aback yet living to the heart of the fated ring;
+ And they looked and their band was little, and no man but was wounded
+ sore,
+ And the hall seemed growing greater, such hosts of foes it bore,
+ So tossed the iron harvest from wall to gilded wall;
+ And they looked and the white-clad Gudrun sat silent over all.
+
+ Then the churls and thralls of the Eastland howled out as wolves accurst,
+ But oft gaped the Niblungs voiceless, for they choked with anger and
+ thirst;
+ And the hall grew hot as a furnace, and men drank their flowing blood,
+ Men laughed and gnawed on their shield-rims, men knew not where they
+ stood,
+ And saw not what was before them; as in the dark men smote,
+ Men died heart-broken, unsmitten; men wept with the cry in the throat,
+ Men lived on full of war-shafts, men cast their shields aside
+ And caught the spears to their bosoms; men rushed with none beside,
+ And fell unarmed on the foemen, and tore and slew in death:
+ And still down rained the arrows as the rain across the heath;
+ Still proud o'er all the turmoil stood the Kings of Giuki born,
+ Nor knit were the brows of Gunnar, nor his song-speech overworn;
+ But Hogni's mouth kept silence, and oft his heart went forth
+ To the long, long day of the darkness, and the end of worldly worth.
+
+ Loud rose the roar of the East-folk, and the end was coming at last:
+ Now the foremost locked their shield-rims and the hindmost over them
+ cast,
+ And nigher they drew and nigher, and their fear was fading away,
+ For every man of the Niblungs on the shaft-strewn pavement lay,
+ Save Gunnar the King and Hogni: still the glorious King up-bore
+ The cloudy shield of the Niblungs set full of shafts of war;
+ But Hogni's hands had fainted, and his shield had sunk adown,
+ So thick with the Eastland spearwood was that rampart of renown;
+ And hacked and dull were the edges that had rent the wall of foes:
+ Yet he stood upright by Gunnar before that shielded close,
+ Nor looked on the foeman's faces as their wild eyes drew anear,
+ And their faltering shield-rims clattered with the remnant of their fear;
+ But he gazed on the Niblung woman, and the daughter of his folk,
+ Who sat o'er all unchanging ere the war-cloud over them broke.
+
+ Now nothing might men hearken in the house of Atli's weal,
+ Save the feet slow tramping onward, and the rattling of the steel,
+ And the song of the glorious Gunnar, that rang as clearly now
+ As the speckled storm-cock singeth from the scant-leaved hawthorn-bough,
+ When the sun is dusking over and the March snow pelts the land.
+ There stood the mighty Gunnar with sword and shield in hand,
+ There stood the shieldless Hogni with set unangry eyes,
+ And watched the wall of war-shields o'er the dead men's rampart rise,
+ And the white blades flickering nigher, and the quavering points of war.
+ Then the heavy air of the feast-hall was rent with a fearful roar,
+ And the turmoil came and the tangle, as the wall together ran:
+ But aloft yet towered the Niblungs, and man toppled over man,
+ And leapt and struggled to tear them; as whiles amidst the sea
+ The doomed ship strives its utmost with mid-ocean's mastery,
+ And the tall masts whip the cordage, while the welter whirls and leaps,
+ And they rise and reel and waver, and sink amid the deeps:
+ So before the little-hearted in King Atli's murder-hall
+ Did the glorious sons of Giuki 'neath the shielded onrush fall:
+ Sore wounded, bound and helpless, but living yet, they lie
+ Till the afternoon and the even in the first of night shall die.
+
+ _William Morris._
+
+
+
+
+ CXIV
+
+ IS LIFE WORTH LIVING
+
+
+ Is life worth living? Yes, so long
+ As Spring revives the year,
+ And hails us with the cuckoo's song,
+ To show that she is here;
+ So long as May of April takes,
+ In smiles and tears, farewell,
+ And windflowers dapple all the brakes,
+ And primroses the dell;
+ While children in the woodlands yet
+ Adorn their little laps
+ With ladysmock and violet,
+ And daisy-chain their caps;
+ While over orchard daffodils
+ Cloud-shadows float and fleet,
+ And ousel pipes and laverock trills,
+ And young lambs buck and bleat;
+ So long as that which bursts the bud
+ And swells and tunes the rill
+ Makes springtime in the maiden's blood,
+ Life is worth living still.
+
+ Life not worth living! Come with me,
+ Now that, through vanishing veil,
+ Shimmers the dew on lawn and lea,
+ And milk foams in the pail;
+ Now that June's sweltering sunlight bathes
+ With sweat the striplings lithe,
+ As fall the long straight scented swathes
+ Over the crescent scythe;
+ Now that the throstle never stops
+ His self-sufficing strain,
+ And woodbine-trails festoon the copse,
+ And eglantine the lane;
+ Now rustic labour seems as sweet
+ As leisure, and blithe herds
+ Wend homeward with unweary feet,
+ Carolling like the birds;
+ Now all, except the lover's vow,
+ And nightingale, is still;
+ Here, in the twilight hour, allow,
+ Life is worth living still.
+
+ When Summer, lingering half-forlorn,
+ On Autumn loves to lean,
+ And fields of slowly yellowing corn
+ Are girt by woods still green;
+ When hazel-nuts wax brown and plump,
+ And apples rosy-red,
+ And the owlet hoots from hollow stump,
+ And the dormouse makes its bed;
+ When crammed are all the granary floors,
+ And the Hunter's moon is bright,
+ And life again is sweet indoors,
+ And logs again alight;
+ Ay, even when the houseless wind
+ Waileth through cleft and chink,
+ And in the twilight maids grow kind,
+ And jugs are filled and clink;
+ When children clasp their hands and pray
+ 'Be done Thy Heavenly will!'
+ Who doth not lift his voice, and say,
+ 'Life is worth living still'?
+
+ Is life worth living? Yes, so long
+ As there is wrong to right,
+ Wail of the weak against the strong,
+ Or tyranny to fight;
+ Long as there lingers gloom to chase,
+ Or streaming tear to dry,
+ One kindred woe, one sorrowing face
+ That smiles as we draw nigh;
+ Long as at tale of anguish swells
+ The heart, and lids grow wet,
+ And at the sound of Christmas bells
+ We pardon and forget;
+ So long as Faith with Freedom reigns,
+ And loyal Hope survives,
+ And gracious Charity remains
+ To leaven lowly lives;
+ While there is one untrodden tract
+ For Intellect or Will,
+ And men are free to think and act
+ Life is worth living still.
+
+ Not care to live while English homes
+ Nestle in English trees,
+ And England's Trident-Sceptre roams
+ Her territorial seas!
+ Not live while English songs are sung
+ Wherever blows the wind,
+ And England's laws and England's tongue
+ Enfranchise half mankind!
+ So long as in Pacific main,
+ Or on Atlantic strand,
+ Our kin transmit the parent strain,
+ And love the Mother-land;
+ So long as flashes English steel,
+ And English trumpets shrill,
+ He is dead already who doth not feel
+ Life is worth living still.
+
+ _Austin._
+
+
+
+
+ CXV
+
+ THEOLOGY IN EXTREMIS
+
+
+ Oft in the pleasant summer years,
+ Reading the tales of days bygone,
+ I have mused on the story of human tears,
+ All that man unto man has done,
+ Massacre, torture, and black despair;
+ Reading it all in my easy-chair.
+
+ Passionate prayer for a minute's life;
+ Tortured crying for death as rest;
+ Husband pleading for child or wife,
+ Pitiless stroke upon tender breast.
+ Was it all real as that I lay there
+ Lazily stretched on my easy-chair?
+
+ Could I believe in those hard old times,
+ Here in this safe luxurious age?
+ Were the horrors invented to season rhymes,
+ Or truly is man so fierce in his rage?
+ What could I suffer, and what could I dare?
+ I who was bred to that easy-chair.
+
+ They were my fathers, the men of yore,
+ Little they recked of a cruel death;
+ They would dip their hands in a heretic's gore,
+ They stood and burnt for a rule of faith.
+ What would I burn for, and whom not spare?
+ I, who had faith in an easy-chair.
+
+ Now do I see old tales are true,
+ Here in the clutch of a savage foe;
+ Now shall I know what my fathers knew,
+ Bodily anguish and bitter woe,
+ Naked and bound in the strong sun's glare,
+ Far from my civilised easy-chair.
+
+ Now have I tasted and understood
+ That old-world feeling of mortal hate;
+ For the eyes all round us are hot with blood;
+ They will kill us coolly--they do but wait;
+ While I, I would sell ten lives, at least,
+ For one fair stroke at that devilish priest.
+
+ Just in return for the kick he gave,
+ Bidding me call on the prophet's name;
+ Even a dog by this may save
+ Skin from the knife and soul from the flame;
+ My soul! if he can let the prophet burn it,
+ But life is sweet if a word may earn it.
+
+ A bullock's death, and at thirty years!
+ Just one phrase, and a man gets off it;
+ Look at that mongrel clerk in his tears
+ Whining aloud the name of the prophet;
+ Only a formula easy to patter,
+ And, God Almighty, what _can_ it matter?
+
+ 'Matter enough,' will my comrade say
+ Praying aloud here close at my side,
+ 'Whether you mourn in despair alway,
+ Cursed for ever by Christ denied;
+ Or whether you suffer a minute's pain
+ All the reward of Heaven to gain.'
+
+ Not for a moment faltereth he,
+ Sure of the promise and pardon of sin;
+ Thus did the martyrs die, I see,
+ Little to lose and muckle to win;
+ Death means Heaven, he longs to receive it,
+ But what shall I do if I don't believe it?
+
+ Life is pleasant, and friends may be nigh,
+ Fain would I speak one word and be spared;
+ Yet I could be silent and cheerfully die,
+ If I were only sure God cared;
+ If I had faith, and were only certain
+ That light is behind that terrible curtain.
+
+ But what if He listeth nothing at all,
+ Of words a poor wretch in his terror may say
+ That mighty God who created all
+ To labour and live their appointed day;
+ Who stoops not either to bless or ban,
+ Weaving the woof of an endless plan.
+
+ He is the Reaper, and binds the sheaf,
+ Shall not the season its order keep?
+ Can it be changed by a man's belief?
+ Millions of harvests still to reap;
+ Will God reward, if I die for a creed,
+ Or will He but pity, and sow more seed?
+
+ Surely He pities who made the brain,
+ When breaks that mirror of memories sweet,
+ When the hard blow falleth, and never again
+ Nerve shall quiver nor pulse shall beat;
+ Bitter the vision of vanishing joys;
+ Surely He pities when man destroys.
+
+ Here stand I on the ocean's brink,
+ Who hath brought news of the further shore?
+ How shall I cross it? Sail or sink,
+ One thing is sure, I return no more;
+ Shall I find haven, or aye shall I be
+ Tossed in the depths of a shoreless sea?
+
+ They tell fair tales of a far-off land,
+ Of love rekindled, of forms renewed;
+ There may I only touch one hand
+ Here life's ruin will little be rued;
+ But the hand I have pressed and the voice I have heard,
+ To lose them for ever, and all for a word!
+
+ Now do I feel that my heart must break
+ All for one glimpse of a woman's face;
+ Swiftly the slumbering memories wake
+ Odour and shadow of hour and place;
+ One bright ray through the darkening past
+ Leaps from the lamp as it brightens last,
+
+ Showing me summer in western land
+ Now, as the cool breeze murmureth
+ In leaf and flower--And here I stand
+ In this plain all bare save the shadow of death;
+ Leaving my life in its full noonday,
+ And no one to know why I flung it away.
+
+ Why? Am I bidding for glory's roll?
+ I shall be murdered and clean forgot;
+ Is it a bargain to save my soul?
+ God, whom I trust in, bargains not;
+ Yet for the honour of English race,
+ May I not live or endure disgrace.
+
+ Ay, but the word, if I could have said it,
+ I by no terrors of hell perplext;
+ Hard to be silent and have no credit
+ From man in this world, or reward in the next;
+ None to bear witness and reckon the cost
+ Of the name that is saved by the life that is lost.
+
+ I must be gone to the crowd untold
+ Of men by the cause which they served unknown,
+ Who moulder in myriad graves of old;
+ Never a story and never a stone
+ Tells of the martyrs who die like me,
+ Just for the pride of the old countree.
+
+ _Lyall._
+
+
+
+
+ CXVI
+
+ THE OBLATION
+
+
+ Ask nothing more of me, sweet;
+ All I can give you I give.
+ Heart of my heart, were it more,
+ More would be laid at your feet:
+ Love that should help you to live,
+ Song that should spur you to soar.
+
+ All things were nothing to give
+ Once to have sense of you more,
+ Touch you and taste of you, sweet,
+ Think you and breathe you and live,
+ Swept of your wings as they soar,
+ Trodden by chance of your feet.
+
+ I that have love and no more
+ Give you but love of you, sweet:
+ He that hath more, let him give;
+ He that hath wings, let him soar;
+ Mine is the heart at your feet
+ Here, that must love you to live.
+
+ _Swinburne._
+
+
+
+
+ CXVII
+
+ ENGLAND
+
+
+ England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle enrings thee
+ round,
+ Mother fair as the morning, where is now the place of thy foemen found?
+ Still the sea that salutes us free proclaims them stricken, acclaims
+ thee crowned.
+ Time may change, and the skies grow strange with signs of treason, and
+ fraud, and fear:
+ Foes in union of strange communion may rise against thee from far and
+ near:
+ Sloth and greed on thy strength may feed as cankers waxing from year
+ to year.
+
+ Yet, though treason and fierce unreason should league and lie and defame
+ and smite,
+ We that know thee, how far below thee the hatred burns of the sons of
+ night,
+ We that love thee, behold above thee the witness written of life in
+ light.
+
+ Life that shines from thee shows forth signs that none may read not by
+ eyeless foes:
+ Hate, born blind, in his abject mind grows hopeful now but as madness
+ grows:
+ Love, born wise, with exultant eyes adores thy glory, beholds and glows.
+ Truth is in thee, and none may win thee to lie, forsaking the face of
+ truth:
+ Freedom lives by the grace she gives thee, born again from thy deathless
+ youth:
+ Faith should fail, and the world turn pale, wert thou the prey of the
+ serpent's tooth.
+
+ Greed and fraud, unabashed, unawed, may strive to sting thee at heel in
+ vain;
+ Craft and fear and mistrust may leer and mourn and murmur and plead and
+ plain:
+ Thou art thou: and thy sunbright brow is hers that blasted the strength
+ of Spain.
+
+ Mother, mother beloved, none other could claim in place of thee England's
+ place:
+ Earth bears none that beholds the sun so pure of record, so clothed with
+ grace:
+ Dear our mother, nor son nor brother is thine, as strong or as fair of
+ face,
+ How shalt thou be abased? or how shalt fear take hold of thy heart? of
+ thine,
+ England, maiden immortal, laden with charge of life and with hopes
+ divine?
+ Earth shall wither, when eyes turned hither behold not light in her
+ darkness shine.
+
+ England, none that is born thy son, and lives by grace of thy glory,
+ free,
+ Lives and yearns not at heart and burns with hope to serve as he
+ worships thee;
+ None may sing thee: the sea-wind's wing beats down our songs as it
+ hails the sea.
+
+ _Swinburne._
+
+
+
+
+ CXVIII
+
+ A JACOBITE IN EXILE
+
+
+ The weary day rins down and dies,
+ The weary night wears through:
+ And never an hour is fair wi' flower,
+ And never a flower wi' dew.
+
+ I would the day were night for me,
+ I would the night were day:
+ For then would I stand in my ain fair land,
+ As now in dreams I may.
+
+ O lordly flow the Loire and Seine,
+ And loud the dark Durance:
+ But bonnier shine the braes of Tyne
+ Than a' the fields of France;
+ And the waves of Till that speak sae still
+ Gleam goodlier where they glance.
+
+ O weel were they that fell fighting
+ On dark Drumossie's day:
+ They keep their hame ayont the faem
+ And we die far away.
+
+ O sound they sleep, and saft, and deep,
+ But night and day wake we;
+ And ever between the sea banks green
+ Sounds loud the sundering sea.
+
+ And ill we sleep, sae sair we weep
+ But sweet and fast sleep they:
+ And the mool that haps them roun' and laps them
+ Is e'en their country's clay;
+ But the land we tread that are not dead
+ Is strange as night by day.
+
+ Strange as night in a strange man's sight,
+ Though fair as dawn it be:
+ For what is here that a stranger's cheer
+ Should yet wax blithe to see?
+
+ The hills stand steep, the dells lie deep,
+ The fields are green and gold:
+ The hill-streams sing, and the hill-sides ring,
+ As ours at home of old.
+
+ But hills and flowers are nane of ours,
+ And ours are over sea:
+ And the kind strange land whereon we stand,
+ It wotsna what were we
+ Or ever we came, wi' scathe and shame,
+ To try what end might be.
+
+ Scathe and shame, and a waefu' name,
+ And a weary time and strange,
+ Have they that seeing a weird for dreeing
+ Can die, and cannot change.
+
+ Shame and scorn may we thole that mourn,
+ Though sair be they to dree:
+ But ill may we bide the thoughts we hide,
+ Mair keen than wind and sea.
+
+ Ill may we thole the night's watches,
+ And ill the weary day:
+ And the dreams that keep the gates of sleep,
+ A waefu' gift gie they;
+ For the songs they sing us, the sights they bring us,
+ The morn blaws all away.
+
+ On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw,
+ The burn rins blithe and fain:
+ There's nought wi' me I wadna gie
+ To look thereon again.
+
+ On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide:
+ There sounds nae hunting-horn
+ That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat
+ Round banks where Tyne is born.
+
+ The Wansbeck sings with all her springs
+ The bents and braes give ear;
+ But the wood that rings wi' the sang she sings
+ I may not see nor hear;
+ For far and far thae blithe burns are,
+ And strange is a' thing near.
+
+ The light there lightens, the day there brightens,
+ The loud wind there lives free:
+ Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me
+ That I wad hear or see.
+
+ But O gin I were there again,
+ Afar ayont the faem,
+ Cauld and dead in the sweet saft bed
+ That haps my sires at hame!
+
+ We'll see nae mair the sea-banks fair,
+ And the sweet grey gleaming sky,
+ And the lordly strand of Northumberland,
+ And the goodly towers thereby;
+ And none shall know but the winds that blow
+ The graves wherein we lie.
+
+ _Swinburne._
+
+
+
+
+ CXIX
+
+ THE REVEILL…
+
+
+ Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands,
+ And of armËd men the hum;
+ Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered
+ Round the quick alarming drum,--
+ Saying, 'Come,
+ Freemen, come!
+ Ere your heritage be wasted,' said the quick alarming drum.
+
+ 'Let me of my heart take counsel:
+ War is not of life the sum;
+ Who shall stay and reap the harvest
+ When the autumn days shall come?'
+ But the drum
+ Echoed, 'Come!
+ Death shall reap the braver harvest,' said the solemn-sounding drum.
+
+ 'But when won the coming battle,
+ What of profit springs therefrom?
+ What if conquest, subjugation,
+ Even greater ills become?'
+ But the drum
+ Answered, 'Come!
+ You must do the sum to prove it,' said the Yankee-answering drum.
+
+ 'What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder,
+ Whistling shot and bursting bomb,
+ When my brothers fall around me,
+ Should my heart grow cold and numb?'
+ But the drum
+ Answered, 'Come!
+ Better there in death united, than in life a recreant,--Come!'
+
+ Thus they answered,--hoping, fearing,
+ Some in faith, and doubting some,
+ Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming,
+ Said, 'My chosen people, come!'
+ Then the drum,
+ Lo! was dumb,
+ For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, 'Lord, we come!'
+
+ _Bret Harte._
+
+
+
+
+ CXX
+
+ WHAT THE BULLET SANG
+
+
+ O Joy of creation
+ To be!
+ O rapture to fly
+ And be free!
+ Be the battle lost or won
+ Though its smoke shall hide the sun,
+ I shall find my love--the one
+ Born for me!
+
+ I shall know him where he stands,
+ All alone,
+ With the power in his hands
+ Not o'erthrown;
+ I shall know him by his face,
+ By his god-like front and grace;
+ I shall hold him for a space
+ All my own!
+
+ It is he--O my love!
+ So bold!
+ It is I--All thy love
+ Foretold!
+ It is I. O love! what bliss!
+ Dost thou answer to my kiss?
+ O sweetheart! what is this
+ Lieth there so cold?
+
+ _Bret Harte._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXI
+
+ A BALLAD OF THE ARMADA
+
+
+ King Philip had vaunted his claims;
+ He had sworn for a year he would sack us;
+ With an army of heathenish names
+ He was coming to fagot and stack us;
+ Like the thieves of the sea he would track us,
+ And shatter our ships on the main;
+ But we had bold Neptune to back us--
+ And where are the galleons of Spain?
+
+ His carackes were christened of dames
+ To the kirtles whereof he would tack us;
+ With his saints and his gilded stern-frames
+ He had thought like an egg shell to crack us;
+ Now Howard may get to his Flaccus,
+ And Drake to his Devon again,
+ And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus--
+ For where are the galleons of Spain?
+
+ Let his Majesty hang to St. James
+ The axe that he whetted to hack us;
+ He must play at some lustier games
+ Or at sea he can hope to out-thwack us;
+ To his mines of Peru he would pack us
+ To tug at his bullet and chain;
+ Alas! that his Greatness should lack us!--
+ But where are the galleons of Spain?
+
+
+ ENVOY
+
+ Gloriana!--the Don may attack us
+ Whenever his stomach be fain;
+ He must reach us before he can rack us, ...
+ And where are the galleons of Spain?
+
+ _Dobson._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXII
+
+ THE WHITE PACHA
+
+
+ Vain is the dream! However Hope may rave,
+ He perished with the folk he could not save,
+ And though none surely told us he is dead,
+ And though perchance another in his stead,
+ Another, not less brave, when all was done,
+ Had fled unto the southward and the sun,
+ Had urged a way by force, or won by guile
+ To streams remotest of the secret Nile,
+ Had raised an army of the Desert men,
+ And, waiting for his hour, had turned again
+ And fallen on that False Prophet, yet we know
+ GORDON is dead, and these things are not so!
+ Nay, not for England's cause, nor to restore
+ Her trampled flag--for he loved Honour more--
+ Nay, not for Life, Revenge, or Victory,
+ Would he have fled, whose hour had dawned to die.
+ He will not come again, whate'er our need,
+ He will not come, who is happy, being freed
+ From the deathly flesh and perishable things,
+ And lies of statesmen and rewards of kings.
+ Nay, somewhere by the sacred River's shore
+ He sleeps like those who shall return no more,
+ No more return for all the prayers of men--
+ Arthur and Charles--they never come again!
+ They shall not wake, though fair the vision seem:
+ Whate'er sick Hope may whisper, vain the dream!
+
+ _Lang._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXIII
+
+ MOTHER AND SON
+
+
+ It is not yours, O mother, to complain,
+ Not, mother, yours to weep,
+ Though nevermore your son again
+ Shall to your bosom creep,
+ Though nevermore again you watch your baby sleep.
+
+ Though in the greener paths of earth
+ Mother and child, no more
+ We wander; and no more the birth
+ Of me whom once you bore,
+ Seems still the brave reward that once it seemed of yore;
+
+ Though as all passes, day and night,
+ The seasons and the years,
+ From you, O mother, this delight,
+ This also disappears--
+ Some profit yet survives of all your pangs and tears.
+
+ The child, the seed, the grain of corn,
+ The acorn on the hill,
+ Each for some separate end is born
+ In season fit, and still
+ Each must in strength arise to work the Almighty will.
+
+ So from the hearth the children flee,
+ By that Almighty hand
+ Austerely led; so one by sea
+ Goes forth, and one by land;
+ Nor aught of all men's sons escapes from that command.
+
+ So from the sally each obeys
+ The unseen Almighty nod;
+ So till the ending all their ways
+ Blind-folded loth have trod:
+ Nor knew their task at all, but were the tools of God.
+
+ And as the fervent smith of yore
+ Beat out the glowing blade,
+ Nor wielded in the front of war
+ The weapons that he made,
+ But in the tower at home still plied his ringing trade;
+
+ So like a sword the son shall roam
+ On nobler missions sent;
+ And as the smith remained at home
+ In peaceful turret pent,
+ So sits the while at home the mother well content.
+
+ _Stevenson._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXIV
+
+ PRAYERS
+
+
+ God who created me
+ Nimble and light of limb,
+ In three elements free,
+ To run, to ride, to swim:
+ Not when the sense is dim,
+ But now from the heart of joy,
+ I would remember Him:
+ Take the thanks of a boy.
+
+ Jesu, King and Lord,
+ Whose are my foes to fight,
+ Gird me with Thy sword
+ Swift and sharp and bright.
+ Thee would I serve if I might;
+ And conquer if I can,
+ From day-dawn till night,
+ Take the strength of a man.
+
+ Spirit of Love and Truth,
+ Breathing in grosser clay,
+ The light and flame of youth,
+ Delight of men in the fray,
+ Wisdom in strength's decay;
+ From pain, strife, wrong to be free
+ This best gift I pray,
+ Take my spirit to Thee.
+
+ _Beeching._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXV
+
+ A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST
+
+
+ Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border side,
+ And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the Colonel's pride:
+ He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day,
+ And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away.
+ Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the Guides:
+ 'Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?'
+ Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar,
+ 'If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know where his pickets are.
+ At dusk he harries the Abazai--at dawn he is into Bonair--
+ But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare,
+ So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly,
+ By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of
+ Jagai.
+ But if he be passed the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then,
+ For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain are sown with
+ Kamal's men.'
+ The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he,
+ With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and the head of the
+ gallows-tree.
+ The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat--
+ Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.
+ He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
+ Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
+ Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her back,
+ And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack.
+ He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.
+ 'Ye shoot like a soldier,' Kamal said. 'Show now if ye can ride.'
+ It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go,
+ The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe.
+ The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above,
+ But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars as a lady plays with a
+ glove.
+ They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the
+ dawn,
+ The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.
+ The dun he fell at a water-course--in a woful heap fell he,--
+ And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free.
+ He has knocked the pistol out of his hand--small room was there to
+ strive--
+ ''Twas only by favour of mine,' quoth he, 'ye rode so long alive;
+ There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
+ But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.
+ If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
+ The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row;
+ If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
+ The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly.'
+ Lightly answered the Colonel's son:--'Do good to bird and beast,
+ But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.
+ If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away,
+ Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay.
+ They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the
+ garnered grain,
+ The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are
+ slain.
+ But if thou thinkest the price be fair, and thy brethren wait to sup,
+ The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn,--howl, dog, and call them up!
+ And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack,
+ Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way back!'
+ Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his feet.
+ 'No talk shall be of dogs,' said he, 'when wolf and grey wolf meet.
+ May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath.
+ What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with Death?'
+ Lightly answered the Colonel's son:--'I hold by the blood of my clan;
+ Take up the mare for my father's gift--By God she has carried a man!'
+ The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled her nose in his
+ breast,
+ 'We be two strong men,' said Kamal then, 'but she loveth the younger
+ best.
+ So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise studded rein,
+ My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain.'
+ The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it muzzle-end,
+ 'Ye have taken the one from a foe,' said he; 'will ye take the mate from
+ a friend?'
+ 'A gift for a gift,' said Kamal straight; 'a limb for the risk of a limb.
+ Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my son to him!'
+ With that he whistled his only son, who dropped from a mountain-crest--
+ He trod the ling like a buck in spring and he looked like a lance in
+ rest.
+ 'Now here is thy master,' Kamal said, 'who leads a troop of the Guides,
+ And thou must ride at his left side as shield to shoulder rides.
+ Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed,
+ Thy life is his--thy fate it is to guard him with thy head.
+ And thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all her foes are thine,
+ And thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace of the Border-line,
+ And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power--
+ Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am hanged in Peshawur.'
+ They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no
+ fault,
+ They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and
+ salt;
+ They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut
+ sod,
+ On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names
+ of God.
+ The Colonel's son he rides the mare and Kamal's boy the dun,
+ And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went forth but one.
+ And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty swords flew clear--
+ There was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of the
+ mountaineer.
+ 'Ha' done! ha' done!' said the Colonel's son. 'Put up the steel at your
+ sides!
+ Last night ye had struck at a Border thief--to-night 'tis a man of the
+ Guides!'
+
+ Oh, east is east, and west is west, and never the two shall meet
+ Till earth and sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat.
+ But there is neither east nor west, border or breed or birth,
+ When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends
+ of the earth.
+
+ _Kipling._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXVI
+
+ THE FLAG OF ENGLAND
+
+
+ Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro--
+ And what should they know of England who only England know?--
+ The poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag,
+ They are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the English
+ Flag.
+
+ Must we borrow a clout from the Boer--to plaster anew with dirt?
+ An Irish liar's bandage, or an English coward's shirt?
+ We may not speak of England; her Flag's to sell or share.
+ What is the Flag of England? Winds of the World, declare!
+
+ The North Wind blew:--'From Bergen my steel-shod vanguards go;
+ I chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe;
+ By the great North Lights above me I work the will of God,
+ And the liner splits on the ice-fields or the Dogger fills with cod.
+
+ I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my doors with flame,
+ Because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies came;
+ I took the sun from their presence, I cut them down with my blast,
+ And they died, but the Flag of England blew free ere the spirit passed.
+
+ The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long Arctic night,
+ The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern Light:
+ What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my bergs to dare,
+ Ye have but my drifts to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!'
+
+ The South Wind sighed:--'From the Virgins my mid-sea course was ta'en
+ Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main,
+ Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long-backed breakers
+ croon
+ Their endless ocean legends to the lazy, locked lagoon.
+
+ Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid outer keys,
+ I waked the palms to laughter--I tossed the scud in the breeze--
+ Never was isle so little, never was sea so lone,
+ But over the scud and the palm trees an English flag was flown.
+
+ I have wrenched it free from the halliard to hang for a wisp on the
+ Horn;
+ I have chased it north to the Lizard--ribboned and rolled and torn;
+ I have spread its fold o'er the dying, adrift in a hopeless sea;
+ I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free.
+
+ My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross,
+ Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the Southern Cross.
+ What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my reefs to dare,
+ Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, for it is there!'
+
+ The East Wind roared:--'From the Kuriles, the Bitter Seas, I come,
+ And me men call the Home-Wind, for I bring the English home.
+ Look--look well to your shipping! By the breath of my mad typhoon
+ I swept your close-packed Praya and beached your best at Kowloon!
+
+ The reeling junks behind me and the racing seas before,
+ I raped your richest roadstead--I plundered Singapore!
+ I set my hand on the Hoogli; as a hooded snake she rose,
+ And I heaved your stoutest steamers to roost with the startled crows.
+
+ Never the lotos closes, never the wild-fowl wake.
+ But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for England's sake--
+ Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid--
+ Because on the bones of the English the English Flag is stayed.
+
+ The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild-ass knows,
+ The scared white leopard winds it across the taintless snows.
+ What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun to dare,
+ Ye have but my sands to travel. Go forth, for it is there!'
+
+ The West Wind called:--'In squadrons the thoughtless galleons fly
+ That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die.
+ They make my might their porter, they make my house their path,
+ And I loose my neck from their service and whelm them all in my wrath.
+
+ I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn from the hole,
+ They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll:
+ For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my breath,
+ And they see strange bows above them and the two go locked to death.
+
+ But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or day
+ I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away,
+ First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky,
+ Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by.
+
+ The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it--the frozen dews have kissed--
+ The morning stars have hailed it, a fellow-star in the mist.
+ What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my breath to dare,
+ Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!'
+
+ _Kipling._
+
+
+
+
+NOTES
+
+
+I
+
+This descant upon one of the most glorious feats of arms that
+even England has achieved is selected and pieced together from
+the magnificent verse assigned to the Chorus--'_Enter RUMOUR
+painted full of tongues_'--to _King Henry V._, the noble piece of
+pageantry produced in 1598, and a famous number from the _Poems
+Lyrick and Pastorall_ (_circ._ 1605) of Michael Drayton. 'Look,'
+says Ben Jonson, in his _Vision on the Muses of his Friend,
+Michael Drayton_:--
+
+ Look how we read the Spartans were inflamed
+ With bold TyrtÊus' verse; when thou art named
+ So shall our English youths urge on, and cry
+ An AGINCOURT! an AGINCOURT! or die.
+
+This, it is true, was in respect of another _Agincourt_, but
+we need not hesitate to appropriate it to our own: in respect
+of which--'To the Cambro-Britons and their Harp, His _Ballad
+of Agincourt_,' is the poet's own description--it is to note
+that Drayton had no model for it; that it remains wellnigh
+unique in English letters for over two hundred years; and that,
+despite such lapses into doggerel as the third stanza, and some
+curious infelicities of diction which need not here be specified,
+it remains, with a certain Sonnet, its author's chief title
+to fame. Compare the ballads of _The Brave Lord Willoughby_
+and _The Honour of Bristol_ in the seventeenth century, the
+song of _The Arethusa_ in the eighteenth, and in the nineteenth
+a choice of such TyrtÊan music as _The Battle of the Baltic_,
+Lord Tennyson's _Ballad of the Fleet_, and _The Red Thread of
+Honour_ of the late Sir Francis Doyle.
+
+
+II
+
+Originally _The True Character of a Happy Life_: written and
+printed about 1614, and reprinted by Percy (1765) from the
+_ReliquiÊ WottonianÊ_ of 1651. Says Drummond of Ben Jonson, 'Sir
+Edward (_sic_) Wotton's verses of a Happy Life he hath by heart.'
+Of Wotton himself it was reserved for Cowley to remark that
+
+ He did the utmost bounds of knowledge find,
+ And found them not so large as was his mind;
+
+ * * * * * *
+
+ And when he saw that he through all had passed
+ He died--lest he should idle grow at last.
+
+See Izaak Walton, _Lives_.
+
+
+III, IV
+
+From _Underwoods_ (1640). The first, _An Ode_, is addressed to an
+innominate not yet, I believe, identified. The second is part of
+that _Ode to the Immortal Memory of that Heroic Pair, Sir Lucius
+Cary and Sir Henry Morrison_, which is the first true Pindaric in
+the language. Gifford ascribes it to 1629, when Sir Henry died,
+but it seems not to have been printed before 1640. Sir Lucius
+Cary is the Lord Falkland of Clarendon and Horace Walpole.
+
+
+V
+
+From _The Mad Lover_ (produced about 1618: published in 1640).
+Compare the wooden imitations of Dryden in _Amboyna_ and
+elsewhere.
+
+
+VI
+
+First printed, Mr. Bullen tells me, in 1640. Compare X. (Shirley,
+_post_, p. 20), and the cry from Raleigh's _History of the World_:
+'O Eloquent, Just, and Mighty Death! Whom none could advise,
+thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done;
+and whom all the World hath flattered, thou only hast cast out
+of the World and despised: thou hast drawn together all the
+far-stretched Greatness, all the Pride, Cruelty, and Ambition
+of Man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words,
+"_Hic Jacet_."'
+
+
+VII, VIII
+
+This pair of 'noble numbers,' of brilliant and fervent lyrics,
+is from _Hesperides, or, The Works both Human and Divine of
+Robert Herrich, Esq._ (1648).
+
+
+IX
+
+No. 61, '_Vertue_,' in _The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private
+Ejaculations_, 1632-33. Compare Herbert to Christopher Farrer,
+as reported by Izaak Walton:--'Tell him that I do not repine,
+but am pleased with my want of health; and tell him, my heart
+is fixed on that place where true joy is only to be found, and
+that I long to be there, and do wait for my appointed change
+with hope and patience.'
+
+
+X
+
+From _The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses_, printed 1659. Compare
+VI. (Beaumont, _ante_, p. 15), and Bacon, _Essays_, 'On Death':
+'But, above all, believe it, the sweetest canticle is _Nunc
+dimittis_, when a man hath attained worthy ends and expectations.'
+
+
+XI
+
+Written in the November of 1637, and printed next year in the
+_Obsequies to the Memorie of Mr. Edward King_. 'In this Monody,'
+the title runs, 'the Author bewails a Learned Friend unfortunately
+drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637. And
+by occasion foretells the ruine of our corrupted Clergie, then
+in their height.' King, who died at five- or six-and-twenty, was
+a personal friend of Milton's, but the true accents of grief are
+inaudible in _Lycidas_, which is, indeed, an example as perfect
+as exists of Milton's capacity for turning whatever he touched
+into pure poetry: an arrangement, that is, of 'the best words
+in the best order'; or, to go still further than Coleridge, the
+best words in the prescribed or inevitable sequence that makes
+the arrangement art. For the innumerable allusions see Professor
+Masson's edition of Milton (Macmillan, 1890), i. 187-201, and
+iii. 254-276.
+
+
+XII
+
+The Eighth Sonnet (Masson): 'When the Assault was Intended to the
+City.' Written in 1642, with Rupert and the King at Brentford,
+and printed in the edition of 1645.
+
+
+XIII
+
+The Sixteenth Sonnet (Masson): 'To the Lord General Cromwell, May,
+1652: On the Proposals of Certain Ministers at the Committee for
+Propagation of the Gospel.' Printed by Philips, _Life of Milton_,
+1694. In defence of the principle of Religious Voluntaryism,
+and against the intolerant Fifteen Proposals of John Owen and
+the majority of the Committee.
+
+
+XIV
+
+The Eighteenth Sonnet (Masson). 'Written in 1655,' says Masson,
+and referring 'to the persecution instituted, in the early part
+of the year, by Charles Emmanuel II., Duke of Savoy and Prince
+of Piedmont, against his Protestant subjects of the valleys of
+the Cottian Alps.' In January, an edict required them to turn
+Romanists or quit the country out of hand; it was enforced with
+such barbarity that Cromwell took the case of the sufferers in
+hand; and so vigorous was his action that the Edict was withdrawn
+and a convention was signed (August 1655) by which the Vaudois
+were permitted to worship as they would. Printed in 1673.
+
+
+XV
+
+The Nineteenth Sonnet (Masson) 'may have been written any time
+between 1652 and 1655,' the first years of Milton's blindness,
+'but it follows the Sonnet on the Piedmontese Massacre in Milton's
+own volume of 1673.'
+
+
+XVI, XVII
+
+From the choric parts of _Samson Agonistes_ (i.e. the Agonist,
+or Wrestler), first printed in 1671.
+
+
+XVIII
+
+Of uncertain date; first printed by Watson 1706-11. The version
+given here is Emerson's (which is shorter than the original), with
+the exception of the last stanza, which is Napier's (_Montrose_,
+i. Appendices). Napier is at great pains to prove that the
+ballad is allegorical, and that Montrose's 'dear and only love'
+was that unhappy King whose Epitaph, the famous _Great, Good,
+and Just_, he is said--falsely--to have written with his sword. Be
+this as it may, the verses have a second part, which has dropped
+into oblivion. For the Great Marquis, who reminded De Retz of
+the men in Plutarch's _Lives_, was not averse from the practice
+of poetry, and wrote, besides these numbers, a prayer ('Let
+them bestow on every airth a limb'), a 'pasquil,' a pleasant
+string of conceits in praise of woman, a set of vehement and
+fiery memorial stanzas on the King, and one copy of verses more.
+
+
+XIX, XX
+
+_To Lucasta going to the Wars_ and _To Althea from Prison_
+are both, I believe, from Lovelace's _Lucasta_ (1645).
+
+
+XXI
+
+First printed by Captain Thomson, _Works_ (1776), from a copy
+he held, on what seems excellent authority, to be in Marvell's
+hand. The true title is _A Horatian Ode on Cromwell's Return
+from Ireland_ (1650). It is always ascribed to Marvell (whose
+verse was first collected and printed by his widow in 1681),
+but there are faint doubts as to the authorship.
+
+
+XXII
+
+_Poems_ (1681). This elegant and romantic lyric appears to have
+been inspired by a passage in the life of John Oxenbridge, of
+whom, 'religionis causa oberrantem,' it is enough to note that,
+after migrating to Bermudas, where he had a church, and being
+'ejected' at the Restoration from an English cure, he went
+to Surinam (1662-67), to Barbadoes (1667), and to New England
+(1669), where he was made pastor of 'the First Church of Boston'
+(1670), and where he died in 1674. These details are from Mr.
+Grosart's _Marvell_ (1875), i. 82-85, and ii. 5-8.
+
+
+XXIII
+
+Dryden's second Ode for Saint Cecilia's Day, _Alexander's Feast,
+or the Power of Sound_, as it is called, was written and printed
+in 1697. As it was designed for music (it was set by Jeremiah
+Clarke), the closing lines of every strophe are repeated by way
+of chorus. I have removed these repetitions as impertinent to
+the effect of the poem in print, and as interrupting the rushing
+vehemency of the narrative. The incident described is the burning
+of Persepolis.
+
+
+XXIV
+
+Written early in 1782, in memory of Robert Levett: 'an old and
+faithful friend,' says Johnson, and withal 'a very useful and
+very blameless man.' Excepting for the perfect odes of Cowper
+(_post_, pp. 85, 86), in these excellent and affecting verses the
+'classic' note is audible for the last time in this book until
+we reach the _Iphigeneia_ of Walter Savage Landor, who was a
+lad of seven at the date of their composition. They were written
+seventeen years after the publication of the _Reliques_ (1765),
+and a full quarter century after the appearance of _The Bard_
+(1757); but in style they proceed from the age of Pope. For the
+rest, the Augustan Muse was an utter stranger to the fighting
+inspiration. Her gait was pedestrian, her purpose didactic, her
+practice neat and formal: and she prosed of England's greatest
+captain, the victor of Blenheim, as tamely as himself had been
+'a parson in a tye-wig'--himself, and not the amiable man of
+letters who acted as her amanuensis for the nonce.
+
+
+XXV
+
+_Chevy Chase_ is here preferred to _Otterbourne_ as appealing more
+directly to Englishmen. The text is Percy's, and the movement like
+that of all the English ballads, is jog-trot enough. Sidney's
+confession--that he never heard it, even from a blind fiddler,
+but it stirred him like the sound of a trumpet--refers, no doubt,
+to an earlier version than the present, which appears to date from
+the first quarter of the seventeenth century. Compare _The Brave
+Lord Willoughby_ and _The Honour of Bristol_ (_post_, pp. 60, 73).
+
+
+XXVI
+
+First printed by Percy. The text I give is, with some few
+variants, that of the vastly better version in _The Minstrelsy
+of the Scottish Border_ (1802-3). Of the 'history' of the ballad
+the less said the better. The argument is neatly summarised by
+Mr. Allingham, p. 376 of _The Ballad Book_ ('Golden Treasury,'
+1879).
+
+ skeely = _skilful_
+ white monie = _silver_
+ gane = _would suffice_
+ half-fou = _the eighth part of a peck_
+ gurly = _rough_
+ lap = _sprang_
+ bout = _bolt_
+ twine = _thread_, i.e. canvas
+ wap = _warp_
+ flattered = '_fluttered_, or rather, floated' (Scott)
+ kaims = _combs_
+
+
+XXVII
+
+Printed by Percy, 'from an old black-letter copy; with some
+conjectural emendations.' At the suggestion of my friend,
+the Rev. Mr. Hunt, I have restored the original readings,
+as in truer consonancy with the vainglorious, insolent, and
+swaggering ballad spirit. As for the hero, Peregrine Bertie,
+Lord Willoughby of Eresby, described as 'one of the Queen's
+best swordsmen' and 'a great master of the art military,' he
+succeeded Leicester in the command in the Low Countries in 1587,
+distinguished himself repeatedly in fight with the Spaniards,
+and died in 1601. 'Both Norris and Turner were famous among the
+military men of that age' (Percy). In the Roxburgh Ballads the
+full title of the broadside--which is 'printed for S. Coles in
+Vine St., near Hatton Garden,'--is as follows:--'_A true relation
+of a famous and bloudy Battell fought in Flanders by the noble
+and valiant Lord Willoughby with 1500 English against 40,000
+Spaniards, wherein the English obtained a notable victory for
+the glory and renown of our nation._ Tune: _Lord Willoughby_.'
+
+
+XXVIII
+
+First printed by Tom D'Urfey, _Wit and Mirth, etc._ (1720),
+vi. 289-91; revised by Robert Burns for _The Scots Musical
+Magazine_, and again by Allan Cunningham for _The Songs
+of Scotland_; given with many differences, 'long current in
+Selkirkshire,' in the _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_. The
+present version is a _rifaccimento_ from Burns and Scott. It is
+worth noting that GrÊme (pronounced 'Grime'), and Graham are both
+forms of one name, which name was originally Grimm, and that,
+according to some, the latter orthography is the privilege of
+the chief of the clan.
+
+
+XXIX
+
+First printed in the _Minstrelsy_. This time the 'history'
+is authentic enough. It happened early in 1596, when Salkeld,
+the Deputy Warden of the Western Marches, seized under truce the
+person of William Armstrong of Kinmont--elsewhere described as
+'Will Kinmonde the common thieffe'--and haled him to Carlisle
+Castle, whence he was rescued--'with shouting and crying and sound
+of trumpet'--by the Laird of Buccleuch, Keeper of Liddesdale,
+and a troop of two hundred horse. 'The Queen of England,'
+says Spottiswoode, 'having notice sent her of what was done,
+stormed not a little'; but see the excellent summary compiled
+by Scott (who confesses to having touched up the ballad) for
+the _Minstrelsy_.
+
+ Haribee = _the gallows hill at Carlisle_
+ reiver = _a border thief_, one of a class which lived sparely,
+ fought stoutly, entertained the strictest sense of
+ honour and justice, went ever on horseback, and
+ carried the art of cattle-lifting to the highest
+ possible point of perfection (_National Observer,
+ 30th May, 1891_)
+ yett = _gate_
+ lawing = _reckoning_
+ basnet = _helmet_
+ curch = _coif or cap_
+ lightly = _to scorn_
+ in a lowe = _on fire_
+ slocken = _to slake_
+ splent = _shoulder-piece_
+ spauld = _shoulder_
+ broken men = _outlaws_
+ marshal men = _officers of law_
+ rank reiver = _common thief_
+ herry = _harry_
+ corbie = _crow_
+ lear = _learning_
+ row-footed = _rough-shod_
+ spait = _flood_
+ garred = _made_
+ slogan = _battle-cry_
+ stear = _stir_
+ saft = _light_
+ fleyed = _frightened_
+ bairns = _children_
+ spier = _ask_
+ hente = _lifted_, _haled_
+ maill = _rent_
+ furs = _furrows_
+ trew = _trust_
+ Christentie = _Christendom_
+
+
+XXX
+
+Communicated by Mr. Hunt,--who dates it about 1626--from
+Seyer's _Memoirs, Historical and Topographical, of Bristol and
+its Neighbourhood_ (1821-23). The full title is _The Honour of
+Bristol: shewing how the Angel Gabriel of Bristol fought with
+three ships, who boarded as many times, wherein we cleared our
+decks and killed five hundred of their men, and wounded many more,
+and made them fly into Cales, when we lost but three men, to the
+Honour of the Angel Gabriel of Bristol_. To the tune _Our Noble
+King in his Progress_. Cales (13), pronounced as a dissyllable,
+is of course Cadiz. It is fair to add that this spirited and
+amusing piece of doggerel has been severely edited.
+
+
+XXXI
+
+From the _Minstrelsy_, where it is 'given, without alteration
+or improvement, from the most accurate copy that could be
+recovered.' The story runs that Helen Irving (or Helen Bell),
+of Kirkconnell in Dumfriesshire, was beloved by Adam Fleming,
+and (as some say) Bell of Blacket House; that she favoured the
+first but her people encouraged the second; that she was thus
+constrained to tryst with Fleming by night in the churchyard,
+'a romantic spot, almost surrounded by the river Kirtle'; that
+they were here surprised by the rejected suitor, who fired at
+his rival from the far bank of the stream; that Helen, seeking
+to shield her lover, was shot in his stead; and that Fleming,
+either there and then, or afterwards in Spain, avenged her
+death on the body of her slayer. Wordsworth has told the story
+in a copy of verses which shows, like so much more of his work,
+how dreary a poetaster he could be.
+
+
+XXXII
+
+This epic-in-little, as tremendous an invention as exists in
+verse, is from the _Minstrelsy_: 'as written down from tradition
+by a lady' (C. Kirkpatrick Sharpe).
+
+ corbies = _crows_
+ fail-dyke = _wall of turf_
+ hause-bane = _breast-bone_
+ theek = _thatch_
+
+
+XXXIII
+
+Begun in 1755, and finished and printed (with _The Progress
+of Poetry_) in 1757. 'Founded,' says the poet, 'on a tradition
+current in Wales, that Edward the First, when he concluded the
+conquest of that country, ordered all the bards that fell into
+his hands to be put to death.' The 'agonising king' (line 56)
+is Edward II.; the 'she-wolf of France' (57), Isabel his queen;
+the 'scourge of heaven' (60), Edward III.; the 'sable warrior'
+(67), Edward the Black Prince. Lines 75-82 commemorate the rise
+and fall of Richard II.; lines 83-90, the Wars of the Roses, the
+murders in the Tower, the 'faith' of Margaret of Anjou, the 'fame'
+of Henry V., the 'holy head' of Henry VI. The 'bristled boar'
+(93) is symbolical of Richard III.; 'half of thy heart' (99)
+of Eleanor of Castile, 'who died a few years after the conquest
+of Wales.' Line 110 celebrates the accession of the House of
+Tudor in fulfilment of the prophecies of Merlin and Taliessin;
+lines 115-20, Queen Elizabeth; lines 128-30, Shakespeare;
+lines 131-32, Milton; and the 'distant warblings' of line 133,
+'the succession of poets after Milton's time' (Gray).
+
+
+XXXIV, XXXV
+
+Written, the one in September 1782 (in the August of which year
+the _Royal George_ (108 guns) was overset in Portsmouth Harbour
+with the loss of close on a thousand souls), and the other
+'after reading Hume's _History_ in 1780' (Benham).
+
+
+XXXVI
+
+It is worth recalling that at one time Walter Scott attributed
+this gallant lyric, which he printed in the _Minstrelsy_, to a
+'greater Graham'--the Marquis of Montrose.
+
+
+XXXVII, XXXVIII
+
+Of these, the first, _Blow High, Blow Low_, was sung in _The
+Seraglio_ (1776), a forgotten opera; the second, said to have
+been inspired by the death of the author's brother, a naval
+officer, in _The Oddities_ (1778)--a 'table-entertainment,'
+where Dibdin was author, actor, singer, musician, accompanist,
+everything but audience and candle-snuffer. They are among the
+first in time of his sea-ditties.
+
+
+XXXIX
+
+It is told (_Life_, W. H. Curran, 1819) that Curran met a
+deserter, drank a bottle, and talked of his chances, with him,
+and put his ideas and sentiments into this song.
+
+
+XL
+
+The _Arethusa_, Mr. Hannay tells me, being attached to Keppel's
+fleet at the mouth of the Channel, was sent to order the
+_Belle Poule_, which was cruising with some smaller craft in
+search of Keppel's ships, to come under his stern. The _Belle
+Poule_ (commanded by M. Chadeau de la Clocheterie) refusing,
+the _Arethusa_ (Captain Marshall) opened fire. The ships were
+fairly matched, and in the action which ensued the _Arethusa_
+appears to have got the worst of it. In the end, after about
+an hour's fighting, Keppel's liners came up, and the _Belle
+Poule_ made off. She was afterwards driven ashore by a superior
+English force, and it is an odd coincidence that in 1789 the
+_Arethusa_ ran ashore off Brest during her action (10th March)
+with _l'Aigrette_. As for the French captain, he lived to command
+_l'Hercule_, De Grasse's leading ship in the great sea-fight
+(12th April 1782) with Rodney off Dominica, where he was killed.
+
+
+XLI
+
+From the _Songs of Experience_ (1794).
+
+
+XLII
+
+_Scots Musical Museum_, 1788. Adapted from, or rather suggested
+by, the _Farewell_, which Macpherson, a cateran 'of great personal
+strength and musical accomplishment,' is said to have played and
+sung at the gallows foot; thereafter breaking his violin across
+his knee and submitting his neck to the hangman.
+
+ spring = _a melody in quick time_
+ sturt = _molestation_
+
+
+XLIII
+
+_Museum_, 1796. Burns told Thomson and Mrs. Dunlop that this
+noble and most moving song was old; but nobody believed him then,
+and nobody believes him now.
+
+ pint-stoup = _pint-mug_
+ braes = _hill-sides_
+ gowans = _daisies_
+ paidl't = _paddled_
+ burn = _brook_
+ fiere = _friend_, _companion_
+ guid-willie = _well-meant_, _full of good-will_
+ waught = _draught_
+
+
+XLIV
+
+The first four lines are old. The rest were written apparently in
+1788, when the poet sent this song and _Auld Lang Syne_ to Mrs.
+Dunlop. It appeared in the _Museum_, 1790.
+
+ tassie = _a cup_; _Fr._ 'tasse'
+
+
+XLV
+
+About 1777-80: printed 1801. 'One of my juvenile works,' says
+Burns. 'I do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits
+or demerits.' But Hazlitt thought the world of it, and now it
+passes for one of Burns's masterpieces.
+
+ trysted = _appointed_
+ stoure = _dust and din_
+
+
+XLVI
+
+_Museum_, 1796. Attributed, in one shape or another, to a
+certain Captain Ogilvie. Sharpe, too, printed a broadside in
+which the third stanza (used more than once by Sir Walter)
+is found as here. But Scott Douglas (_Burns_, iii. 173) has
+'no doubt that this broadside was printed after 1796,' and as
+it stands the thing is assuredly the work of Burns. The refrain
+and the metrical structure have been used by Scott (_Rokeby_,
+IV. 28), Carlyle, Charles Kingsley (_Dolcino to Margaret_),
+and Mr. Swinburne (_A Reiver's Neck Verse_) among others.
+
+
+XLVII-LII
+
+Of the first four numbers, the high-water mark of Wordsworth's
+achievement, all four were written in 1802; the second and third
+were published in 1803; the first and fourth in 1807. The _Ode to
+Duty_ was written in 1805, and published in 1807, to which year
+belongs that _Song for the Feast of Brougham Castle_, from which
+I have extracted the excellent verses here called _Two Victories_.
+
+
+LIII-LXII
+
+The first three numbers are from _Marmion_ (1808):
+I. Introduction; V. 12; and VI. 18-20, 25-27, and 33-34. The
+next is from _The Lady of the Lake_ (1810), I. 1-9: _The Outlaw_
+is from _Rokeby_ (1813), III. 16; the _Pibroch_ was published
+in 1816; _The Omnipotent_ and _The Red Harlaw_ are from
+_The Antiquary_ (1816), and the _Farewell_ from _The Pirate_
+(1821). As for _Bonny Dundee_, that incomparable ditty, it was
+written as late as 1825. 'The air of Bonny Dundee running in
+my head to-day,' he writes under date of 22d December (_Diary_,
+1890, i. 61), 'I wrote a few verses to it before dinner, taking
+the key-note from the story of Clavers leaving the Scottish
+Convention of Estates in 1688-9. _I wonder if they are good._'
+See _The Doom of Devorgoil_ (1830), Note A, Act II. sc. 2.
+
+
+LXIII
+
+This unsurpassed piece of art, in which a music the most exquisite
+is used to body forth a set of suggestions that seem dictated by
+the very Spirit of Romance, was produced, under the influence of
+'an anodyne,' as early as 1797. Coleridge, who calls it _Kubla
+Khan: A Vision within a Dream_, avers that, having fallen asleep
+in his chair over a sentence from Purchas's Pilgrimage--'Here
+the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built and a stately
+garden thereto; and thus ten miles of ground were enclosed with
+a wall,'--he remained unconscious for about three hours, 'during
+which time he had the most vivid confidence that he could not
+have composed less than three hundred lines'; 'if that,' he adds,
+'can be called composition, in which all the images rose up before
+him as things, with a parallel production of the correspondent
+expressions, without any sensation or consciousness of effort.' On
+awakening, he proceeded to write out his 'composition,' and
+had set down as much of it as is printed here, when 'he was
+unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock,'
+whose departure, an hour after, left him wellnigh oblivious
+of the rest. This confession, which is dated 1816, has been
+generally accepted as true; but Coleridge had a trick of dreaming
+dreams about himself which makes doubt permissible.
+
+
+LXIV
+
+From the _Hellenics_ (written in Latin, 1814-20, and translated
+into English at the instance of Lady Blessington), 1846. See
+Colvin, _Landor_ ('English Men of Letters'), pp. 189, 190.
+
+
+LXV-LXVII
+
+Of the first, 'Napoleon and the British Sailor' (_The Pilgrim
+of Glencoe_, 1842), Campbell writes that the 'anecdote has
+been published in several public journals, both French and
+English.' 'My belief,' he continues, 'in its authenticity was
+confirmed by an Englishman, long resident in Boulogne, lately
+telling me that he remembered the circumstance to have been
+generally talked of in the place.' Authentic or not, I have
+preferred the story to _Hohenlinden_, as less hackneyed, for one
+thing, and, for another, less pretentious and rhetorical. The
+second (_Gertrude of Wyoming_, 1809) is truly one of 'the glories
+of our birth and state.' The third (_idem_) I have ventured to
+shorten by three stanzas: a proceeding which, however culpable it
+seem, at least gets rid of the chief who gave a country's wounds
+relief by stopping a battle, eliminates the mermaid and her song
+(the song that 'condoles'), and ends the lyric on as sonorous
+and romantic a word as even Shakespeare ever used.
+
+
+LXVIII
+
+_Corn Law Rhymes_, 1831.
+
+
+LXIX
+
+From that famous and successful forgery, Cromek's _Remains of
+Nithsdale and Galloway Song_ (1810), written when Allan was
+a working mason in Dumfriesshire. I have omitted a stanza as
+inferior to the rest.
+
+
+LXXI
+
+_English Songs and other Small Poems_, 1834.
+
+
+LXXII-LXXVIII
+
+The first is from the _Hebrew Melodies_ (1815); the next is
+selected from _The Siege of Corinth_ (1816), 22-33; _Alhama_
+(_idem_) is a spirited yet faithful rendering of the _Romance
+muy Doloroso del Sitio y Toma de Alhama_, which existed both in
+Spanish and in Arabic, and whose effect was such that 'it was
+forbidden to be sung by the Moors on the pain of death in Granada'
+(Byron); No. LXXV., surely one of the bravest songs in the
+language, was addressed (_idem_) to Thomas Moore; the tremendous
+_Race with Death_ is lifted out of the _Ode in Venice_ (1819);
+for the next number see _Don Juan_, III. (1821); the last of all,
+'Stanzas inscribed _On this day I completed my Thirty-sixth year_'
+(1824), is the last verse that Byron wrote.
+
+
+LXXIX
+
+Napier has described the terrific effect of Napoleon's pursuit;
+but in the operations before Corunna he was distanced, if not
+out-generalled, by Sir John Moore, and ere the first days of
+1809 he gave his command to Soult, who pressed us vainly through
+the hill-country between Leon and Gallicia, and got beaten
+at Corunna for his pains. Wolfe, who was an Irish parson and
+died of consumption, wrote some spirited verses on the flight
+of Busaco, but this admirable elegy--'I will show you,' said
+Byron to Shelley (Medwin, ii. 154) 'one you have never seen,
+that I consider little if at all inferior to the best, the
+present prolific age has brought forth'--remains his passport
+to immortality. It was printed, not by the author, in an Irish
+newspaper; was copied all over Britain; was claimed by liar after
+liar in succession; and has been reprinted more often, perhaps,
+than any poem of the century.
+
+
+LXXX
+
+From _Snarleyow, or the Dog Fiend_ (1837). Compare Nelson to
+Collingwood: '_Victory_, 25th June, 1805,--May God bless you
+and send you alongside the _Santissima Trinidad_.'
+
+
+LXXXI, LXXXII
+
+The story of Casabianca is, I believe, untrue; but the intention
+of the singer, alike in this number and in the next, is excellent.
+Each indeed is, in its way, a classic. The _Mayflower_ sailed
+from Southampton in 1626.
+
+
+LXXXIII
+
+This magnificent sonnet, _On First Reading Chapman's Homer_,
+was printed in 1817. The 'Cortez' of the eleventh verse is a
+mistake; the discoverer of the Pacific being NuÒez de Balboa.
+
+
+LXXXIV-LXXXVII
+
+The _Lays_ are dated 1824; they have passed through edition
+after edition; and if Matthew Arnold disliked and contemned them
+(see Sir F. H. Doyle, _Reminiscences and Opinions_, pp. 178-87),
+the general is wise enough to know them by heart. But a book that
+is 'a catechism to fight' (in Jonson's phrase) would have sinned
+against itself had it taken no account of them, and I have given
+_Horatius_ in its integrity: if only, as Landor puts it,
+
+ To show the British youth, who ne'er
+ Will lag behind, what Romans were,
+ When all the Tuscans and their Lars
+ Shouted, and shook the towers of Mars.
+
+As for _The Armada_, I have preferred it to _The Battle of
+Naseby_, first, because it is neither vicious nor ugly, and
+the other is both; and, second, because it is so brilliant an
+outcome of that capacity for dealing with proper names which
+Macaulay, whether poet or not, possesses in common with none
+but certain among the greater poets. For _The Last Buccaneer_
+(a curious anticipation of some effects of Mr. Rudyard Kipling),
+and that noble thing, the _Jacobite's Epitaph_, they are dated
+1839 and 1845 respectively.
+
+
+LXXXVIII
+
+_The Poetical Works of Robert Stephen Hawker_ (Kegan Paul,
+1879). By permission of Mrs. R. S. Hawker. 'With the exception
+of the choral lines--
+
+ And shall Trelawney die?
+ There's twenty thousand Cornishmen
+ Will know the reason why!--
+
+and which have been, ever since the imprisonment by James II. of
+the Seven Bishops--one of them Sir Jonathan Trelawney--a popular
+proverb throughout Cornwall, the whole of this song was composed
+by me in the year 1825. I wrote it under a stag-horned oak in Sir
+Beville's Walk in Stowe Wood. It was sent by me anonymously to a
+Plymouth paper, and there it attracted the notice of Mr. Davies
+Gilbert, who reprinted it at his private press at Eastbourne under
+the avowed impression that it was the original ballad. It had
+the good fortune to win the eulogy of Sir Walter Scott, who also
+deemed it to be the ancient song. It was praised under the same
+persuasion by Lord Macaulay and Mr. Dickens.'--_Author's Note._
+
+
+LXXXIX-XCII
+
+From _The Sea Side and the Fire Side_, 1851; _Birds of Passage_,
+_Flight the First_, and _Flight the Second_; and _Flower de
+Luce_, 1866. Of these four examples of the picturesque and
+taking art of Longfellow, I need say no more than that all are
+printed in their integrity, with the exception of the first. This
+I leave the lighter by a moral and an application, both of which,
+superfluous or not, are remote from the general purpose of this
+book: a confession in which I may include the following number,
+Mr. Whittier's _Barbara Frietchie_ (_In War-Time_, 1863.)
+
+
+XCIV
+
+_Nineteenth Century_, March 1878; _Ballads and other Poems_,
+1880. By permission of Messrs. Macmillan, to whom I am indebted
+for some of my choicest numbers. For the story of Sir Richard
+Grenville's heroic death, 'in the last of August,' 1591--after
+the Revenge had endured the onset of 'fifteen several armadas,'
+and received some 'eight hundred shot of great artillerie,'--see
+Hakluyt (1598-1600), ii. 169-176, where you will find it told
+with singular animation and directness by Sir Walter Raleigh,
+who held a brief against the Spaniards in Sir Richard's case
+as always. To Sir Richard's proposal to blow up the ship the
+master gunner 'readily condescended,' as did 'divers others';
+but the captain was of 'another opinion,' and in the end Sir
+Richard was taken aboard the ship of the Spanish admiral, Don
+Alfonso de Bazan, who used him well and honourably until he
+died: leaving to his friends the 'comfort that being dead he
+hath not outlived his own honour,' and that he had nobly shown
+how false and vain, and therefore how contrary to God's will,
+the 'ambitious and bloudie practices of the Spaniards' were.
+
+
+XCV
+
+_Tiresias and Other Poems_, 1885. By permission of Messrs.
+Macmillan. Included at Lord Tennyson's own suggestion. For the
+noble feat of arms (25th October 1854) thus nobly commemorated,
+see Kinglake (v. i. 102-66). 'The three hundred of the Heavy
+Brigade who made this famous charge were the Scots Greys and the
+second squadron of Enniskillings, the remainder of the "Heavy
+Brigade" subsequently dashing up to their support. The "three"
+were Scarlett's aide-de-camp, Elliot, and the trumpeter, and
+Shegog the orderly, who had been close behind him.'--_Author's
+Note._
+
+
+XCVI, XCVII
+
+_The Return of the Guards, and other Poems_, 1866. By permission
+of Messrs. Macmillan. As to the first, which deals with an
+incident of the war with China, and is presumably referred
+to in 1860, 'Some Seiks and a private of the Buffs (or East
+Kent Regiment) having remained behind with the grog-carts,
+fell into the hands of the Chinese. On the next morning they
+were brought before the authorities and commanded to perform
+the _Ko tou_. The Seiks obeyed; but Moyse, the English soldier,
+declaring that he would not prostrate himself before any Chinaman
+alive, was immediately knocked upon the head and his body thrown
+upon a dunghill.'--Quoted by the author from _The Times_. The
+Elgin of line 6 is Henry Bruce, eighth Lord Elgin (1811-1863),
+then Ambassador to China, and afterwards Governor-General of
+India. Compare _Theology in Extremis_ (_post_, p. 309). Of the
+second, which Mr. Saintsbury describes 'as one of the most lofty,
+insolent, and passionate things concerning this matter that our
+time has produced,' Sir Francis notes that the incident--no doubt
+a part of the conquest of Sindh--was told him by Sir Charles
+Napier, and that 'Truckee' (line 12) = 'a stronghold in the
+Desert, supposed to be unassailable and impregnable.'
+
+
+XCVIII, XCIX
+
+By permission of Messrs. Smith, Elder, and Co. _Dramatic Lyrics_,
+1845; _Cornhill Magazine_, June 1871, and _Pacchiarotto_, 1876,
+Works, iv. and xiv. I can find nothing about HervÈ Riel.
+
+
+C-CIII
+
+The two first are from the 'Song of Myself,' _Leaves of Grass_
+(1855); the others from _Drum Taps_ (1865). See _Leaves of Grass_
+(Philadelphia, 1884), pp. 60, 62-63, 222, and 246.
+
+
+CIV, CV
+
+By permission of Messrs. Macmillan. Dated severally 1857 and 1859.
+
+
+CVI
+
+_Edinburgh Courant_, 1852. Compare _The Loss of the 'Birkenhead'_
+in _The Return of the Guards, and other Poems_ (Macmillan, 1883),
+pp. 256-58. Of the troopship _Birkenhead_ I note that she sailed
+from Queenstown on the 7th January 1852, with close on seven
+hundred souls on board; that the most of these were soldiers--of
+the Twelfth Lancers, the Sixtieth Rifles, the Second, Sixth,
+Forty-third, Forty-fifth, Seventy-third, Seventy-fourth, and
+Ninety-first Regiments; that she struck on a rock (26th February
+1852) off Simon's Bay, South Africa; that the boats would hold
+no more than a hundred and thirty-eight, and that, the women
+and children being safe, the men that were left--four hundred
+and fifty-four, all told--were formed on deck by their officers,
+and went down with the ship, true to colours and discipline till
+the end.
+
+
+CVII-CIX
+
+By permission of Messrs. Macmillan. From _Empedocles on Etna_
+(1853). As regards the second number, it may be noted that Sohrab,
+being in quest of his father Rustum, to whom he is unknown,
+offers battle as one of the host of the Tartar King Afrasiab,
+to any champion of the Persian Kai Khosroo. The challenge is
+accepted by Rustum, who fights as a nameless knight (like Wilfrid
+of Ivanhoe at the Gentle and Joyous Passage of Ashby), and so
+becomes the unwitting slayer of his son. For the story of the
+pair the poet refers his readers to Sir John Malcom's _History of
+Persia_. See _Poems_, by Matthew Arnold (Macmillan), i. 268, 269.
+
+
+CX, CXI
+
+_Ionica_ (Allen, 1891). By permission of the Author. _School
+Fencibles_ (1861) was 'printed, not published, in 1877.' _The
+Ballad for a Boy_, Mr. Cory writes, 'was never printed till
+this year.'
+
+
+CXII
+
+By permission of the Author. This ballad, which was suggested,
+Mr. Meredith tells me, by the story of Bendigeid Vran, the son
+of Llyr, in the _Mabinogion_ (iii. 121-9), is reprinted from
+_Modern Love_ (1862), but it originally appeared (_circ._ 1860)
+in _Once a Week_, a forgotten print the source of not a little
+unforgotten stuff--as _Evan Harrington_ and the first part of
+_The Cloister and the Hearth_.
+
+
+CXIII
+
+From the fourth and last book of _Sigurd the Volsung_, 1877.
+By permission of the Author. Hogni and Gunnar, being the guests
+of King Atli, husband to their sister Gudrun, refused to tell
+him the whereabouts of the treasure of Fafnir, whom Sigurd slew;
+and this is the manner of their taking and the beginning of King
+Atli's vengeance.
+
+
+CXIV
+
+_English Illustrated Magazine_, January 1890, and _Lyrical Poems_
+(Macmillan, 1891). By permission of the Author: with whose
+sanction I have omitted four lines from the last stanza.
+
+
+CXV
+
+By permission of Sir Alfred Lyall. _Cornhill Magazine_,
+September 1868, and _Verses Written in India_ (Kegan Paul, 1889).
+The second title is: _A Soliloquy that may have been delivered in
+India, June 1857_; and this is further explained by the following
+'extract from an Indian newspaper':--'They would have spared
+life to any of their English prisoners who should consent to
+profess Mahometanism by repeating the usual short formula; but
+only one half-caste cared to save himself that way.' Then comes
+the description, _Moriturus Loquitur_, and next the poem.
+
+
+CXVI-CXVIII
+
+From _Songs before Sunrise_ (Chatto and Windus, 1877), and
+the third series of _Poems and Ballads_ (Chatto and Windus,
+1889). By permission of the Author.
+
+
+CXIX, CXX
+
+_The Complete Poetical Works of Bret Harte_ (Chatto and Windus,
+1886). By permission of Author and Publisher. _The ReveillÈ_ was
+spoken before a Union Meeting at San Francisco at the beginning
+of the Civil War and appeared in a volume of the Author's poems
+in 1867. _What the Bullet Sang_ is much later work: dating,
+thinks Mr. Harte, from '79 or '80.
+
+
+CXXI
+
+_St. James's Magazine_, October 1877, and _At the Sign of the
+Lyre_ (Kegan Paul, 1889). By permission of the Author.
+
+
+CXXII
+
+_St. James's Gazette_, 20th July 1888, and _Grass of Parnassus_
+(Longmans, 1888). By permission of Author and Publisher. Written
+in memory of Gordon's betrayal and death, but while there were
+yet hopes and rumours of escape.
+
+
+CXXIII
+
+_Underwoods_ (Chatto and Windus, 1886). By permission of the
+Publishers.
+
+
+CXXIV
+
+_Love's Looking-Glass_ (Percival, 1891). By permission of
+the Author.
+
+
+CXXV
+
+_Macmillan's Magazine_, November 1889. By permission of
+the Author. Kamal Khan is a Pathan; and the scene of this
+exploit--which, I am told, is perfectly consonant with the history
+and tradition of Guides and Pathans both--is the North Frontier
+country in the Peshawar-Kohat region, say, between Abazai and
+Bonair, behind which is stationed the Punjab Irregular Frontier
+Force--'the steel head of the lance couched for the defence of
+India.' As for the Queen's Own Corps of Guides, to the general
+'God's Own Guides' (from its exclusiveness and gallantry),
+it comprehends both horse and foot, is recruited from Sikhs,
+Pathans, Rajputs, Afghans, all the fighting races, is officered
+both by natives and by Englishmen, and in all respects is worthy
+of this admirable ballad.
+
+ Ressaldar = _the native leader of a _ressala_ or troop of
+ horse_
+ Tongue = _a barren and naked strath_--'what geologists
+ call a fan'
+ Gut of the Tongue = _the narrowest part of the strath_
+ dust-devils = _dust-clouds blown by a whirlwind_
+
+
+CXXVI
+
+_National Observer_, 4th April 1891. At the burning of the
+Court-House at Cork, 'Above the portico a flagstaff bearing the
+Union Jack remained fluttering in the air for some time, but
+ultimately when it fell the crowds rent the air with shouts,
+and seemed to see significance in the incident.'--Daily
+Papers. _Author's Note._
+
+
+
+
+INDEX
+ PAGE
+
+ A good sword and a trusty hand 207
+ All is finished! and at length 217
+ Alone stood brave Horatius 196
+ Amid the loud ebriety of war 264
+ And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said 280
+ Arm, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in 13
+ As I was walking all alane 79
+ Ask nothing more of me, sweet 316
+ As the spring-tides, with heavy plash 153
+ At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay 227
+ At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay 232
+ Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise 200
+ Attend you, and give ear awhile 73
+ Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones 28
+ A wet sheet and a flowing sea 148
+
+ Beat! beat! drums!--blow! bugles! blow! 257
+ Bid me to live, and I will live 18
+ Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear 89
+ Build me straight, O worthy Master 208
+ But by the yellow Tiber 183
+ But see! look up--on Flodden bent 116
+ By this, though deep the evening fell 119
+ Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms 27
+ Come, all ye jolly sailors bold 92
+ Condemned to Hope's delusive mine 45
+ Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud 28
+
+ Darkly, sternly, and all alone 156
+ Day by day the vessel grew 214
+ Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark 146
+
+ Eleven men of England 244
+ England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle
+ enrings thee round 317
+ Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede 49
+
+ Fair stood the wind for France 6
+ Farewell! farewell! the voice you hear 133
+ Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong 95
+
+ Get up! get up for shame! The blooming morn 15
+ God prosper long our noble king 47
+ God who created me 328
+ Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 97
+ Good Lord Scroope to the hills is gane 64
+
+ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be 147
+ Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands 322
+ He has called him forty Marchmen bold 69
+ Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling 90
+ He spoke, and as he ceased he wept aloud 272
+ He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts 267
+ He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood 275
+ High-spirited friend 12
+ How happy is he born or taught 11
+
+ I am the mashed fireman with breast-bone broken 254
+ If doughty deeds my lady please 88
+ If sadly thinking 91
+ I love contemplating, apart 140
+ In the ship-yard stood the Master 210
+ In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 136
+ Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom 138
+ I said, when evil men are strong 105
+ Is life worth living? Yes, so long 308
+ It is not growing like a tree 13
+ It is not to be thought of that the Flood 101
+ It is not yours, O mother, to complain 326
+ It was a' for our rightfu' King 99
+ I wish I were where Helen lies 77
+
+ Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border side 329
+ King Philip had vaunted his claims 324
+
+ Lars Porsena of Clusium 179
+ Last night, among his fellow-roughs 242
+
+ Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour 102
+ Mortality, behold and fear 15
+ Much have I travelled in the realms of gold 179
+ My boat is on the shore 164
+ My dear and only love, I pray 31
+
+ Next morn the Baron climbed the tower 114
+ Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the north-west died away 248
+ Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 172
+ Now all the youth of England are on fire 2
+ Now entertain conjecture of a time 4
+ Now fell the sword of Gunnar, and rose up red in the air 297
+ Now the noon was long passed over when again the rumour arose 304
+ Now we bear the king 10
+ Now while the Three were tightening 189
+ Now word is gane to the bold Keeper 67
+
+ O born in days when wits were fresh and clear 282
+ O Brignall banks are wild and fair 126
+ O England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high 260
+ Of Nelson and the North 144
+ O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend 1
+ Oft in the pleasant summer years 311
+ O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde 66
+ O how comely it is, and how reviving 31
+ O joy of creation 323
+ O Mary, at thy window be 98
+ Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee 100
+ On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred and ninety-two 248
+ Othere, the old sea-captain 223
+ Our English archers bent their bowes 51
+ O Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls 165
+ O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west 112
+
+ Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 129
+
+ Ruin seize thee, ruthless King 80
+
+ Should auld acquaintance be forgot 96
+ Simon Danz has come home again 228
+ Stern Daughter of the Voice of God 103
+ Still the song goeth up from Gunnar, though his harp to earth
+ be laid 301
+ Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright 19
+
+ Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind 32
+ The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold 150
+ The boy stood on the burning deck 175
+ The breaking waves dashed high 177
+ The captain stood on the carronade: 'First Lieutenant,'
+ says he 174
+ The charge of the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade 239
+ The fifteenth day of July 60
+ The forward youth that would appear 34
+ The glories of our birth and state 20
+ The herring loves the merry moonlight 131
+ The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece 167
+ The King sits in Dunfermline town 57
+ The last sunbeam 258
+ The Moorish King rides up and down 160
+ The newes was brought to Eddenborrow 56
+ The night is past, and shines the sun 151
+ The Sea! the Sea, the open Sea 149
+ The stag at eve had drunk his fill 121
+ The weary day rins down and dies 319
+ The winds were yelling, the waves were swelling 205
+ Then speedilie to wark we gaed 71
+ Then with a bitter smile, Rustum began 269
+ Then with a heavy groan, Rustum bewailed 277
+ This, this is he; softly a while 30
+ Through the black, rushing smoke bursts 265
+ Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies 3
+ Tiger, tiger, burning bright 94
+ 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved 171
+ Toll for the Brave 85
+ To mute and to material things 107
+ To my true king I offered free from stain 206
+ To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke 134
+ 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 40
+
+ Up from the meadows rich with corn 230
+
+ Vain is the dream! However Hope may rave 325
+
+ We come in arms, we stand ten score 284
+ Welcome, wild north-easter 262
+ When George the Third was reigning a hundred years ago 285
+ When I consider how my light is spent 29
+ When I have borne in memory what has tamed 101
+ When Love with unconfinËd wings 33
+ When the British warrior queen 86
+ When the head of Bran 290
+ Where the remote Bermudas ride 39
+ Why sitt'st thou by that ruined hall 130
+ Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering
+ to and fro 335
+ With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine 54
+ Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight 255
+
+ Ye Mariners of England 143
+ Ye shall know that in Atli's feast-hall on the side
+ that joined the house 293
+ Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more 21
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" />
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+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lyra Heroica by William Ernest Henley</title>
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+ vertical-align:top; }
+ .index td.right { vertical-align:bottom; text-align:right; }
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+
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+
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lyra Heroica, 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: Lyra Heroica
+ A Book of Verse for Boys
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: September 19, 2006 [EBook #19316]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYRA HEROICA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Daniel Emerson Griffith and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+ <div class="frontmatter">
+ <h1>
+ <a name="pagei" id="pagei"></a><a name="pageii" id="pageii"></a><a
+ class="pagebreak" name="pageiii" id="pageiii" title="iii"></a>LYRA
+ HEROICA
+ </h1>
+ <p class="central">
+ <big>A BOOK OF VERSE FOR BOYS</big><br /> SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY<br />
+ <big>WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY</big>
+ </p>
+ <table summary="" class="poetry italic">
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!</span><br />
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To all the sensual world proclaim</span><br />
+ <span class="i0">One crowded hour of glorious life</span><br />
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is worth an age without a name.</span>
+ </p>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ <i>Sir Walter Scott.</i>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ </table>
+ <p class="central">
+ <big>NEW YORK<br /> CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS</big><br /> 1920
+ </p>
+ <p class="central">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="pageiv" id="pageiv" title="iv"></a>COPYRIGHT,
+ 1891, BY<br /> CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+ </p>
+ <p class="outdent">
+ <span title="Asterism">&#8258;</span> <i>The selections from Walt
+ Whitman are published by permission of Mr. Whitman; and those from
+ Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier, and Bret Harte, through the courtesy of
+ Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, &amp; Co., the publishers of their works.</i>
+ </p>
+ <table summary="">
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ <p class="central">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="pagev" id="pagev" title="v"></a><big>TO
+ WALTER BLAIKIE</big><br /> ARTIST-PRINTER<br /> MY PART IN THIS BOOK
+ </p>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ W. E. H.
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="left">
+ <i>Edinburgh, July 1891.</i>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ </table>
+ </div>
+ <h2>
+ <a name="pagevi" id="pagevi"></a><a class="pagebreak" name="pagevii"
+ id="pagevii" title="vii"></a>PREFACE
+ </h2>
+
+ <p class="italic">
+ This book of verse for boys is, I believe, the first of its kind in
+ English. Plainly, it were labour lost to go gleaning where so many experts
+ have gone harvesting; and for what is rarest and best in English Poetry
+ the world must turn, as heretofore, to the several &lsquo;Golden
+ Treasuries&rsquo; of Professor Palgrave and Mr. Coventry Patmore, and to
+ the excellent &lsquo;Poets' Walk&rsquo; of Mr. Mowbray Morris. My purpose
+ has been to choose and sheave a certain number of those achievements in
+ verse which, as expressing the simpler sentiments and the more elemental
+ emotions, might fitly be addressed to such boys&mdash;and men, for that
+ matter&mdash;as are privileged to use our noble English tongue.
+ </p>
+ <p class="italic">
+ To set forth, as only art can, the beauty and the joy of living, the
+ beauty and the blessedness of death, the glory of battle and adventure,
+ the nobility of devotion&mdash;to a cause, an ideal, a passion even&mdash;the
+ dignity of resistance, the sacred quality of patriotism, that is my
+ ambition here. Now, to read poetry at all is to have an ideal anthology of
+ one's own, and in that possession to be incapable of content with the
+ anthologies of all the world besides. That is, the personal equation is
+ ever to be reckoned withal, and I have had my preferences, as those that
+ went before me had theirs. I have omitted much, as Aytoun's &lsquo;Lays,&rsquo;
+ whose absence <a class="pagebreak" name="pageviii" id="pageviii"
+ title="viii"></a> many will resent; I have included much, as that
+ brilliant piece of doggerel of Frederick Marryat's, whose presence some
+ will regard with distress. This without reference to enforcements due to
+ the very nature of my work.
+ </p>
+ <p class="italic">
+ I have adopted the birth-day order: for that is the simplest. And I have
+ begun with&mdash;not Chaucer, nor Spenser, nor the ballads, but&mdash;Shakespeare
+ and Agincourt; for it seemed to me that a book of heroism could have no
+ better starting-point than that heroic pair of names. As for the ballads,
+ I have placed them, after much considering, in the gap between old and
+ new, between classic and romantic, in English verse. The witness of Sidney
+ and Drayton's example notwithstanding, it is not until 1765, when Percy
+ publishes the &lsquo;Reliques,&rsquo; that the ballad spirit begins to be
+ the master influence that Wordsworth confessed it was; while as for the
+ history of the matter, there are who hold that &lsquo;Sir Patrick Spens,&rsquo;
+ for example, is the work of Lady Wardlaw, which to others, myself among
+ them, is a thing preposterous and distraught.
+ </p>
+ <p class="italic">
+ It remains to add that, addressing myself to boys, I have not scrupled to
+ edit my authors where editing seemed desirable, and that I have broken up
+ some of the longer pieces for convenience in reading. Also, the help I
+ have received while this book of &lsquo;Noble Numbers&rsquo; was in course
+ of growth&mdash;help in the way of counsel, suggestion, remonstrance,
+ permission to use&mdash;has been such that it taxes gratitude and makes
+ complete acknowledgment impossible.
+ </p>
+ <p class="right">
+ W. E. H.
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="pageix" id="pageix" title="ix"></a>CONTENTS
+ </h2>
+ <table class="toc" summary="">
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564&ndash;1616) and
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ MICHAEL DRAYTON (1563&ndash;1631).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ I.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ AGINCOURT
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ PAGE
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>Introit</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page1">1</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>Interlude</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page2">2</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>Harfleur</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page3">3</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Eve</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page4">4</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Battle</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page6">6</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>After</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page10">10</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ SIR HENRY WOTTON (1568&ndash;1639).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ II.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ LORD OF HIMSELF
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page11">11</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ BEN JONSON (1574&ndash;1637).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ III.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ TRUE BALM
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page12">12</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ IV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ HONOUR IN BUD
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page13">13</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ JOHN FLETCHER (1576&ndash;1625).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ V.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE JOY OF BATTLE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page13">13</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ FRANCIS BEAUMONT (1586&ndash;1616).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ VI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page15">15</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ ROBERT HERRICK (1591&ndash;1674).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ VII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ GOING A-MAYING
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page15">15</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ VIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page18">18</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="pagex" id="pagex" title="x"></a>GEORGE
+ HERBERT (1593&ndash;1638).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ IX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ MEMENTO MORI
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page19">19</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ JAMES SHIRLEY (1594&ndash;1666).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ X.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE KING OF KINGS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page20">20</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ JOHN MILTON (1608&ndash;1674).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ LYCIDAS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page21">21</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ ARMS AND THE MUSE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page27">27</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ TO THE LORD GENERAL
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page28">28</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XIV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE LATE MASSACRE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page28">28</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ ON HIS BLINDNESS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page29">29</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ EYELESS AT GAZA
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page30">30</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XVII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ OUT OF ADVERSITY
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page31">31</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ JAMES GRAHAM, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE (1612&ndash;1650).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XVIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ HEROIC LOVE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page31">31</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ RICHARD LOVELACE (1618&ndash;1658).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XIX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ GOING TO THE WARS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page32">32</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ FROM PRISON
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page33">33</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ ANDREW MARVELL (1620&ndash;1678).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ TWO KINGS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page34">34</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ IN EXILE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page39">39</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ JOHN DRYDEN (1631&ndash;1701).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ ALEXANDER'S FEAST
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page40">40</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709&ndash;1784).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXIV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE QUIET LIFE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page45">45</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="pagexi" id="pagexi" title="xi"></a>BALLADS
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXV.
+ </td>
+ <td colspan="2">
+ CHEVY CHASE
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Hunting</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page47">47</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Challenge</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page49">49</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Battle</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page51">51</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Slain</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page54">54</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Tidings</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page56">56</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ SIR PATRICK SPENS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page57">57</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXVII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page60">60</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXVIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ HUGHIE THE GR&AElig;ME
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page64">64</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXIX.
+ </td>
+ <td colspan="2">
+ KINMONT WILLIE
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Capture</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page66">66</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Keeper's Wrath</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page67">67</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The March</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page69">69</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Rescue</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page71">71</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page73">73</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXXI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page77">77</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXXII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE TWA CORBIES
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page79">79</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ THOMAS GRAY (1716&ndash;1771).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXXIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE BARD
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page80">80</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ WILLIAM COWPER (1731&ndash;1800).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXXIV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE ROYAL GEORGE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page85">85</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXXV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ BOADICEA
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page86">86</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ GRAHAM OF GARTMORE (1735&ndash;1797).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXXVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ TO HIS LADY
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page88">88</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ CHARLES DIBDIN (1745&ndash;1814).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXXVII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ CONSTANCY
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page89">89</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXXVIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE PERFECT SAILOR
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page90">90</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN (1750&ndash;1817).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XXXIX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE DESERTER
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page91">91</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="pagexii" id="pagexii" title="xii"></a>PRINCE
+ HOARE (1755&ndash;1834).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XL.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE ARETHUSA
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page92">92</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ WILLIAM BLAKE (1757&ndash;1823).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XLI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE BEAUTY OF TERROR
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page94">94</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ ROBERT BURNS (1759&ndash;1796).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XLII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ DEFIANCE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page95">95</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XLIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE GOAL OF LIFE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page96">96</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XLIV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ BEFORE PARTING
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page97">97</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XLV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ DEVOTION
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page98">98</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XLVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ TRUE UNTIL DEATH
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page99">99</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH (1770&ndash;1850).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XLVII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ VENICE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page100">100</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XLVIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ DESTINY
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page101">101</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XLIX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE MOTHER LAND
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page101">101</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ L.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ IDEAL
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page102">102</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ TO DUTY
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page103">103</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ TWO VICTORIES
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page105">105</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771&ndash;1832).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ IN MEMORIAM
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page107">107</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LIV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ LOCHINVAR
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page112">112</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LV.
+ </td>
+ <td colspan="2">
+ FLODDEN
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The March</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page114">114</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Attack</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page116">116</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Last Stand</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page119">119</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE CHASE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page121">121</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LVII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE OUTLAW
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page126">126</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LVIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ PIBROCH
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page129">129</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LIX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE OMNIPOTENT
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page130">130</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE RED HARLAW
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page131">131</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ FAREWELL
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page133">133</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ BONNY DUNDEE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page134">134</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="pagexiii" id="pagexiii" title="xiii"></a>SAMUEL
+ TAYLOR COLERIDGE (1772&ndash;1834).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ ROMANCE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page136">136</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR (1775&ndash;1864).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXIV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ SACRIFICE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page138">138</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL (1777&ndash;1844).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ SOLDIER AND SAILOR
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page140">140</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ &lsquo;YE MARINERS&rsquo;
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page143">143</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXVII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page144">144</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ EBENEZER ELLIOTT (1781&ndash;1846).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXVIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ BATTLE SONG
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page146">146</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ ALLAN CUNNINGHAM (1785&ndash;1842).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXIX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ LOYALTY
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page147">147</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ A SEA-SONG
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page148">148</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ BRYANT WALLER PROCTOR (1787&ndash;1874).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ A SONG OF THE SEA
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page149">149</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON (1788&ndash;1824).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ SENNACHERIB
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page150">150</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXIII.
+ </td>
+ <td colspan="2">
+ THE STORMING OF CORINTH
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Signal</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page151">151</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Assault</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page153">153</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Magazine</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page156">156</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXIV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ ALHAMA
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page160">160</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ FRIENDSHIP
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page164">164</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE RACE WITH DEATH
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page165">165</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXVII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE GLORY THAT WAS GREECE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page167">167</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXVIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ HAIL AND FAREWELL
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page171">171</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ CHARLES WOLFE (1791&ndash;1823).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXIX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ AFTER CORUNNA
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page172">172</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="pagexiv" id="pagexiv" title="xiv"></a>FREDERICK
+ MARRYAT (1792&ndash;1848).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE OLD NAVY
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page174">174</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ FELICIA HEMANS (1793&ndash;1825).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXXI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ CASABIANCA
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page175">175</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXXII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE PILGRIM FATHERS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page177">177</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ JOHN KEATS (1796&ndash;1821).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXXIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ TO THE ADVENTUROUS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page179">179</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY (1800&ndash;1859).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXXIV.
+ </td>
+ <td colspan="2">
+ HORATIUS
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Trysting</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page179">179</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Trouble in Rome</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page183">183</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Keeping of the Bridge</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page189">189</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>Father Tiber</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page196">196</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXXV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE ARMADA
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page200">200</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXXVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE LAST BUCCANEER
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page205">205</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXXVII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ A JACOBITE'S EPITAPH
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page206">206</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER (1803&ndash;1875).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXXVIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page207">207</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (1807&ndash;1882).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ LXXXIX.
+ </td>
+ <td colspan="2">
+ THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Model</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page208">208</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Builders</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page210">210</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>In the Ship-Yard</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page214">214</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Two Bridals</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page217">217</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XC.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page223">223</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XCI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE CUMBERLAND
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page227">227</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XCII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ A DUTCH PICTURE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page228">228</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER (<i>b.</i> 1807).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XCIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ BARBARA FRIETCHIE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page230">230</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="pagexv" id="pagexv" title="xv"></a>ALFRED,
+ LORD TENNYSON (<i>b.</i> 1809).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XCIV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ A BALLAD OF THE FLEET
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page232">232</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XCV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE HEAVY BRIGADE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page239">239</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE (1810&ndash;1888).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XCVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page242">242</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XCVII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page244">244</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ ROBERT BROWNING (1812&ndash;1890).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XCVIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page248">248</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ XCIX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ HERV&Eacute; RIEL
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page248">248</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ WALT WHITMAN (<i>b.</i> 1819).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ C.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE DYING FIREMAN
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page254">254</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ A SEA-FIGHT
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page255">255</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page257">257</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ TWO VETERANS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page258">258</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ CHARLES KINGSLEY (1819&ndash;1875).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CIV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE PLEASANT ISLE OF AV&Egrave;S
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page260">260</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ A WELCOME
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page262">262</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ SIR HENRY YULE (1820&ndash;1889).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE BIRKENHEAD
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page264">264</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ MATTHEW ARNOLD (1822&ndash;1888).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CVII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ APOLLO
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page265">265</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CVIII.
+ </td>
+ <td colspan="2">
+ THE DEATH OF SOHRAB
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Duel</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page267">267</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>Sohrab</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page269">269</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Recognition</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page272">272</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>Ruksh the Horse</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page275">275</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>Rustum</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page277">277</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>Night</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page280">280</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CIX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ FLEE FRO' THE PRESS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page282">282</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="pagexvi" id="pagexvi" title="xvi"></a>WILLIAM
+ CORY (<i>b.</i> 1823).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ SCHOOL FENCIBLES
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page284">284</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE TWO CAPTAINS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page285">285</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ GEORGE MEREDITH (<i>b.</i> 1828).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE HEAD OF BRAN
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page290">290</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ WILLIAM MORRIS (<i>b.</i> 1834).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXIII.
+ </td>
+ <td colspan="2">
+ THE SLAYING OF THE NIBLUNGS
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>Hogni</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page293">293</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>Gunnar</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page297">297</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>Gudrun</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page301">301</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="subsection">
+ <i>The Sons of Giuki</i>
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page304">304</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ ALFRED AUSTIN (<i>b.</i> 1835).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXIV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ IS LIFE WORTH LIVING?
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page308">308</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ SIR ALFRED LYALL (<i>b.</i> 1835).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THEOLOGY IN EXTREMIS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page311">311</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE (<i>b.</i> 1837).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE OBLATION
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page316">316</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXVII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ ENGLAND
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page317">317</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXVIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE JACOBITE IN EXILE
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page319">319</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ BRET HARTE (<i>b.</i> 1839).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXIX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE REVEILL&Eacute;
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page322">322</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXX.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ WHAT THE BULLET SANG
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page323">323</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ AUSTIN DOBSON (<i>b.</i> 1840).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXXI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ A BALLAD OF THE ARMADA
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page324">324</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ ANDREW LANG (<i>b.</i> 1844).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXXII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE WHITE PACHA
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page325">325</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="pagexvii" id="pagexvii" title="xvii"></a>ROBERT
+ LOUIS STEVENSON (<i>b.</i> 1850).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXXIII.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ MOTHER AND SON
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page326">326</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ HENRY CHARLES BEECHING (<i>b.</i> 1859).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXXIV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ PRAYERS
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page328">328</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="3">
+ RUDYARD KIPLING (<i>b.</i> 1865).
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXXV.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page329">329</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ CXXVI.
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ THE FLAG OF ENGLAND
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page335">335</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="2">
+ NOTES
+ </th>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page341">341</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <th colspan="2">
+ INDEX
+ </th>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page359">359</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ </table>
+ <div class="frontmatter">
+ <table summary="" class="poetry italic">
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="pagexviii"
+ id="pagexviii" title="xviii"></a>For I trust, if an enemy's fleet
+ came yonder round by the hill,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the
+ foam,</span> <span class="i0">That the smooth-faced
+ snub-nosed rogue would leap from his counter and till,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And strike, if he could, were it but with his
+ cheating yard-wand, home.</span>
+ </p>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="right">
+ <strong>Tennyson.</strong>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ </table>
+ </div>
+ <p class="central header">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page1" id="page1" title="1"></a>LYRA HEROICA
+ </p>
+ <div class="poetry">
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_i">I</a></small><br />AGINCOURT
+ </h2>
+ <h3>
+ INTROIT
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend</span>
+ <span class="i0">The brightest heaven of invention,</span> <span
+ class="i0">A kingdom for a stage, princes to act</span> <span
+ class="i0">And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Leashed in like hounds, should Famine, Sword and Fire</span>
+ <span class="i0">Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The flat unrais&egrave;d spirits that have dared</span>
+ <span class="i0">On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth</span>
+ <span class="i0">So great an object. Can this cockpit hold</span>
+ <span class="i0">The vasty fields of France? or may we cram</span>
+ <span class="i0">Within this wooden O the very casques</span> <span
+ class="i0">That did affright the air at Agincourt?</span> <span
+ class="i0">O pardon! since a crooked figure may</span> <span
+ class="i0">Attest in little place a million,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ let us, ciphers to this great accompt,</span> <span class="i0">On
+ your imaginary forces work.</span> <span class="i0">Suppose within
+ the girdle of these walls</span> <span class="i0">Are now confined
+ two mighty monarchies,</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page2"
+ id="page2" title="2"></a> <span class="i0">Whose high uprear&egrave;d
+ and abutting fronts</span> <span class="i0">The perilous narrow
+ ocean parts asunder:</span> <span class="i0">Piece out our
+ imperfections with your thoughts;</span> <span class="i0">Into a
+ thousand parts divide one man,</span> <span class="i0">And make
+ imaginary puissance;</span> <span class="i0">Think, when we talk of
+ horses, that you see them</span> <span class="i0">Printing their
+ proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;</span> <span class="i0">For
+ 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Turning the accomplishment of many years</span>
+ <span class="i0">Into an hour-glass.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ INTERLUDE
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now all the youth of England are on fire,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought</span>
+ <span class="i0">Reigns solely in the breast of every man:</span>
+ <span class="i0">They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Following the mirror of all Christian kings,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With wing&egrave;d heels, as English Mercuries:</span>
+ <span class="i0">For now sits Expectation in the air,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And hides a sword from hilts unto the point</span> <span
+ class="i0">With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Promised to Harry and his followers.</span> <span
+ class="i0">The French, advised by good intelligence</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of this most dreadful preparation,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Shake in their fear, and with pale policy</span> <span
+ class="i0">Seek to divert the English purposes.</span> <span
+ class="i0">O England! model to thy inward greatness,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Like little body with a mighty heart,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page3" id="page3" title="3"></a> <span class="i0">What
+ mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,</span> <span class="i0">Were
+ all thy children kind and natural!</span> <span class="i0">But see
+ thy fault: France hath in thee found out</span> <span class="i0">A
+ nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills</span> <span class="i0">With
+ treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men,</span> <span class="i0">One,
+ Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second,</span> <span class="i0">Henry
+ Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,</span> <span class="i0">Sir
+ Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland,</span> <span class="i0">Have
+ for the gilt of France&mdash;O guilt indeed!&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Confirmed conspiracy with fearful France;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And by their hands this grace of kings must die,</span>
+ <span class="i0">If hell and treason hold their promises,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton!&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ HARFLEUR
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies</span>
+ <span class="i0">In motion of no less celerity</span> <span
+ class="i0">Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen</span>
+ <span class="i0">The well-appointed king at Hampton Pier</span>
+ <span class="i0">Embark his royalty, and his brave fleet</span>
+ <span class="i0">With silken streamers the young Ph&oelig;bus fanning:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Play with your fancies, and in them behold</span>
+ <span class="i0">Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give</span>
+ <span class="i0">To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Borne with the invisible and creeping wind</span>
+ <span class="i0">Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea</span>
+ <span class="i0">Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think</span>
+ <span class="i0">You stand upon the rivage and behold</span> <span
+ class="i0">A city on the inconstant billows dancing!</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page4" id="page4" title="4"></a> <span class="i0">For
+ so appears this fleet majestical,</span> <span class="i0">Holding
+ due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow:</span> <span class="i0">Grapple
+ your minds to sternage of this navy,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ leave your England, as dead midnight still,</span> <span class="i0">Guarded
+ with grandsires, babies and old women,</span> <span class="i0">Or
+ passed or not arrived to pith and puissance;</span> <span class="i0">For
+ who is he, whose chin is but enriched</span> <span class="i0">With
+ one appearing hair, that will not follow</span> <span class="i0">These
+ culled and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?</span> <span class="i0">Work,
+ work your thoughts, and therein see a siege:</span> <span class="i0">Behold
+ the ordnance on their carriages,</span> <span class="i0">With fatal
+ mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.</span> <span class="i0">Suppose
+ the ambassador from the French comes back;</span> <span class="i0">Tells
+ Harry that the king doth offer him</span> <span class="i0">Katharine
+ his daughter, and with her to dowry</span> <span class="i0">Some
+ petty and unprofitable dukedoms.</span> <span class="i0">The offer
+ likes not: and the nimble gunner</span> <span class="i0">With
+ linstock now the devilish cannon touches,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ down goes all before them!</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE EVE
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now entertain conjecture of a time</span> <span
+ class="i0">When creeping murmur and the poring dark</span> <span
+ class="i0">Fills the wide vessel of the universe.</span> <span
+ class="i0">From camp to camp through the foul womb of night</span>
+ <span class="i0">The hum of either army stilly sounds,</span> <span
+ class="i0">That the fixed sentinels almost receive</span> <span
+ class="i0">The secret whispers of each other's watch:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames</span>
+ <span class="i0">Each battle sees the other's umbered face;</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page5" id="page5" title="5"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs</span>
+ <span class="i0">Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents</span>
+ <span class="i0">The armourers, accomplishing the knights,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With busy hammers closing rivets up,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Give dreadful note of preparation.</span> <span
+ class="i0">The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the third hour of drowsy morning name.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The confident and over-lusty French</span> <span
+ class="i0">Do the low-rated English play at dice,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night</span> <span
+ class="i0">Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp</span> <span
+ class="i0">So tediously away. The poor condemn&egrave;d English,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires</span>
+ <span class="i0">Sit patiently and inly ruminate</span> <span
+ class="i0">The morning's danger, and their gesture sad,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Presenteth them unto the gazing moon</span> <span
+ class="i0">So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold</span>
+ <span class="i0">The royal captain of this ruined band</span> <span
+ class="i0">Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Let him cry &lsquo;Praise and glory on his head!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">For forth he goes and visits all his host,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Bids them good-morrow with a modest smile,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Upon his royal face there is no note</span> <span
+ class="i0">How dread an army hath enrounded him;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour</span> <span
+ class="i0">Unto the weary and all-watch&egrave;d night,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But freshly looks and over-bears attaint</span>
+ <span class="i0">With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page6" id="page6" title="6"></a> <span
+ class="i0">That every wretch, pining and pale before,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.</span>
+ <span class="i0">A largess universal like the sun</span> <span
+ class="i0">His liberal eye doth give to every one,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Behold, as may unworthiness define,</span> <span
+ class="i0">A little touch of Harry in the night&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And so our scene must to the battle fly.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Shakespeare.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE BATTLE
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Fair stood the wind for France,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When we our sails advance,</span> <span class="i0">Nor
+ now to prove our chance</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Longer
+ will tarry;</span> <span class="i0">But putting to the main,</span>
+ <span class="i0">At Caux, the mouth of Seine,</span> <span
+ class="i0">With all his martial train,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Landed
+ King Harry.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And taking many a fort,</span> <span class="i0">Furnished
+ in warlike sort,</span> <span class="i0">Marched towards Agincourt</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In happy hour,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Skirmishing day by day</span> <span class="i0">With
+ those that stopped his way,</span> <span class="i0">Where the
+ French gen'ral lay</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ all his power:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Which, in his height of pride,</span> <span
+ class="i0">King Henry to deride,</span> <span class="i0">His ransom
+ to provide</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To the
+ king sending;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page7" id="page7"
+ title="7"></a> <span class="i0">Which he neglects the while</span>
+ <span class="i0">As from a nation vile,</span> <span class="i0">Yet
+ with an angry smile</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Their
+ fall portending.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And turning to his men,</span> <span class="i0">Quoth
+ our brave Henry then,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Though they to
+ one be ten,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Be not
+ amaz&egrave;d.</span> <span class="i0">Yet have we well begun,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Battles so bravely won</span> <span class="i0">Have
+ ever to the sun</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By
+ fame been rais&egrave;d.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And for myself, quoth he,</span> <span class="i0">This
+ my full rest shall be:</span> <span class="i0">England ne'er mourn
+ for me,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor more
+ esteem me;</span> <span class="i0">Victor I will remain</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or on this earth lie slain;</span> <span class="i0">Never
+ shall she sustain</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Loss
+ to redeem me.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Poitiers and Cressy tell,</span> <span class="i0">When
+ most their pride did swell,</span> <span class="i0">Under our
+ swords they fell;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;No
+ less our skill is</span> <span class="i0">Than when our grandsire
+ great,</span> <span class="i0">Claiming the regal seat,</span>
+ <span class="i0">By many a warlike feat</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lopped
+ the French lilies.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page8" id="page8" title="8"></a> <span
+ class="i0">The Duke of York so dread</span> <span class="i0">The
+ eager vaward led;</span> <span class="i0">With the main Henry sped,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Amongst his henchmen;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Excester had the rear,</span> <span class="i0">A
+ braver man not there:</span> <span class="i0">O Lord, how hot they
+ were</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;On the false
+ Frenchmen!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They now to fight are gone,</span> <span class="i0">Armour
+ on armour shone,</span> <span class="i0">Drum now to drum did
+ groan,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To hear was
+ wonder;</span> <span class="i0">That with the cries they make</span>
+ <span class="i0">The very earth did shake,</span> <span class="i0">Trumpet
+ to trumpet spake,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Thunder
+ to thunder.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Well it thine age became,</span> <span class="i0">O
+ noble Erpingham,</span> <span class="i0">Which did the signal aim</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To our hid forces!</span>
+ <span class="i0">When from the meadow by,</span> <span class="i0">Like
+ a storm suddenly,</span> <span class="i0">The English archery</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Struck the French horses.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">With Spanish yew so strong,</span> <span class="i0">Arrows
+ a cloth-yard long,</span> <span class="i0">That like to serpents
+ stung,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Piercing the
+ weather;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page9" id="page9"
+ title="9"></a> <span class="i0">None from his fellow starts,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But playing manly parts,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ like true English hearts</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Stuck
+ close together.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When down their bows they threw,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And forth their bilbos drew,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ on the French they flew,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Not
+ one was tardy;</span> <span class="i0">Arms were from shoulders
+ sent,</span> <span class="i0">Scalps to the teeth were rent,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Down the French peasants went;</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Our men were hardy.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">This while our noble king,</span> <span class="i0">His
+ broadsword brandishing,</span> <span class="i0">Down the French
+ host did ding</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As to
+ o'erwhelm it,</span> <span class="i0">And many a deep wound lent,</span>
+ <span class="i0">His arms with blood besprent,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And many a cruel dent</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Bruis&egrave;d
+ his helmet.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Glo'ster, that duke so good,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Next of the royal blood,</span> <span class="i0">For
+ famous England stood,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ his brave brother;</span> <span class="i0">Clarence, in steel so
+ bright,</span> <span class="i0">Though but a maiden knight,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet in that furious fight</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Scarce
+ such another!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page10" id="page10" title="10"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Warwick in blood did wade,</span> <span class="i0">Oxford
+ the foe invade,</span> <span class="i0">And cruel slaughter made,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Still as they ran up;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Suffolk his axe did ply,</span> <span class="i0">Beaumont
+ and Willoughby</span> <span class="i0">Bare them right doughtily,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ferrers and Fanhope.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Upon Saint Crispin's Day</span> <span class="i0">Fought
+ was this noble fray,</span> <span class="i0">Which fame did not
+ delay,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To England
+ to carry.</span> <span class="i0">O, when shall Englishmen</span>
+ <span class="i0">With such acts fill a pen,</span> <span class="i0">Or
+ England breed again</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Such
+ a King Harry?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Drayton.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ AFTER
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i7">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Now
+ we bear the king</span> <span class="i0">Toward Calais: grant him
+ there; there seen,</span> <span class="i0">Heave him away upon your
+ wing&egrave;d thoughts</span> <span class="i0">Athwart the sea.
+ Behold, the English beach</span> <span class="i0">Pales in the
+ flood with men, with wives and boys,</span> <span class="i0">Whose
+ shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouthed sea,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king</span> <span
+ class="i0">Seems to prepare his way: so let him land,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And solemnly see him set on to London.</span> <span
+ class="i0">So swift a pace hath thought that even now</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page11" id="page11" title="11"></a> <span
+ class="i0">You may imagine him upon Blackheath;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where that his lords desire him to have borne</span>
+ <span class="i0">His bruis&egrave;d helmet and his bended sword</span>
+ <span class="i0">Before him through the city: he forbids it,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Giving full trophy, signal and ostent,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Quite from himself to God. But now behold,</span>
+ <span class="i0">In the quick forge and working-house of thought,</span>
+ <span class="i0">How London doth pour out her citizens!</span>
+ <span class="i0">The mayor and all his brethren in best sort,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Like to the senators of the antique Rome,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With the plebeians swarming at their heels,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Go forth and fetch their conquering C&aelig;sar in!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Shakespeare.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_ii">II</a></small><br />LORD OF HIMSELF
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">How happy is he born or taught</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who serveth not another's will;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Whose armour is his honest thought,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And simple truth his highest skill;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Whose passions not his masters are;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose soul is still prepared for death&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Not tied unto the world with care</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of prince's ear or vulgar breath;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Who hath his ear from rumours freed;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose conscience is his strong retreat;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Whose state can neither flatterers feed,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor ruin make oppressors great;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page12" id="page12" title="12"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Who envies none whom chance doth raise,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or vice; who never understood</span> <span
+ class="i0">How deepest wounds are given with praise,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor rules of state but rules of good;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Who God doth late and early pray</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;More of his grace than gifts to lend,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And entertains the harmless day</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With a well-chosen book or friend&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">This man is free from servile bands</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of hope to rise or fear to fall:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Lord of himself, though not of lands,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And, having nothing, yet hath all.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Wotton.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_iii">III</a></small><br />TRUE BALM
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;High-spirited friend,</span>
+ <span class="i0">I send nor balms nor corsives to your wound;</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Your faith hath found</span>
+ <span class="i0">A gentler and more agile hand to tend</span> <span
+ class="i0">The cure of that which is but corporal,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And doubtful days, which were named critical,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Have made their fairest flight</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And now are out of sight.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet doth some wholesome physic for the mind,</span>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Wrapped
+ in this paper lie,</span> <span class="i0">Which in the taking if
+ you misapply</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;You
+ are unkind.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page13" id="page13" title="13"></a> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Your covetous hand,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Happy in that fair honour it hath gained,</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Must now be reined.</span> <span
+ class="i0">True valour doth her own renown commend</span> <span
+ class="i0">In one full action; nor have you now more</span> <span
+ class="i0">To do than be a husband of that store.</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Think but how dear you bought</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;This same which you have caught&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Such thoughts will make you more in love with truth</span>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;'Tis
+ wisdom, and that high,</span> <span class="i0">For men to use their
+ fortune reverently,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Even
+ in youth.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Jonson.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_iii">IV</a></small><br />HONOUR IN BUD
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">It is not growing like a tree</span> <span
+ class="i0">In bulk doth make man better be:</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ lily of a day</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Is
+ fairer far in May:</span> <span class="i0">Although it fall and die
+ that night,</span> <span class="i0">It was the plant and flower of
+ light.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Jonson.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_v">V</a></small><br />THE JOY OF BATTLE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Arm, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Keep your ranks close, and now your honours win.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Behold from yonder hill the foe appears;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Bows, bills, glaives, arrows, shields, and spears!</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page14" id="page14" title="14"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Like a dark wood he comes, or tempest pouring;</span>
+ <span class="i0">O view the wings of horse the meadows scouring!</span>
+ <span class="i0">The vanguard marches bravely. Hark, the drums!</span>
+ <span class="i15">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Dub,
+ dub!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They meet, they meet, and now the battle comes:</span>
+ <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;See
+ how the arrows fly</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ darken all the sky!</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Hark
+ how the trumpets sound!</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Hark
+ how the hills rebound&mdash;</span> <span class="i11">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Tara,
+ tara, tara, tara, tara!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Hark how the horses charge! in, boys! boys, in!</span>
+ <span class="i0">The battle totters; now the wounds begin:</span>
+ <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O
+ how they cry!</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O
+ how they die!</span> <span class="i0">Room for the valiant Memnon,
+ armed with thunder!</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;See
+ how he breaks the ranks asunder!</span> <span class="i0">They fly!
+ they fly! Eumenes has the chase,</span> <span class="i0">And brave
+ Polybius makes good his place:</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ the plains, to the woods,</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ the rocks, to the floods,</span> <span class="i0">They fly for
+ succour. Follow, follow, follow!</span> <span class="i0">Hark how
+ the soldiers hollow!</span> <span class="i19">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Hey,
+ hey!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Brave
+ Diocles is dead,</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ all his soldiers fled;</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ battle's won, and lost,</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ many a life hath cost.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Fletcher.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page15" id="page15" title="15"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_vi">VI</a></small><br />IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Mortality, behold and fear!</span> <span class="i0">What
+ a change of flesh is here!</span> <span class="i0">Think how many
+ royal bones</span> <span class="i0">Sleep beneath this heap of
+ stones!</span> <span class="i0">Here they lie had realms and lands,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Who now want strength to stir their hands.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Here from their pulpits sealed with dust</span>
+ <span class="i0">They preach, &lsquo;In greatness is no trust.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Here is an acre sown indeed</span> <span class="i0">With
+ the richest, royall'st seed</span> <span class="i0">That the earth
+ did e'er suck in,</span> <span class="i0">Since the first man died
+ for sin.</span> <span class="i0">Here the bones of birth have
+ cried,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Though gods they were, as men
+ they died.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">Here are sands, ignoble
+ things,</span> <span class="i0">Dropt from the ruined sides of
+ kings.</span> <span class="i0">Here's a world of pomp and state,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Buried in dust, once dead by fate.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Beaumont.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_vii">VII</a></small><br />GOING A-MAYING
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn</span>
+ <span class="i0">Upon her wings presents the god unshorn:</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;See how Aurora throws her fair</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fresh-quilted colours through
+ the air:</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page16" id="page16"
+ title="16"></a> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Get up, sweet
+ slug-a-bed, and see</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ dew-bespangled herb and tree!</span> <span class="i0">Each flower
+ has wept and bowed toward the east,</span> <span class="i0">Above
+ an hour since, yet you not drest,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nay,
+ not so much as out of bed?</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;When
+ all the birds have matins said,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nay,
+ profanation, to keep in,</span> <span class="i0">Whenas a thousand
+ virgins on this day</span> <span class="i0">Spring sooner than the
+ lark to fetch in May.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen</span>
+ <span class="i0">To come forth like the spring-time fresh and green,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And sweet as Flora. Take no
+ care</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For jewels for
+ your gown or hair:</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fear
+ not; the leaves will strew</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Gems
+ in abundance upon you:</span> <span class="i0">Besides, the
+ childhood of the day has kept,</span> <span class="i0">Against you
+ come, some orient pearls unwept.</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Come,
+ and receive them while the light</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Hangs
+ on the dew-locks of the night,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ Titan on the eastern hill</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Retires
+ himself, or else stands still</span> <span class="i0">Till you come
+ forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying:</span> <span class="i0">Few
+ beads are best when once we go a-Maying.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark</span>
+ <span class="i0">How each field turns a street, each street a park,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Made green and trimmed with
+ trees! see how</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Devotion
+ gives each house a bough</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page17"
+ id="page17" title="17"></a> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or
+ branch! each porch, each door, ere this,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;An
+ ark, a tabernacle is,</span> <span class="i0">Made up of
+ white-thorn neatly interwove,</span> <span class="i0">As if here
+ were those cooler shades of love.</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Can
+ such delights be in the street</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ open fields, and we not see 't?</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Come,
+ we'll abroad: and let's obey</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ proclamation made for May,</span> <span class="i0">And sin no more,
+ as we have done, by staying,</span> <span class="i0">But, my
+ Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">There's not a budding boy or girl this day,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But is got up and gone to bring in May.</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A deal of youth ere this is
+ come</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Back and with
+ white-thorn laden home.</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Some
+ have despatched their cakes and cream,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Before
+ that we have left to dream:</span> <span class="i0">And some have
+ wept and wooed, and plighted troth,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Many a green-gown has been given,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Many a kiss, both odd and even:</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Many a glance too has been sent</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;From out the eye, love's
+ firmament:</span> <span class="i0">Many a jest told of the keys
+ betraying</span> <span class="i0">This night, and locks picked: yet
+ we're not a-Maying.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Come, let us go, while we are in our prime,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And take the harmless folly of the time!</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;We shall grow old apace, and
+ die</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Before we know
+ our liberty.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page18" id="page18"
+ title="18"></a> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Our life is
+ short, and our days run</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As
+ fast away as does the sun.</span> <span class="i0">And, as a vapour
+ or a drop of rain,</span> <span class="i0">Once lost can ne'er be
+ found again,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So
+ when or you or I are made</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ fable, song, or fleeting shade,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;All
+ love, all liking, all delight,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lies
+ drowned with us in endless night.</span> <span class="i0">Then,
+ while time serves, and we are but decaying,</span> <span class="i0">Come,
+ my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Herrick.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_vii">VIII</a></small><br />TO ANTHEA<small>WHO
+ MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING</small>
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Bid me to live, and I will live</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thy Protestant to be;</span> <span class="i0">Or
+ bid me love and I will give</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ loving heart to thee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">A heart as soft, a heart as kind,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A heart as sound and free,</span> <span
+ class="i0">As in the whole world thou canst find,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That heart I'll give to thee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Bid that heart stay, and it will stay</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To honour thy decree;</span> <span class="i0">Or
+ bid it languish quite away,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ 't shall do so for thee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Bid me to weep, and I will weep</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;While I have eyes to see;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, having none, yet I will keep</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ heart to weep for thee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page19" id="page19" title="19"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Bid me despair, and I'll despair</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Under
+ that cypress-tree;</span> <span class="i0">Or bid me die, and I
+ will dare</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;E'en death to die for
+ thee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Thou art my life, my love, my heart,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The very eyes of me,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ hast command of every part,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ live and die for thee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Herrick.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_ix">IX</a></small><br />MEMENTO MORI
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The bridal of the earth and sky&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For thou must
+ die.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Thy root is ever in its grave,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ thou must die.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,</span>
+ <span class="i0">A box where sweets compacted lie,</span> <span
+ class="i0">My music shows ye have your closes,</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And all must
+ die.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Only a sweet and virtuous soul</span> <span
+ class="i0">Like seasoned timber never gives,</span> <span class="i0">But,
+ though the whole world turn to coal,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then
+ chiefly lives.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Herbert.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page20" id="page20" title="20"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_x">X</a></small><br />THE KING OF KINGS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The glories of our birth and state</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Are shadows, not substantial things:</span>
+ <span class="i0">There is no armour against fate:</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Death lays his icy hand on kings:</span>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sceptre
+ and crown</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Must
+ tumble down,</span> <span class="i0">And in the dust be equal made</span>
+ <span class="i0">With the poor crook&egrave;d scythe and spade.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Some men with swords may reap the field,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And plant fresh laurels when they kill,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But their strong nerves at last must yield:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They tame but one another still.</span>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Early
+ or late</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They
+ stoop to fate,</span> <span class="i0">And must give up their
+ murmuring breath</span> <span class="i0">When they, pale captives,
+ creep to death.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The garlands wither on their brow&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Then boast no more your mighty deeds!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Upon Death's purple altar now</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;See where the victor-victim bleeds!</span>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;All
+ heads must come</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ the cold tomb:</span> <span class="i0">Only the actions of the just</span>
+ <span class="i0">Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Shirley.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page21" id="page21" title="21"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_xi">XI</a></small><br />LYCIDAS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,</span>
+ <span class="i0">I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And with forced fingers rude</span> <span
+ class="i0">Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Compels me to disturb your season due:</span>
+ <span class="i0">For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew</span>
+ <span class="i0">Himself to sing and build the lofty rhyme.</span>
+ <span class="i0">He must not float upon his watery bier</span>
+ <span class="i0">Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Without the meed of some melodious tear.</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Begin, then, sisters of the sacred well,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse:</span>
+ <span class="i0">So may some gentle Muse</span> <span class="i0">With
+ lucky words favour my destined urn,</span> <span class="i0">And, as
+ he passes, turn</span> <span class="i0">And bid fair peace be to my
+ sable shroud!</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For we were
+ nursed upon the selfsame hill,</span> <span class="i0">Fed the same
+ flock by fountain, shade, and rill.</span> <span class="i0">Together
+ both, ere the high lawns appeared</span> <span class="i0">Under the
+ opening eyelids of the morn,</span> <span class="i0">We drove
+ afield, and both together heard</span> <span class="i0">What time
+ the grey-fly winds her sultry horn</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page22" id="page22" title="22"></a> <span class="i0">Battening our
+ flocks with the fresh dews of night,</span> <span class="i0">Oft
+ till the star that rose at evening bright</span> <span class="i0">Towards
+ heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Tempered to the oaten flute;</span> <span class="i0">Rough
+ satyrs danced, and fauns with cloven heel</span> <span class="i0">From
+ the glad sound would not be absent long;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ old Dam&oelig;tas loved to hear our song.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ O the heavy change, now thou art gone,</span> <span class="i0">Now
+ thou art gone, and never must return!</span> <span class="i0">Thee,
+ Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves</span> <span class="i0">With
+ wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ all their echoes, mourn.</span> <span class="i0">The willows and
+ the hazel copses green</span> <span class="i0">Shall now no more be
+ seen</span> <span class="i0">Fanning their joyous leaves to thy
+ soft lays,</span> <span class="i0">As killing as the canker to the
+ rose,</span> <span class="i0">Or taint-worm to the weanling herds
+ that graze,</span> <span class="i0">Or frost to flowers that their
+ gay wardrobe wear</span> <span class="i0">When first the
+ white-thorn blows,</span> <span class="i0">Such, Lycidas, thy loss
+ to Shepherds' ear.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where were
+ ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep</span> <span class="i0">Closed
+ o'er the head of your loved Lycidas?</span> <span class="i0">For
+ neither were ye playing on the steep</span> <span class="i0">Where
+ your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,</span> <span class="i0">Nor
+ on the shaggy top of Mona high,</span> <span class="i0">Nor yet
+ where Deva spreads her wizard stream:</span> <span class="i0">Ay
+ me! I fondly dream</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Had ye been
+ there,&rsquo; ... for what could that have done?</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page23" id="page23" title="23"></a> <span
+ class="i0">What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The Muse herself, for her enchanting son</span>
+ <span class="i0">Whom universal nature did lament,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When by the rout that made the hideous roar</span> <span
+ class="i0">His gory visage down the stream was sent,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Alas! what boots it with incessant care</span>
+ <span class="i0">To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Were it not better done, as others use,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To sport with Amaryllis in the shade</span> <span
+ class="i0">Or with the tangles of Ne&aelig;ra's hair?</span> <span
+ class="i0">Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise</span>
+ <span class="i0">(That last infirmity of noble mind)</span> <span
+ class="i0">To scorn delights and live laborious days;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And think to burst out into sudden blaze,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Comes the blind Fury with the abhorr&egrave;d shears,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And slits the thin-spun life. &lsquo;But not the
+ praise,&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">Ph&oelig;bus replied, and
+ touched my trembling ears:</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Fame is
+ no plant that grows on mortal soil,</span> <span class="i0">Nor in
+ the glistering foil</span> <span class="i0">Set off to the world
+ nor in broad rumour lies,</span> <span class="i0">But lives and
+ spreads aloft by those pure eyes</span> <span class="i0">And
+ perfect witness of all-judging Jove;</span> <span class="i0">As he
+ pronounces lastly on each deed,</span> <span class="i0">Of so much
+ fame in heaven expect thy meed.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O
+ fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood,</span> <span class="i0">Smooth-sliding
+ Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds,</span> <span class="i0">That
+ strain I heard was of a higher mood!</span> <span class="i0">But
+ now my oat proceeds,</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page24"
+ id="page24" title="24"></a> <span class="i0">And listens to the Herald
+ of the Sea</span> <span class="i0">That came in Neptune's plea.</span>
+ <span class="i0">He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds,</span>
+ <span class="i0">What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain?</span>
+ <span class="i0">And questioned every gust of rugged wings</span>
+ <span class="i0">That blows from off each beak&egrave;d promontory:</span>
+ <span class="i0">They knew not of his story,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ sage Hippotades their answer brings,</span> <span class="i0">That
+ not a blast was from his dungeon strayed:</span> <span class="i0">The
+ air was calm, and on the level brine</span> <span class="i0">Sleek
+ Panope with all her sisters played.</span> <span class="i0">It was
+ that fatal and perfidious bark,</span> <span class="i0">Built in
+ the eclipse and rigged with curses dark,</span> <span class="i0">That
+ sunk so low that sacred head of thine.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Next,
+ Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow,</span> <span class="i0">His
+ mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,</span> <span class="i0">Inwrought
+ with figures dim, and on the edge</span> <span class="i0">Like to
+ that sanguine flower inscribed with woe.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Ah!
+ who hath reft,&rsquo; quoth he, &lsquo;my dearest pledge?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Last came, and last did go,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ Pilot of the Galilean Lake;</span> <span class="i0">Two massy keys
+ he bore of metals twain</span> <span class="i0">(The golden opes,
+ the iron shuts amain).</span> <span class="i0">He shook his mitred
+ locks, and stern bespake:</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;How well
+ could I have spared for thee, young swain,</span> <span class="i0">Enow
+ of such as for their bellies' sake</span> <span class="i0">Creep,
+ and intrude, and climb into the fold!</span> <span class="i0">Of
+ other care they little reckoning make</span> <span class="i0">Than
+ how to scramble at the shearers' feast,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ shove away the worthy bidden guest;</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page25" id="page25" title="25"></a> <span class="i0">Blind mouths!
+ that scarce themselves know how to hold</span> <span class="i0">A
+ sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the least</span> <span
+ class="i0">That to the faithful herdman's art belongs!</span> <span
+ class="i0">What recks it them? What need they? They are sped;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs</span>
+ <span class="i0">Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw</span>
+ <span class="i0">Daily devours apace, and nothing said:</span>
+ <span class="i0">But that two-handed engine at the door</span>
+ <span class="i0">Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past</span>
+ <span class="i0">That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And call the vales, and bid them hither cast</span>
+ <span class="i0">Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,</span>
+ <span class="i0">On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes</span>
+ <span class="i0">That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The white pink and the pansy freaked with jet,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The glowing violet,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ musk-rose and the well-attired woodbine,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page26" id="page26" title="26"></a> <span class="i0">And every
+ flower that sad embroidery wears:</span> <span class="i0">Bid
+ Amaranthus all his beauty shed,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ daffadillies fill their cups with tears,</span> <span class="i0">To
+ strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.</span> <span class="i0">For,
+ so to interpose a little ease,</span> <span class="i0">Let our
+ frail thoughts dally with false surmise;</span> <span class="i0">Ay
+ me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas</span> <span class="i0">Wash
+ far away, where'er thy bones are hurled;</span> <span class="i0">Whether
+ beyond the stormy Hebrides,</span> <span class="i0">Where thou
+ perhaps under the whelming tide</span> <span class="i0">Visit'st
+ the bottom of the monstrous world;</span> <span class="i0">Or
+ whether thou, to our moist vows denied,</span> <span class="i0">Sleep'st
+ by the fable of Bellerus old,</span> <span class="i0">Where the
+ great vision of the guarded mount</span> <span class="i0">Looks
+ toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;</span> <span class="i0">Look
+ homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth:</span> <span class="i0">And,
+ O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Weep
+ no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more,</span> <span class="i0">For
+ Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,</span> <span class="i0">Sunk
+ though he be beneath the watery floor.</span> <span class="i0">So
+ sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ yet anon repairs his drooping head,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore</span> <span class="i0">Flames
+ in the forehead of the morning sky:</span> <span class="i0">So
+ Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,</span> <span class="i0">Through
+ the dear might of Him that walked the waves,</span> <span class="i0">Where,
+ other groves and other streams along,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ hears the unexpressive nuptial song,</span> <span class="i0">In the
+ blest kingdoms meek of joy and love</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page27" id="page27" title="27"></a> <span class="i0">There
+ entertain him all the Saints above,</span> <span class="i0">In
+ solemn troops and sweet societies</span> <span class="i0">That
+ sing, and singing in their glory move,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.</span> <span class="i0">Now,
+ Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;</span> <span class="i0">Henceforth
+ thou art the genius of the shore</span> <span class="i0">In thy
+ large recompense, and shalt be good</span> <span class="i0">To all
+ that wander in that perilous flood.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thus
+ sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,</span> <span
+ class="i0">While the still morn went out with sandals grey;</span>
+ <span class="i0">He touched the tender stops of various quills,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:</span>
+ <span class="i0">And now the sun had stretched out all the hills,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And now was dropt into the western bay:</span>
+ <span class="i0">At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue;</span>
+ <span class="i0">To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Milton.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xii">XII</a></small><br />ARMS AND THE MUSE<small>WHEN
+ THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED ON THE CITY</small>
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,</span>
+ <span class="i0">If deed of honour did thee ever please,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Guard them, and him within protect from harms.</span>
+ <span class="i0">He can requite thee; for he knows the charms</span>
+ <span class="i0">That call fame on such gentle acts as these,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And he can spread thy name o'er land and seas,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower:</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page28" id="page28" title="28"></a> <span
+ class="i0">The great Emanthian conqueror bid spare</span> <span
+ class="i0">The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower</span>
+ <span class="i0">Went to the ground; and the repeated air</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of sad Electra's poet had the power</span> <span
+ class="i0">To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Milton.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xiii">XIII</a></small><br />TO THE LORD GENERAL
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud</span>
+ <span class="i0">Not of war only, but detractions rude,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And on the neck of crown&egrave;d Fortune proud</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued,</span>
+ <span class="i0">While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Worcester's laureate wreath: yet much remains</span>
+ <span class="i0">To conquer still; peace hath her victories</span>
+ <span class="i0">No less renowned than war: new foes arise,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Help us to save free conscience from the paw</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Milton.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xiv">XIV</a></small><br />THE LATE MASSACRE IN
+ PIEDMONT
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones</span>
+ <span class="i0">Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page29" id="page29" title="29"></a> <span
+ class="i0">When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Forget not: in thy book record their groans</span>
+ <span class="i0">Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold</span>
+ <span class="i0">Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that rolled</span>
+ <span class="i0">Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans</span>
+ <span class="i0">The vales redoubled to the hills, and they</span>
+ <span class="i0">To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow</span>
+ <span class="i0">O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway</span>
+ <span class="i0">The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow</span>
+ <span class="i0">A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Early may fly the Babylonian woe.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Milton.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xv">XV</a></small><br />ON HIS BLINDNESS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When I consider how my light is spent</span> <span
+ class="i0">Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And that one talent which is death to hide</span>
+ <span class="i0">Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent</span>
+ <span class="i0">To serve therewith my Maker, and present</span>
+ <span class="i0">My true account, lest He, returning, chide;</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">I fondly ask: but patience, to prevent</span>
+ <span class="i0">That murmur soon replies: &lsquo;God doth not need</span>
+ <span class="i0">Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best</span>
+ <span class="i0">Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state</span>
+ <span class="i0">Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And post o'er land and ocean without rest;</span>
+ <span class="i0">They also serve who only stand and wait.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Milton.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page30" id="page30" title="30"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_xvi">XVI</a></small><br />EYELESS AT GAZA
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;This, this is he; softly a while;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Let us not break in upon him.</span> <span
+ class="i0">O change beyond report, thought, or belief!</span> <span
+ class="i0">See how he lies at random, carelessly diffused</span>
+ <span class="i0">With languished head unpropt,</span> <span
+ class="i0">As one past hope, abandon&egrave;d,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And by himself given over,</span> <span class="i0">In
+ slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds</span> <span class="i0">O'er-worn
+ and soiled.</span> <span class="i0">Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can
+ this be he,</span> <span class="i0">That heroic, that renowned,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Irresistible Samson? whom unarmed</span> <span
+ class="i0">No strength of man or fiercest wild beast could withstand;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ran on embattled armies clad in iron,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, weaponless himself,</span> <span class="i0">Made
+ arms ridiculous, useless the forgery</span> <span class="i0">Of
+ brazen shield and spear, the hammered cuirass,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Chalybean-tempered steel, and frock of mail</span> <span
+ class="i0">Adamant&eacute;an proof: But safest he who stood aloof,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When insupportably his foot advanced,</span> <span
+ class="i0">In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Spurned them to death by troops. The bold Ascalonite</span>
+ <span class="i0">Fled from his lion ramp; old warriors turned</span>
+ <span class="i0">Their plated backs under his heel,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Or grovelling soiled their crested helmets in the dust.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Milton.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page31" id="page31" title="31"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_xvi">XVII</a></small><br />OUT OF ADVERSITY
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O how comely it is, and how reviving</span>
+ <span class="i0">To the spirits of just men long oppressed,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When God into the hands of their deliverer</span>
+ <span class="i0">Puts invincible might</span> <span class="i0">To
+ quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The brute and boisterous force of violent men,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hardy and industrious to support</span> <span
+ class="i0">Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue</span> <span
+ class="i0">The righteous and all such as honour truth!</span> <span
+ class="i0">He all their ammunition</span> <span class="i0">And
+ feats of war defeats,</span> <span class="i0">With plain heroic
+ magnitude of mind</span> <span class="i0">And celestial vigour
+ armed;</span> <span class="i0">Their armouries and magazines
+ contemns,</span> <span class="i0">Renders them useless, while</span>
+ <span class="i0">With wing&egrave;d expedition</span> <span
+ class="i0">Swift as the lightning glance he executes</span> <span
+ class="i0">His errand on the wicked, who, surprised,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Lose their defence, distracted and amazed.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Milton.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xviii">XVIII</a></small><br />HEROIC LOVE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">My dear and only love, I pray</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That little world of thee</span> <span
+ class="i0">Be governed by no other sway</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ purest monarchy;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page32"
+ id="page32" title="32"></a> <span class="i0">For if confusion have a
+ part,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Which virtuous souls
+ abhor,</span> <span class="i0">And hold a synod in thy heart,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I'll never love thee more.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Like Alexander I will reign,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And I will reign alone:</span> <span
+ class="i0">My thoughts did evermore disdain</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ rival on my throne.</span> <span class="i0">He either fears his
+ fate too much,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or his deserts
+ are small,</span> <span class="i0">Who dares not put it to the
+ touch,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To gain or lose it all.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But, if thou wilt prove faithful then</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And constant of thy word,</span> <span
+ class="i0">I'll make thee glorious by my pen,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And famous by my sword;</span> <span
+ class="i0">I'll serve thee in such noble ways</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was never heard before;</span> <span
+ class="i0">I'll crown and deck thee all with bays</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And love thee more and more.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Montrose.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xix">XIX</a></small><br />GOING TO THE WARS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That from the nunnery</span> <span class="i0">Of
+ thy chaste breast and quiet mind</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ war and arms I fly.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page33" id="page33" title="33"></a> <span
+ class="i0">True, a new mistress now I chase,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ first foe in the field,</span> <span class="i0">And with a stronger
+ faith embrace</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A sword, a horse,
+ a shield.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet this inconstancy is such</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As you too shall adore:</span> <span
+ class="i0">I could not love thee, Dear, so much</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Loved I not Honour more.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Lovelace.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xix">XX</a></small><br />FROM PRISON
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When Love with unconfin&egrave;d wings</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Hovers within my gates,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And my divine Althea brings</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ whisper at the grates;</span> <span class="i0">When I lie tangled
+ in her hair</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And fettered to her
+ eye,</span> <span class="i0">The Gods that wanton in the air</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Know no such liberty.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When flowing cups run swiftly round</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With no allaying Thames,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Our careless heads with roses crowned,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Our hearts with loyal flames;</span> <span
+ class="i0">When thirsty grief in wine we steep,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When healths and draughts go free,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Fishes that tipple in the deep</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Know no such liberty.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page34" id="page34" title="34"></a> <span
+ class="i0">When, linnet-like confin&egrave;d, I</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With shriller throat shall sing</span> <span
+ class="i0">The sweetness, mercy, majesty,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ glories of my King;</span> <span class="i0">When I shall voice
+ aloud how good</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He is, how great
+ should be,</span> <span class="i0">Enlarg&egrave;d winds that curl
+ the flood</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Know no such liberty.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Stone walls do not a prison make,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor iron bars a cage;</span> <span class="i0">Minds
+ innocent and quiet take</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ for an hermitage:</span> <span class="i0">If I have freedom in my
+ love</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And in my soul am free,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Angels alone that soar above</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Enjoy such liberty.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Lovelace.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxi">XXI</a></small><br />TWO KINGS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The forward youth that would appear</span> <span
+ class="i0">Must now forsake his Muses dear,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor
+ in the shadows sing</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His
+ numbers languishing.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">'Tis time to leave the books in dust,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And oil the unus&egrave;d armour's rust,</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Removing from the wall</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The corselet of the hall.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page35" id="page35" title="35"></a> <span
+ class="i0">So restless Cromwell could not cease</span> <span
+ class="i0">In the inglorious arts of peace,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ through adventurous war</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Urg&egrave;d
+ his active star;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And, like the three-forked lightning, first</span>
+ <span class="i0">Breaking the clouds where it was nurst,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Did thorough his own side</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His fiery way divide;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">For 'tis all one to courage high,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The emulous or enemy,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ with such to inclose</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Is
+ more than to oppose;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then burning through the air he went,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And palaces and temples rent;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ C&aelig;sar's head at last</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Did
+ through his laurels blast.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">'Tis madness to resist or blame</span> <span
+ class="i0">The face of angry Heaven's flame;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ if we would speak true,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Much
+ to the man is due,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Who from his private gardens, where</span> <span
+ class="i0">He lived reserv&egrave;d and austere,</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As if his highest plot</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To plant the bergamot,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Could by industrious valour climb</span> <span
+ class="i0">To ruin the great work of Time,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ cast the kingdoms old</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Into
+ another mould.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page36" id="page36" title="36"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Though Justice against Fate complain,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And plead the ancient rights in vain</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;(But those do hold or break,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As men are strong or weak),</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Nature, that hated emptiness,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Allows of penetration less,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ therefore must make room</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where
+ greater spirits come.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">What field of all the civil war,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where his were not the deepest scar?</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And Hampton shows what part</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He had of wiser art,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Where, twining subtile fears with hope,</span>
+ <span class="i0">He wove a net of such a scope</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That Charles himself might chase</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To Carisbrook's narrow case,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">That thence the royal actor borne</span> <span
+ class="i0">The tragic scaffold might adorn:</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;While
+ round the arm&egrave;d bands,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Did
+ clap their bloody hands.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He nothing common did or mean</span> <span
+ class="i0">Upon that memorable scene,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ with his keener eye</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ axe's edge did try;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Nor called the gods with vulgar spite</span> <span
+ class="i0">To vindicate his helpless right,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ bowed his comely head</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Down,
+ as upon a bed.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page37" id="page37" title="37"></a> <span
+ class="i0">This was that memorable hour</span> <span class="i0">Which
+ first assured the forc&egrave;d power:</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So,
+ when they did design</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ Capitol's first line,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">A bleeding head, where they begun,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Did fright the architects to run;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ yet in that the State</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Foresaw
+ its happy fate!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And now the Irish are ashamed</span> <span
+ class="i0">To see themselves in one year tamed:</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So much one man can do</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That doth both act and know.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They can affirm his praises best,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And have, though overcome, confessed</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;How good he is, how just,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And fit for highest trust;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Nor yet grown stiffer with command,</span> <span
+ class="i0">But still in the Republic's hand</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;(How
+ fit he is to sway,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ can so well obey!),</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He to the Commons' feet presents</span> <span
+ class="i0">A kingdom for his first year's rents,</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And (what he may) forbears</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His fame to make it theirs:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And has his sword and spoils ungirt</span> <span
+ class="i0">To lay them at the public's skirt.</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So when the falcon high</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Falls heavy from the sky,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page38" id="page38" title="38"></a> <span
+ class="i0">She, having killed, no more doth search</span> <span
+ class="i0">But on the next green bough to perch,</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where, when he first does lure,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The falconer has her sure.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">What may not then our isle presume</span> <span
+ class="i0">While victory his crest does plume?</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;What may not others fear</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If thus he crowns each year?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">As C&aelig;sar he, ere long, to Gaul,</span> <span
+ class="i0">To Italy an Hannibal,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ to all states not free</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall
+ climacteric be.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Pict no shelter now shall find</span> <span
+ class="i0">Within his party-coloured mind,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ from this valour sad</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shrink
+ underneath the plaid;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Happy if in the tufted brake</span> <span
+ class="i0">The English hunter him mistake,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor
+ lay his hounds in near</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ Caledonian deer.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But thou, the war's and fortune's son,</span>
+ <span class="i0">March indefatigably on,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ for the last effect,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Still
+ keep the sword erect:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Besides the force it has to fright</span> <span
+ class="i0">The spirits of the shady night,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ same arts that did gain,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ power must it maintain.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Marvell.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page39" id="page39" title="39"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_xxii">XXII</a></small><br />IN EXILE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Where the remote Bermudas ride</span> <span
+ class="i0">In the Ocean's bosom unespied,</span> <span class="i0">From
+ a small boat that rowed along</span> <span class="i0">The listening
+ winds received this song.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;What
+ should we do but sing his praise</span> <span class="i0">That led
+ us through the watery maze,</span> <span class="i0">Where he the
+ huge sea-monsters wracks</span> <span class="i0">That lift the deep
+ upon their backs,</span> <span class="i0">Unto an isle so long
+ unknown,</span> <span class="i0">And yet far kinder than our own?</span>
+ <span class="i0">He lands us on a grassy stage,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Safe from the storms and prelates' rage:</span> <span
+ class="i0">He gave us this eternal spring</span> <span class="i0">Which
+ here enamels everything,</span> <span class="i0">And sends the
+ fowls to us in care</span> <span class="i0">On daily visits through
+ the air.</span> <span class="i0">He hangs in shades the orange
+ bright</span> <span class="i0">Like golden lamps in a green night,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And does in the pomegranates close</span> <span
+ class="i0">Jewels more rich than Ormus shows:</span> <span
+ class="i0">He makes the figs our mouths to meet,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And throws the melons at our feet;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But apples plants of such a price,</span> <span
+ class="i0">No tree could ever bear them twice.</span> <span
+ class="i0">With cedars chosen by his hand</span> <span class="i0">From
+ Lebanon he stores the land,</span> <span class="i0">And makes the
+ hollow seas that roar</span> <span class="i0">Proclaim the
+ ambergrease on shore.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page40"
+ id="page40" title="40"></a> <span class="i0">He cast (of which we rather
+ boast)</span> <span class="i0">The Gospel's pearl upon our coast,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And in these rocks for us did frame</span> <span
+ class="i0">A temple where to sound his name.</span> <span class="i0">O
+ let our voice his praise exalt</span> <span class="i0">'Till it
+ arrive at heaven's vault,</span> <span class="i0">Which thence
+ (perhaps) rebounding may</span> <span class="i0">Echo beyond the
+ Mexique Bay!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thus sang
+ they in the English boat</span> <span class="i0">A holy and a
+ cheerful note:</span> <span class="i0">And all the way, to guide
+ their chime,</span> <span class="i0">With falling oars they kept
+ the time.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Marvell.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxiii">XXIII</a></small><br />ALEXANDER'S FEAST
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won</span>
+ <span class="i6">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By
+ Philip's warlike son:</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Aloft
+ in awful state</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ godlike hero sate</span> <span class="i6">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ his imperial throne;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His
+ valiant peers were placed around,</span> <span class="i0">Their
+ brows with roses and with myrtles bound</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;(So
+ should desert in arms be crowned);</span> <span class="i0">The
+ lovely Thais by his side</span> <span class="i0">Sate like a
+ blooming Eastern bride</span> <span class="i0">In flower of youth
+ and beauty's pride.</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Happy,
+ happy, happy pair!</span> <span class="i6">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;None
+ but the brave,</span> <span class="i6">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;None
+ but the brave,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;None
+ but the brave deserves the fair!</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page41" id="page41" title="41"></a> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Timotheus,
+ placed on high</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Amid
+ the tuneful quire,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With flying
+ fingers touched the lyre:</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ trembling notes ascend the sky</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ heavenly joys inspire.</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ song began from Jove</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who
+ left his blissful seats above,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Such
+ is the power of mighty love!</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ dragon's fiery form belied the god;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sublime
+ on radiant spires he rode</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;When
+ he to fair Olympia pressed,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ while he sought her snowy breast,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Then
+ round her slender waist he curled,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world.</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The listening crowd admire the lofty sound;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A present deity! they shout around:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound:</span>
+ <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ ravished ears</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ monarch hears,</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Assumes
+ the god;</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Affects
+ to nod</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ seems to shake the spheres.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The jolly god in triumph comes;</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sound the trumpets, beat the
+ drums!</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Flushed
+ with a purple grace</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He
+ shows his honest face:</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page42"
+ id="page42" title="42"></a> <span class="i0">Now give the hautboys
+ breath; he comes, he comes!</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Bacchus,
+ ever fair and young,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Drinking
+ joys did first ordain;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Bacchus'
+ blessings are a treasure,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Drinking
+ is the soldier's pleasure:</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Rich
+ the treasure,</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sweet
+ the pleasure,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sweet
+ is pleasure after pain.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Soothed with the sound the king grew vain;</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fought all his
+ battles o'er again,</span> <span class="i0">And thrice he routed
+ all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain!</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ master saw the madness rise,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His
+ glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ while he heaven and earth defied</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Changed
+ his hand, and checked his pride.</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He
+ chose a mournful Muse</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Soft
+ pity to infuse:</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He
+ sung Darius great and good,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By
+ too severe a fate</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fallen,
+ fallen, fallen, fallen,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fallen
+ from his high estate,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ weltering in his blood;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Deserted
+ at his utmost need</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By
+ those his former bounty fed,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ the bare earth exposed he lies</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ not a friend to close his eyes.</span> <span class="i0">With
+ downcast looks the joyless victor sate,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Revolving
+ in his altered soul</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ various turns of Chance below</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page43" id="page43" title="43"></a> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ now and then a sigh he stole,</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ tears began to flow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The mighty master smiled to see</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That love was in the next
+ degree;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;'Twas but a
+ kindred-sound to move,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ pity melts the mind to love.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Softly
+ sweet, in Lydian measures</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Soon
+ he soothed his soul to pleasures.</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;War,
+ he sang, is toil and trouble,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Honour
+ but an empty bubble;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Never
+ ending, still beginning,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fighting
+ still, and still destroying;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If
+ the world be worth thy winning,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Think,
+ O think, it worth enjoying:</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lovely
+ Thais sits beside thee,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Take
+ the good the gods provide thee.</span> <span class="i0">The many
+ rend the skies with loud applause;</span> <span class="i0">So love
+ was crowned, but Music won the cause.</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ prince, unable to conceal his pain,</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Gazed
+ on the fair</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who
+ caused his care,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ sighed and looked, sighed and looked,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sighed
+ and looked, and sighed again:</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;At
+ length, with love and wine at once oppressed,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Now strike the golden lyre
+ again:</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A louder
+ yet, and yet a louder strain!</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Break
+ his bands of sleep asunder</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page44" id="page44" title="44"></a> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Hark, hark!
+ the horrid sound</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Has
+ raised up his head;</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As
+ awaked from the dead,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ amazed he stares around.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Revenge,
+ revenge, Timotheus cries,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;See
+ the Furies arise!</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;See
+ the snakes that they rear,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;How
+ they hiss in their hair,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ the sparkles that flash from their eyes!</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Behold
+ a ghastly band,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Each
+ a torch in his hand!</span> <span class="i0">Those are Grecian
+ ghosts, that in battle were slain</span> <span class="i6">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ unburied remain</span> <span class="i6">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Inglorious
+ on the plain:</span> <span class="i6">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Give
+ the vengeance due</span> <span class="i6">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ the valiant crew!</span> <span class="i0">Behold how they toss
+ their torches on high,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;How they
+ point to the Persian abodes</span> <span class="i0">And glittering
+ temples of their hostile gods.</span> <span class="i0">The princes
+ applaud with a furious joy:</span> <span class="i0">And the King
+ seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy;</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Thais
+ led the way</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ light him to his prey,</span> <span class="i0">And like another
+ Helen fired another Troy!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Thus
+ long ago,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ere
+ heaving bellows learned to blow,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;While
+ organs yet were mute,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Timotheus,
+ to his breathing flute</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ sounding lyre,</span> <span class="i0">Could swell the soul to rage
+ or kindle soft desire.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page45"
+ id="page45" title="45"></a> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At
+ last divine Cecilia came,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Inventress
+ of the vocal frame;</span> <span class="i0">The sweet enthusiast
+ from her sacred store</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Enlarged
+ the former narrow bounds,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ added length to solemn sounds,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ Nature's mother-wit and arts unknown before</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Let
+ old Timotheus yield the prize,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or
+ both divide the crown:</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He
+ raised a mortal to the skies;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She
+ drew an angel down.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Dryden.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxiv">XXIV</a></small><br />THE QUIET LIFE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Condemned to Hope's delusive mine,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As on we toil from day to day,</span> <span
+ class="i0">By sudden blast or slow decline</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Our
+ social comforts drop away.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Well tried through many a varying year,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;See Levett to the grave descend:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Officious, innocent, sincere,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of every friendless name the friend.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet still he fills affection's eye,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Obscurely wise and coarsely kind;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Nor, lettered arrogance, deny</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thy praise to merit unrefined.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page46" id="page46" title="46"></a> <span
+ class="i0">When fainting Nature called for aid,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And hovering death prepared the blow,</span>
+ <span class="i0">His vigorous remedy displayed</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The power of art without the show.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">In misery's darkest caverns known,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His ready help was ever nigh,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where hopeless anguish poured his groan,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And lonely want retired to die.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">No summons mocked by chill delay,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;No petty gains disdained by pride:</span>
+ <span class="i0">The modest wants of every day</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The toil of every day supplied.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">His virtues walked their narrow round,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor made a pause, nor left a void;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And sure the eternal Master found</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His single talent well employed.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The busy day, the peaceful night,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;</span> <span
+ class="i0">His frame was firm, his powers were bright,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Though now his eightieth year was nigh.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then, with no throbs of fiery pain,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;No cold gradations of decay,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Death broke at once the vital chain,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And freed his soul the nearest way.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Johnson.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page47" id="page47" title="47"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_xxv">XXV</a></small><br />CHEVY CHACE
+ </h2>
+ <h3>
+ THE HUNTING
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">God prosper long our noble king,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Our lives and safeties all;</span> <span
+ class="i0">A woeful hunting once there did</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ Chevy-Chace befall;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To drive the deer with hound and horn</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Erle Percy took his way;</span> <span
+ class="i0">The child may rue that is unborn,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ hunting of that day.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The stout Erle of Northumberland</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A vow to God did make,</span> <span
+ class="i0">His pleasure in the Scottish woods</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Three summer's days to take,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chace</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To kill and bear away.</span> <span
+ class="i0">These tydings to Erle Douglas came,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In Scotland where he lay:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Who sent Erle Percy present word,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He wold prevent his sport.</span> <span
+ class="i0">The English Erle, not fearing that,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Did to the woods resort</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page48" id="page48" title="48"></a> <span
+ class="i0">With fifteen hundred bow-men bold,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;All chosen men of might,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Who knew full well in time of neede</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To ayme their shafts aright.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To chase the fallow deere:</span> <span
+ class="i0">On Monday they began to hunt,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ere
+ daylight did appeare;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And long before high noone they had</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;An hundred fat buckes slaine;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then having dined, the drovyers went</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To rouse the deere againe.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The bow-men mustered on the hills,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Well able to endure;</span> <span class="i0">Their
+ backsides all, with special care</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ day were guarded sure.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The nimble deere to take,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And with their cryes the hills and dales</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;An echo shrill did make.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Lord Percy to the quarry went,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To view the slaughtered deere:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Quoth he, &lsquo;Erle Douglas promis&egrave;d</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;This day to meet me here,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But if I thought he wold not come,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;No longer wold I stay.&rsquo;</span> <span
+ class="i0">With that, a brave younge gentleman</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thus to the Erle did say:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page49" id="page49" title="49"></a> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Lo, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His men in armour bright;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Full twenty hundred Scottish speares</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;All marching in our sight;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">All men of pleasant Tivydale,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fast by the river Tweede&rsquo;:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O, cease your sports,&rsquo; Erle Percy said,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;And take your bowes with speede;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And now with me, my countrymen,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Your courage forth advance,</span> <span
+ class="i0">For there was never champion yet,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ Scotland or in France,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">That ever did on horsebacke come,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But if my hap it were,</span> <span
+ class="i0">I durst encounter man for man,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ with him break a speare.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE CHALLENGE
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Most like a baron bold,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Rode foremost of his company,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose
+ armour shone like gold.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Show me,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;whose men ye be,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That hunt so boldly here,</span> <span
+ class="i0">That, without my consent, do chase</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And kill my fallow-deere.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The first man that did answer make,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was noble Percy he;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page50" id="page50" title="50"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Who sayd, &lsquo;We list not to declare,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor shew whose men we be,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet we will spend our dearest blood,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thy chiefest harts to slay.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then Douglas swore a solemn oath,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And thus in rage did say:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Ere thus I will out-brav&egrave;d be,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;One of us two shall dye:</span> <span
+ class="i0">I know thee well, an erle thou art;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lord Percy, so am I.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And great offence to kill</span> <span
+ class="i0">Any of these our guiltlesse men,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ they have done no ill.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Let thou and I the battell trye,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And set our men aside.&rsquo;</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Accurst be he,&rsquo; Erle Percy said,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;By whom this is denied.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then stept a gallant squier forth,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Witherington was his name,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Who said, &lsquo;I wold not have it told</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To Henry our king for shame,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">That ere my captaine fought on foote,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And I stood looking on.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Ye be two erles,&rsquo; said Witherington,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;And I a squier alone:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Ile do the best that do I may,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;While I have power to stand:</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page51" id="page51" title="51"></a> <span
+ class="i0">While I have power to wield my sword,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ile fight with heart and hand.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE BATTLE
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Our English archers bent their bowes,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Their hearts were good and trew,</span>
+ <span class="i0">At the first flight of arrowes sent,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Full fourscore Scots they slew.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet bides Erle Douglas on the bent,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As Chieftain stout and good.</span> <span
+ class="i0">As valiant Captain, all unmoved</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ shock he firmly stood.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">His host he parted had in three,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As leader ware and try'd,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And soon his spearmen on their foes</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Bare down on every side.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Throughout the English archery</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They dealt full many a wound;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But still our valiant Englishmen</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;All
+ firmly kept their ground,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And, throwing strait their bowes away,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They grasped their swords so bright,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On shields and helmets light.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They closed full fast on every side,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;No slackness there was found;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And many a gallant gentleman</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lay
+ gasping on the ground.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page52" id="page52" title="52"></a> <span
+ class="i0">O Christ! it was a griefe to see,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ likewise for to heare,</span> <span class="i0">The cries of men
+ lying in their gore,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ scattered here and there!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">At last these two stout erles did meet,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Like captaines of great might:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Like lions wode, they laid on lode,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And made a cruel fight:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They fought untill they both did sweat</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With swords of tempered steele;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Until the blood like drops of rain</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They trickling downe did feele.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Yield thee, Lord Percy,&rsquo; Douglas said;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;In faith I will thee bringe,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Where thou shalt high advanc&egrave;d be</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;By James our Scottish king:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Thy ransome I will freely give,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And this report of thee,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Thou art the most courageous knight,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That ever I did see.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;No, Douglas,&rsquo; quoth Erle Percy then,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Thy proffer I do scorne;</span>
+ <span class="i0">I will not yield to any Scot,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That ever yet was borne.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">With that, there came an arrow keene</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Out of an English bow,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A deep and deadly blow:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page53" id="page53" title="53"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Who never spake more words than these,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Fight on, my merry men all;</span>
+ <span class="i0">For why, my life is at an end;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lord Percy sees my fall.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then leaving life, Erle Percy tooke</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The dead man by the hand;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And said, &lsquo;Erle Douglas, for thy life</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wold I had lost my land!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O Christ! my very heart doth bleed</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With sorrow for thy sake,</span> <span
+ class="i0">For sure, a more redoubted knight</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Mischance
+ could never take.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">A knight amongst the Scots there was,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Which saw Erle Douglas dye,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Who straight in wrath did vow revenge</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon the Lord Percye.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he called</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who, with a speare most bright,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Well-mounted on a gallant steed,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ran
+ fiercely through the fight,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And past the English archers all,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Without or dread or feare,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And through Erle Percy's body then</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He thrust his hateful speare.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">With such a vehement force and might</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He did his body gore,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ staff ran through the other side</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ large cloth-yard, and more.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page54" id="page54" title="54"></a> <span
+ class="i0">So thus did both these nobles dye,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose courage none could staine!</span>
+ <span class="i0">An English archer then perceived</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The noble Erle was slaine:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He had a bow bent in his hand,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Made of a trusty tree;</span> <span
+ class="i0">An arrow of a cloth-yard long</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Up
+ to the head drew he;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;So right the shaft he set,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The grey goose-winge that was thereon</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In his heart's bloode was wet.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">This fight did last from breake of day</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Till setting of the sun;</span> <span
+ class="i0">For when they rung the evening-bell,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The battle scarce was done.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE SLAIN
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sir John of Egerton,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sir James, that bold bar&ograve;n;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And with Sir George and stout Sir James,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Both knights of good account,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose prowesse did surmount.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">For Witherington needs must I wayle,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As one in doleful dumpes;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page55" id="page55" title="55"></a> <span
+ class="i0">For when his legs were smitten off,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He fought upon his stumpes.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sir Charles Murray, that from the field</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;One foote would never flee;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His sister's sonne was he;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Yet
+ saved he could not be;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And the Lord Maxwell in like case</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Did with Erle Douglas dye:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of twenty hundred Scottish speares,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Scarce fifty-five did flye.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Went home but fifty-three:</span> <span
+ class="i0">The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chace,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Under the greene woode tree.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Next day did many widdowes come,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Their husbands to bewayle;</span> <span
+ class="i0">They washt their wounds in brinish teares,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But all wold not prevayle;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Their bodyes, bathed in purple gore,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They bore with them away;</span> <span
+ class="i0">They kist them dead a thousand times,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ere they were clad in clay.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page56" id="page56" title="56"></a>THE
+ TIDINGS
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The newes was brought to Eddenborrow,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where Scotland's king did raigne,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was with an arrow slaine:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O heavy newes,&rsquo; King James did say,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Scotland may witnesse be,</span>
+ <span class="i0">I have not any captaine more</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of such account as he.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Like tydings to King Henry came,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Within as short a space,</span> <span
+ class="i0">That Percy of Northumberland</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was
+ slaine in Chevy-Chace:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Now God be with him,&rsquo; said our king,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Sith it will no better be;</span>
+ <span class="i0">I trust I have, within my realme,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Five hundred as good as he:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet shall not Scots nor Scotland say,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But I will vengeance take:</span> <span
+ class="i0">I'll be reveng&egrave;d on them all,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For brave Erle Percy's sake.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">This vow full well the king performed</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;After, at Humbledowne;</span> <span
+ class="i0">In one day, fifty knights were slayne,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With lords of great renowne,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And of the rest, of small account,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Did many thousands dye.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page57" id="page57" title="57"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Made by the Erle Percye.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">God save our king, and bless this land</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With plentye, joy, and peace,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And grant henceforth that foule debate</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;'Twixt noblemen may cease!</span>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxvi">XXVI</a></small><br />SIR PATRICK SPENS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The King sits in Dunfermline town,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Drinking the blude-red wine:</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;O whaur will I get a skeely skipper</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To sail this new ship o' mine?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O up and spake an eldern knight,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sat at the King's right knee:</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That ever sailed the sea.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Our King has written a braid letter</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And sealed it wi' his hand,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was
+ walking on the strand.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;To Noroway, to Noroway,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To Noroway o'er the faem;</span> <span
+ class="i0">The King's daughter to Noroway,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;'Tis
+ thou maun bring her hame.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The first word that Sir Patrick read,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sae loud, loud lauch&egrave;d he;</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page58" id="page58" title="58"></a> <span
+ class="i0">The neist word that Sir Patrick read,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The tear blinded his ee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O wha is this has done this deed,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And tauld the King of me,</span> <span
+ class="i0">To send us out at this time o' year</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To sail upon the sea?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Our ship must sail the faem;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The King's daughter to Noroway,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;'Tis we must bring her hame.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They hoysed their sails on Monday morn</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wi' a' the speed they may;</span>
+ <span class="i0">They hae landed in Noroway</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon
+ a Wodensday.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They hadna been a week, a week,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In Noroway but twae,</span> <span class="i0">When
+ that the lords o' Noroway</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Began
+ aloud to say:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Ye Scottishmen spend a' our King's goud</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And a' our Queenis fee.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fu' loud I hear ye lie!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">For I brought as mickle white monie</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As gane my men and me,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And I brought a half-fou o' gude red goud</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Out-o'er the sea wi' me.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a'!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Our gude ship sails the morn.&rsquo;</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page59" id="page59" title="59"></a> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Now, ever alake, my master dear,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I fear a deadly storm.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I saw the new moon late yestreen</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wi' the auld moon in her arm;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, if we gang to sea, master,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I
+ fear we'll come to harm.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They hadna sailed a league, a league,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A league but barely three,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And gurly grew the sea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O where will I get a gude sailor</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To tak' my helm in hand,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Till I gae up to the tall topmast</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ see if I can spy land?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O here am I, a sailor gude,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To tak' the helm in hand,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Till you gae up to the tall topmast;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He hadna gane a step, a step,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A step but barely ane,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When a bolt flew out o' our goodly ship,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the salt sea it came in.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Anither o' the twine,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And wap them into our ship's side,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And letna the sea come in.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They fetched a web o' the silken claith,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Anither o' the twine,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page60" id="page60" title="60"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And they wapped them round that gude ship's side,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But still the sea cam' in.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To weet their milk-white hands;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But lang ere a' the play was ower</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They wat their gowden bands.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To weet their cork-heeled shoon;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But lang ere a' the play was played</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They wat their hats aboon.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O lang, lang may the ladies sit</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wi' their fans intill their hand,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Before they see Sir Patrick Spens</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Come sailing to the strand!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And lang, lang may the maidens sit</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wi' their goud kaims in their hair,</span>
+ <span class="i0">A' waiting for their ain dear loves!</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For them they'll see nae mair.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Half ower, half ower to Aberdour,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;It's fifty fathoms deep,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxvii">XXVII</a></small><br />BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The fifteenth day of July,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ glistering spear and shield,</span> <span class="i0">A famous fight
+ in Flanders</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was foughten in the
+ field:</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page61" id="page61"
+ title="61"></a> <span class="i0">The most conspicuous officers</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Were English captains three,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But the bravest man in battel</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was brave Lord Willoughby.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The next was Captain Norris,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A valiant man was he:</span> <span class="i0">The
+ other, Captain Turner,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From
+ field would never flee.</span> <span class="i0">With fifteen
+ hundred fighting men,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Alas!
+ there were no more,</span> <span class="i0">They fought with forty
+ thousand then</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon the bloody
+ shore.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Stand to it, noble pikeman,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And look you round about:</span> <span
+ class="i0">And shoot you right, you bow-men,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ we will keep them out:</span> <span class="i0">You musquet and
+ cailiver men,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Do you prove true
+ to me,</span> <span class="i0">I'll be the bravest man in fight,&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Says brave Lord Willoughby.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And then the bloody enemy</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They
+ fiercely did assail,</span> <span class="i0">And fought it out most
+ furiously,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Not doubting to
+ prevail:</span> <span class="i0">The wounded men on both sides fell</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Most piteous for to see,</span> <span
+ class="i0">But nothing could the courage quell</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of brave Lord Willoughby.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page62" id="page62" title="62"></a> <span
+ class="i0">For seven hours to all men's view</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;This
+ fight endur&egrave;d sore,</span> <span class="i0">Until our men so
+ feeble grew</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That they could
+ fight no more;</span> <span class="i0">And then upon dead horses</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Full savourly they eat,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And drank the puddle water,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ could no better get.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When they had fed so freely,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They kneel&egrave;d on the ground,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And prais&egrave;d God devoutly</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For the favour they had found;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And bearing up their colours,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ fight they did renew,</span> <span class="i0">And cutting tow'rds
+ the Spaniard,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Five thousand
+ more they slew.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The sharp steel-pointed arrows</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And bullets thick did fly;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then did our valiant soldiers</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Charge
+ on most furiously:</span> <span class="i0">Which made the Spaniards
+ waver,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They thought it best to
+ flee:</span> <span class="i0">They feared the stout behaviour</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of brave Lord Willoughby.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then quoth the Spanish general,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Come, let us march away,</span> <span
+ class="i0">I fear we shall be spoil&egrave;d all</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;If that we longer stay:</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page63" id="page63" title="63"></a> <span
+ class="i0">For yonder comes Lord Willoughby</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ courage fierce and fell,</span> <span class="i0">He will not give
+ one inch of ground</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For all the
+ devils in hell.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And when the fearful enemy</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was
+ quickly put to flight,</span> <span class="i0">Our men pursued
+ courageously</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To rout his forces
+ quite;</span> <span class="i0">And at last they gave a shout</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Which echoed through the sky:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;God, and St. George for England!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The conquerors did cry.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">This news was brought to England</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With all the speed might be,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And soon our gracious Queen was told</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of this same victory.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;O!
+ this is brave Lord Willoughby,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My
+ love that ever won:</span> <span class="i0">Of all the lords of
+ honour</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;'Tis he great deeds hath
+ done!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To the soldiers that were maim&egrave;d,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And wounded in the fray,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The queen allowed a pension</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of
+ fifteen pence a day,</span> <span class="i0">And from all costs and
+ charges</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;She quit and set them
+ free:</span> <span class="i0">And this she did all for the sake</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of brave Lord Willoughby.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page64" id="page64" title="64"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Then courage, noble Englishmen,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ never be dismayed!</span> <span class="i0">If that we be but one to
+ ten,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We will not be afraid</span>
+ <span class="i0">To fight with foreign enemies,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And set our country free.</span> <span
+ class="i0">And thus I end the bloody bout</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of
+ brave Lord Willoughby.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxviii">XXVIII</a></small><br />HUGHIE THE GR&AElig;ME
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Good Lord Scroope to the hills is gane,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Hunting of the fallow deer;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And he has grippit Hughie the Gr&aelig;me</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For stealing of the Bishop's mare.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Here hangs a broadsword by my side;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And if that thou canst conquer me,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The matter it may soon be tried.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Although thy name be Hughie the Gr&aelig;me,</span>
+ <span class="i0">I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;If God but grant me life and time.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But as they were dealing their blows so free,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And both so bloody at the time,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;All for to take bold Hughie the Gr&aelig;me.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page65" id="page65" title="65"></a> <span
+ class="i0">O then they grippit Hughie the Gr&aelig;me,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And brought him up through Carlisle town:</span>
+ <span class="i0">The lads and lasses stood on the walls,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Crying, &lsquo;Hughie the Gr&aelig;me,
+ thou'se ne'er gae down!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O loose my right hand free,&rsquo; he says,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;And gie me my sword o' the metal sae
+ fine,</span> <span class="i0">He's no in Carlisle town this day</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Daur tell the tale to Hughie the Gr&aelig;me.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Up then and spake the brave Whitefoord,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As he sat by the Bishop's knee,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;If ye'll grant Hughie the Gr&aelig;me to
+ me.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O haud your tongue,&rsquo; the Bishop says,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;And wi' your pleading let me be;</span>
+ <span class="i0">For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They suld be hangit a' for me.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Up then and spake the fair Whitefoord,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As she sat by the Bishop's knee,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;A peck o' white pennies, my good lord,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;If ye'll grant Hughie the Gr&aelig;me to
+ me.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O haud your tongue now, lady fair,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Forsooth, and so it sall na be;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Were he but the one Graham of the name,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He suld be hangit high for me.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He look&egrave;d to the gallows tree,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet never colour left his cheek,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor ever did he blink his e'e.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page66" id="page66" title="66"></a> <span
+ class="i0">He look&egrave;d over his left shoulder</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To try whatever he could see,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And he was aware of his auld father,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Tearing his hair most piteouslie.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O haud your tongue, my father dear,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And see that ye dinna weep for me!</span>
+ <span class="i0">For they may ravish me o' my life,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But they canna banish me fro' Heaven hie.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And ye may gie my brither John</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My sword that's bent in the middle clear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And let him come at twelve o'clock,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And see me pay the Bishop's mare.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And ye may gie my brither James</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My sword that's bent in the middle brown,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And bid him come at four o'clock,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And see his brither Hugh cut down.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And ye may tell my kith and kin</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I never did disgrace their blood;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And when they meet the Bishop's cloak,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To mak' it shorter by the hood.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxix">XXIX</a></small><br />KINMONT WILLIE
+ </h2>
+ <h3>
+ THE CAPTURE
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde?</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord
+ Scroope?</span> <span class="i0">How they hae ta'en bold Kinmont
+ Willie,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On Haribee to hang him
+ up?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page67" id="page67" title="67"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Had Willie had but twenty men,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ twenty men as stout as he,</span> <span class="i0">Fause Sakelde
+ had never the Kinmont ta'en,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wi'
+ eight score in his cumpanie.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They band his legs beneath the steed,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They tied his hands behind his back;</span>
+ <span class="i0">They guarded him fivesome on each side,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They led him thro' the Liddel-rack,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And also thro' the Carlisle sands;</span>
+ <span class="i0">They brought him on to Carlisle castle</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;My hands are tied, but my tongue is free,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And wha will dare this deed avow?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or answer by the Border law?</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or answer to the bold Buccleuch?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;There's never a Scot shall set thee free:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Before ye cross my castle yett,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I trow ye shall take farewell o' me.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Fear na ye that, my lord,&rsquo; quo' Willie:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;By the faith o' my body, Lord
+ Scroope,&rsquo; he said,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;I never yet
+ lodged in a hostelrie</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But I
+ paid my lawing before I gaed.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE KEEPER'S WRATH
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now word is gane to the bold Keeper,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In Branksome Ha' where that he lay,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page68" id="page68" title="68"></a> <span
+ class="i0">That Lord Scroope has ta'en the Kinmont Willie,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Between the hours of night and day.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He has ta'en the table wi' his hand,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He garred the red wine spring on hie:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Now a curse upon my head,&rsquo; he said,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;But aveng&egrave;d of Lord Scroope
+ I'll be!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O is my basnet a widow's curch?</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or my arm a lady's lily hand,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That an English lord should lightly me!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Against the truce of Border tide?</span>
+ <span class="i0">And forgotten that the bold Buccleuch</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is keeper here on the Scottish side?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Withouten either dread or fear?</span>
+ <span class="i0">And forgotten that the bold Buccleuch</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Can back a steed or shake a spear?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O were there war between the lands,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As well I wot that there is none,</span>
+ <span class="i0">I would slight Carlisle castle high,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Though it were builded of marble stone.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I would set that castle in a lowe,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And slocken it with English blood!</span>
+ <span class="i0">There's never a man in Cumberland</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Should ken where Carlisle castle stood.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But since nae war's between the lands,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And there is peace, and peace should be,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page69" id="page69" title="69"></a> <span
+ class="i0">I'll neither harm English lad or lass,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE MARCH
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He has called him forty Marchmen bold,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I trow they were of his ain name,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, called</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He has called him forty Marchmen bold,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Were kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch;</span>
+ <span class="i0">With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And gluves of green, and feathers blue.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">There were five and five before them a',</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wi' hunting-horns and bugles bright:</span>
+ <span class="i0">And five and five cam' wi' Buccleuch,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Like warden's men, arrayed for fight.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And five and five like a mason gang</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That carried the ladders lang and hie;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And five and five like broken men;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And so they reached the Woodhouselee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And as we crossed the 'Bateable Land,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When to the English side we held,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The first o' men that we met wi',</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whae suld it be but fause Sakelde?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Quo' fause Sakelde; &lsquo;come tell to me!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;We go to hunt an English stag</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page70" id="page70" title="70"></a> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Quo' fause Sakelde; &lsquo;come tell me
+ true!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;We go to catch a rank
+ reiver</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Has broken faith wi' the
+ bold Buccleuch.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wi' a' your ladders lang and hie?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;We gang to herry a corbie's nest</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Quo' fause Sakelde; &lsquo;come tell to me!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the never a word of lear had he.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Why trespass ye on the English side?</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Row-footed outlaws, stand!&rsquo; quo' he;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The never a word had Dickie to say,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then on we held for Carlisle toun,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And at Staneshaw-Bank the Eden we crossed;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The water was great and meikle of spait,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But the never a horse nor man we lost.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And when we reached the Staneshaw-Bank,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The wind was rising loud and hie;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And there the Laird garred leave our steeds,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For fear that they should stamp and neigh.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And when we left the Staneshaw-Bank,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The wind began full loud to blaw;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When we came beneath the castle wa'.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page71" id="page71" title="71"></a> <span
+ class="i0">We crept on knees, and held our breath,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Till we placed the ladders against the wa';</span>
+ <span class="i0">And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To mount the first before us a'.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He has ta'en the watchman by the throat,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He flung him down upon the lead:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Had there not been peace between our lands,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon the other side thou'dst gaed!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now sound out, trumpets!&rsquo; quo' Buccleuch;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Let's waken Lord Scroope right
+ merrilie!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">Then loud the warden's
+ trumpet blew</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>O wha dare
+ meddle wi' me?</i></span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE RESCUE
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then speedilie to wark we gaed,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And raised the slogan ane and a',</span>
+ <span class="i0">And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And so we wan to the castle ha'.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They thought King James and a' his men</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Had won the house wi' bow and spear;</span>
+ <span class="i0">It was but twenty Scots and ten</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That put a thousand in sic a stear!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Wi' coulters and wi' forehammers</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We garred the bars bang merrilie,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Until we came to the inner prison,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And when we cam' to the lower prison,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie:</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page72" id="page72" title="72"></a> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon the morn that thou's to die?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O I sleep saft, and I wake aft;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;It's lang since sleeping was fleyed frae
+ me!</span> <span class="i0">Gie my service back to my wife and
+ bairns,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And a' gude fellows
+ that spier for me.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then Red Rowan has hente him up,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The starkest man in Teviotdale:</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!&rsquo; he
+ cried;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;I'll pay you for my lodging
+ maill,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When first we meet on
+ the Border side.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then shoulder high with shout and cry</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We bore him down the ladder lang;</span>
+ <span class="i0">At every stride Red Rowan made,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I wot the Kinmont's airns played clang.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O mony a time,&rsquo; quo' Kinmont Willie,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;I have ridden horse baith wild and
+ wood;</span> <span class="i0">But a rougher beast than Red Rowan</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And mony a time,&rsquo; quo' Kinmont Willie,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;I've pricked a horse out oure the
+ furs;</span> <span class="i0">But since the day I backed a steed,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I never wore sic cumbrous spurs!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We scarce had won the Staneshaw-Bank</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When a' the Carlisle bells were rung,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page73" id="page73" title="73"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And a thousand men on horse and foot</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Cam' wi' the keen Lord Scroope along.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Even where it flowed frae bank to brim,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And he has plunged in wi' a' his band,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And safely swam them through the stream.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He turned him on the other side,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;If ye like na my visit in merrie England,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In fair Scotland come visit me!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He stood as still as rock of stane;</span>
+ <span class="i0">He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When through the water they had gane.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;He is either himsell a devil frae hell,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or else his mother a witch maun be;</span>
+ <span class="i0">I wadna have ridden that wan water</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For a' the gowd in Christentie.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxx">XXX</a></small><br />THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Attend you, and give ear awhile,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And you shall understand</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of a battle fought upon the seas</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;By
+ a ship of brave command.</span> <span class="i0">The fight it was
+ so glorious</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Men's hearts it did
+ ful-fill,</span> <span class="i0">And it made them cry, &lsquo;To
+ sea, to sea,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With the Angel
+ Gabriel!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page74" id="page74" title="74"></a> <span
+ class="i0">This lusty ship of Bristol</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sailed
+ out adventurously</span> <span class="i0">Against the foes of
+ England,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Her strength with them
+ to try;</span> <span class="i0">Well victualled, rigged, and manned
+ she was,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With good provision
+ still,</span> <span class="i0">Which made men cry, &lsquo;To sea,
+ to sea,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With the Angel Gabriel!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Captain, famous Netherway</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;(That was his noble name):</span> <span
+ class="i0">The Master&mdash;he was called John Mines&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A mariner of fame:</span> <span
+ class="i0">The Gunner, Thomas Watson,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ man of perfect skill:</span> <span class="i0">With many another
+ valiant heart</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the Angel
+ Gabriel.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They waving up and down the seas</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon the ocean main,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;It
+ is not long ago,&rsquo; quoth they,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;That
+ England fought with Spain:</span> <span class="i0">O would the
+ Spaniard we might meet</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Our
+ stomachs to fulfil!</span> <span class="i0">We would play him fair
+ a noble bout</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With our Angel
+ Gabriel!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They had no sooner spoken</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ straight appeared in sight</span> <span class="i0">Three lusty
+ Spanish vessels</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of warlike trim
+ and might;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page75" id="page75"
+ title="75"></a> <span class="i0">With bloody resolution</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They thought our men to spill,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And they vowed that they would make a prize</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of our Angel Gabriel.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Our gallant ship had in her</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Full
+ forty fighting men:</span> <span class="i0">With twenty piece of
+ ordnance</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We played about them
+ then,</span> <span class="i0">With powder, shot, and bullets</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Right well we worked our will,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And hot and bloody grew the fight</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With our Angel Gabriel.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Our Captain to our Master said,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Take courage, Master bold!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Our Master to the seamen said,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Stand fast, my hearts of gold!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Our Gunner unto all the rest,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Brave hearts, be valiant still!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Fight on, fight on in the defence</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of our Angel Gabriel!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We gave them such a broadside,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;It smote their mast asunder,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And tore the bowsprit off their ship,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Which made the Spaniards wonder,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And caus&egrave;d them in fear to cry,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With voices loud and shrill,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Help, help, or sunken we shall be</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;By the Angel Gabriel!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page76" id="page76" title="76"></a> <span
+ class="i0">So desperately they boarded us</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ all our valiant shot,</span> <span class="i0">Threescore of their
+ best fighting men</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon our
+ decks were got;</span> <span class="i0">And lo! at their first
+ entrances</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Full thirty did we
+ kill,</span> <span class="i0">And thus we cleared with speed the
+ deck</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of our Angel Gabriel.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">With that their three ships boarded us</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Again with might and main,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But still our noble Englishmen</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Cried out, &lsquo;A fig for Spain!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Though seven times they boarded us</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;At last we showed our skill,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And made them feel what men we were</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On the Angel Gabriel.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Seven hours this fight continued:</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;So many men lay dead,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ Spanish blood for fathoms round</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ sea was coloured red.</span> <span class="i0">Five hundred of their
+ fighting men</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We there outright
+ did kill,</span> <span class="i0">And many more were hurt and
+ maimed</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;By our Angel Gabriel.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then, seeing of these bloody spoils,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The rest made haste away:</span> <span
+ class="i0">For why, they said, it was no boot</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The longer there to stay.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page77" id="page77" title="77"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Then they fled into Cal&egrave;s,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where
+ lie they must and will</span> <span class="i0">For fear lest they
+ should meet again</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With our
+ Angel Gabriel.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We had within our English ship</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But only three men slain,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And five men hurt, the which I hope</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Will soon be well again.</span> <span
+ class="i0">At Bristol we were landed,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ let us praise God still,</span> <span class="i0">That thus hath
+ blest our lusty hearts</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And our
+ Angel Gabriel.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxxi">XXXI</a></small><br />HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I wish I were where Helen lies,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Night and day on me she cries;</span> <span class="i0">O
+ that I were where Helen lies,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ fair Kirkconnell lea!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Curst be the heart that thought the thought,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And curst the hand that fired the shot,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When in my arms burd Helen dropt,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And died to succour me!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O thinkna ye my heart was sair</span> <span
+ class="i0">When my love dropt down, and spak' nae mair?</span>
+ <span class="i0">There did she swoon wi' meikle care,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On fair Kirkconnell lea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page78" id="page78" title="78"></a> <span
+ class="i0">As I went down the water side,</span> <span class="i0">None
+ but my foe to be my guide,</span> <span class="i0">None but my foe
+ to be my guide</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On fair
+ Kirkconnell lea;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I lighted down my sword to draw,</span> <span
+ class="i0">I hack&egrave;d him in pieces sma',</span> <span
+ class="i0">I hack&egrave;d him in pieces sma'</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For her sake that died for me.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O Helen fair beyond compare!</span> <span
+ class="i0">I'll mak' a garland o' thy hair,</span> <span class="i0">Shall
+ bind my heart for evermair,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Until
+ the day I dee!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O that I were where Helen lies!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Night and day on me she cries;</span> <span class="i0">Out
+ of my bed she bids me rise,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Says,
+ &lsquo;Haste, and come to me!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!</span> <span
+ class="i0">If I were with thee I were blest,</span> <span class="i0">Where
+ thou lies low and takes thy rest,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ fair Kirkconnell lea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I wish my grave were growing green,</span> <span
+ class="i0">A winding-sheet drawn ower my e'en,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And I in Helen's arms lying</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ fair Kirkconnell lea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I wish I were where Helen lies!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Night and day on me she cries,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ I am weary of the skies</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For her
+ sake that died for me.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page79" id="page79" title="79"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_xxxii">XXXII</a></small><br />THE TWA CORBIES
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">As I was walking all alane,</span> <span class="i0">I
+ heard twa corbies making a mane:</span> <span class="i0">The tane
+ unto the tither say,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Where sall we
+ gang and dine the day?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;In behint yon auld fail dyke</span> <span
+ class="i0">I wot there lies a new-slain knight;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And naebody kens that he lies there</span> <span
+ class="i0">But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">His hound is to the hunting gane,</span> <span
+ class="i0">His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,</span> <span
+ class="i0">His lady's ta'en another mate,</span> <span class="i0">Sae
+ we may mak' our dinner sweet.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And I'll pike out his bonny blue e'en:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair</span> <span class="i0">We'll
+ theek our nest when it grows bare.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Mony a one for him makes mane,</span> <span
+ class="i0">But nane sall ken where he is gane:</span> <span
+ class="i0">O'er his white banes, when they are bare,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The wind sall blaw for evermair.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page80" id="page80" title="80"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_xxxiii">XXXIII</a></small><br />THE BARD
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Confusion on thy banners wait!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Though fanned by Conquest's crimson wing</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They mock the air with idle state.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail</span> <span
+ class="i0">To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,</span> <span
+ class="i0">From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay,</span>
+ <span class="i0">As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He wound with toilsome march his long
+ array:</span> <span class="i0">Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in
+ speechless trance;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;To arms!&rsquo;
+ cried Mortimer, and couched his quivering lance.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On a rock, whose haughty brow</span>
+ <span class="i0">Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Robed in the sable garb of woe</span>
+ <span class="i0">With haggard eyes the Poet stood</span> <span
+ class="i0">(Loose his beard and hoary hair</span> <span class="i0">Streamed
+ like a meteor to the troubled air),</span> <span class="i0">And
+ with a master's hand and prophet's fire</span> <span class="i0">Struck
+ the deep sorrows of his lyre:</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Hark,
+ how each giant oak and desert-cave</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sighs
+ to the torrent's awful voice beneath!</span> <span class="i0">O'er
+ thee, O King! their hundred arms they wave,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Revenge
+ on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page81" id="page81" title="81"></a> <span class="i0">Vocal no
+ more, since Cambria's fatal day,</span> <span class="i0">To
+ high-born Hoel's harp or soft Llewellyn's lay.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Cold is Cadwallo's tongue</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That hushed the stormy main:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Mountains, ye mourn in vain</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Modred, whose magic song</span> <span
+ class="i0">Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head.</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On dreary Arvon's shore they lie</span>
+ <span class="i0">Smeared with gore and ghastly pale:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The famished eagle screams, and passes by.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Dear as the light that visits these sad
+ eyes,</span> <span class="i0">Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my
+ heart,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ye died amidst your
+ dying country's cries!&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">No more I
+ weep. They do not sleep.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ yonder cliffs, a grisly band,</span> <span class="i0">I see them
+ sit; they linger yet,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Avengers
+ of their native land:</span> <span class="i0">With me in dreadful
+ harmony they join,</span> <span class="i0">And weave with bloody
+ hands the tissue of thy line.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Weave the warp and weave the woof</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The winding-sheet of Edward's race:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Give ample room and verge enough</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The characters of hell to trace.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Mark the year and mark the night</span> <span
+ class="i0">When Severn shall re-echo with affright</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page82" id="page82" title="82"></a> <span
+ class="i0">The shrieks of death through Berkeley's roof that ring,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Shrieks of an agonising king!</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From thee be born, who o'er thy country
+ hangs</span> <span class="i0">The scourge of Heaven! What terrors
+ round him wait!</span> <span class="i0">Amazement in his van, with
+ Flight combined,</span> <span class="i0">And Sorrow's faded form,
+ and Solitude behind.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Mighty victor, mighty lord,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Low on his funeral couch he lies!</span>
+ <span class="i0">No pitying heart, no eye, afford</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A tear to grace his obsequies.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Is the sable warrior fled?</span> <span class="i0">Thy
+ son is gone. He rests among the dead.</span> <span class="i0">The
+ swarm that in thy noontide beam were born?</span> <span class="i0">Gone
+ to salute the rising morn.</span> <span class="i0">Fair laughs the
+ Morn, and soft the zephyr blows,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;While
+ proudly riding o'er the azure realm</span> <span class="i0">In
+ gallant trim the gilded vessel goes:</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Youth
+ on the prow and Pleasure at the helm:</span> <span class="i0">Regardless
+ of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway,</span> <span class="i0">That
+ hushed in grim repose expects his evening prey.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Fill high the sparkling bowl.</span>
+ <span class="i0">The rich repast prepare;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Reft
+ of a crown, he yet may share the feast:</span> <span class="i0">Close
+ by the regal chair</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fell Thirst
+ and Famine scowl</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A baleful
+ smile upon their baffled guest.</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page83" id="page83" title="83"></a> <span class="i0">Heard ye the
+ din of battle bray,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lance to
+ lance and horse to horse?</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Long
+ years of havoc urge their destined course,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ through the kindred squadrons mow their way.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ye
+ towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ many a foul and midnight murder fed,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Revere
+ his consort's faith, his father's fame,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ spare the meek usurper's holy head!</span> <span class="i0">Above,
+ below, the rose of snow,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Twined
+ with her blushing foe, we spread:</span> <span class="i0">The
+ bristled boar in infant-gore</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wallows
+ beneath the thorny shade.</span> <span class="i0">Now, brothers,
+ bending o'er the accursed loom,</span> <span class="i0">Stamp we
+ our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Edward, lo! to sudden fate</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;(Weave we the woof; the thread is spun;)</span>
+ <span class="i0">Half of thy heart we consecrate.</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;(The web is wove; the work is done.)</span>
+ <span class="i0">Stay, O stay! nor thus forlorn</span> <span
+ class="i0">Leave me unblessed, unpitied, here to mourn:</span>
+ <span class="i0">In yon bright track that fires the western skies</span>
+ <span class="i0">They melt, they vanish from my eyes.</span> <span
+ class="i0">But O! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Descending slow their glittering skirts
+ unroll?</span> <span class="i0">Visions of glory, spare my aching
+ sight,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ye unborn ages, crowd
+ not on my soul!</span> <span class="i0">No more our long-lost
+ Arthur we bewail:</span> <span class="i0">All hail, ye genuine
+ kings! Britannia's issue, hail!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page84" id="page84" title="84"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Girt with many a baron bold</span>
+ <span class="i0">Sublime their starry fronts they rear;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old</span>
+ <span class="i0">In bearded majesty, appear.</span> <span class="i0">In
+ the midst a form divine!</span> <span class="i0">Her eye proclaims
+ her of the Briton-line:</span> <span class="i0">Her lion-port, her
+ awe-commanding face</span> <span class="i0">Attempered sweet to
+ virgin grace.</span> <span class="i0">What strings symphonious
+ tremble in the air,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;What
+ strains of vocal transport round her play?</span> <span class="i0">Hear
+ from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They
+ breathe a soul to animate thy clay.</span> <span class="i0">Bright
+ Rapture calls and, soaring as she sings,</span> <span class="i0">Waves
+ in the eye of Heaven her many-coloured wings.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;The verse adorn again</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fierce War and faithful Love</span> <span
+ class="i0">And Truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In buskined measures move</span> <span
+ class="i0">Pale Grief and pleasing Pain,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.</span> <span class="i0">A
+ voice as of the cherub-choir</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Gales
+ from blooming Eden bear,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ distant warblings lessen on my ear</span> <span class="i0">That
+ lost in long futurity expire.</span> <span class="i0">Fond impious
+ man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Raised
+ by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day?</span> <span class="i0">To-morrow
+ he repairs the golden flood</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ warms the nations with redoubled ray.</span> <span class="i0">Enough
+ for me: with joy I see</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page85"
+ id="page85" title="85"></a> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The different
+ doom our fates assign:</span> <span class="i0">Be thine Despair and
+ sceptred Care,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To triumph and
+ to die are mine.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">He spoke, and
+ headlong from the mountain's height</span> <span class="i0">Deep in
+ the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Gray.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxxiv">XXXIV</a></small><br />THE ROYAL GEORGE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Toll for the Brave!</span> <span class="i0">The
+ brave that are no more!</span> <span class="i0">All sunk beneath
+ the wave</span> <span class="i0">Fast by their native shore!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Eight hundred of the brave,</span> <span class="i0">Whose
+ courage well was tried,</span> <span class="i0">Had made the vessel
+ heel</span> <span class="i0">And laid her on her side.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">A land-breeze shook the shrouds</span> <span
+ class="i0">And she was overset;</span> <span class="i0">Down went
+ the Royal George</span> <span class="i0">With all her crew
+ complete.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Toll for the brave!</span> <span class="i0">Brave
+ Kempenfelt is gone;</span> <span class="i0">His last sea-fight is
+ fought,</span> <span class="i0">His work of glory done.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">It was not in the battle;</span> <span class="i0">No
+ tempest gave the shock;</span> <span class="i0">She sprang no fatal
+ leak,</span> <span class="i0">She ran upon no rock.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page86" id="page86" title="86"></a> <span
+ class="i0">His sword was in its sheath,</span> <span class="i0">His
+ fingers held the pen,</span> <span class="i0">When Kempenfelt went
+ down</span> <span class="i0">With twice four hundred men.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Weigh the vessel up</span> <span class="i0">Once
+ dreaded by our foes!</span> <span class="i0">And mingle with our
+ cup</span> <span class="i0">The tear that England owes.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Her timbers yet are sound,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ she may float again</span> <span class="i0">Full charged with
+ England's thunder,</span> <span class="i0">And plough the distant
+ main:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But Kempenfelt is gone,</span> <span class="i0">His
+ victories are o'er;</span> <span class="i0">And he and his eight
+ hundred</span> <span class="i0">Shall plough the wave no more.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Cowper.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxxiv">XXXV</a></small><br />BOADICEA
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When the British warrior queen,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Bleeding from the Roman rods,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sought with an indignant mien</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Counsel
+ of her country's gods,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Sage beneath the spreading oak</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sat the Druid, hoary chief,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Every burning word he spoke</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Full
+ of rage, and full of grief:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page87" id="page87" title="87"></a> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Princess! if our aged eyes</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Weep
+ upon thy matchless wrongs,</span> <span class="i0">'Tis because
+ resentment ties</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;All the terrors
+ of our tongues.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Rome shall perish,&mdash;write that word</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the blood that she has spilt;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Perish hopeless and abhorred,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Deep in ruin as in guilt.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Rome, for empire far renowned,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Tramples on a thousand states;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Other Romans shall arise</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Heedless
+ of a soldier's name;</span> <span class="i0">Sounds, not arms,
+ shall win the prize,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Harmony
+ the path to fame.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then the progeny that springs</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From the forests of our land,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Armed with thunder, clad with wings,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall a wider world command.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Regions C&aelig;sar never knew</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thy posterity shall sway;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where his eagles never flew,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;None
+ invincible as they.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Such the bard's prophetic words,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Pregnant with celestial fire,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Bending as he swept the chords</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of
+ his sweet but awful lyre.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page88" id="page88" title="88"></a> <span
+ class="i0">She with all a monarch's pride</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Felt
+ them in her bosom glow,</span> <span class="i0">Rushed to battle,
+ fought, and died,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Dying, hurled
+ them at the foe:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Ruffians, pitiless as proud,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Heaven awards the vengeance due;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Empire is on us bestowed,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Shame
+ and ruin wait for you.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Cowper.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxxvi">XXXVI</a></small><br />TO HIS LADY
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">If doughty deeds my lady please</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Right soon I'll mount my steed;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And strong his arm, and fast his seat</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That bears frae me the meed.</span> <span
+ class="i0">I'll wear thy colours in my cap</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thy
+ picture at my heart;</span> <span class="i0">And he that bends not
+ to thine eye</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall rue it to
+ his smart!</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then
+ tell me how to woo thee, Love;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O
+ tell me how to woo thee!</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Tho'
+ ne'er another trow me.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">If gay attire delight thine eye</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I'll dight me in array;</span> <span
+ class="i0">I'll tend thy chamber door all night,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And squire thee all the day.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page89" id="page89" title="89"></a> <span
+ class="i0">If sweetest sounds can win thine ear</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;These sounds I'll strive to catch;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That voice that nane can match.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But if fond love thy heart can gain,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I never broke a vow;</span> <span class="i0">Nae
+ maiden lays her skaith to me,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I
+ never loved but you.</span> <span class="i0">For you alone I ride
+ the ring,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For you I wear the
+ blue;</span> <span class="i0">For you alone I strive to sing,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O tell me how to woo!</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then tell me how to woo thee, Love;</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O tell me how to
+ woo thee!</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For thy
+ dear sake, nae care I'll take,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Tho'
+ ne'er another trow me.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Graham of Gartmore.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxxvii">XXXVII</a></small><br />CONSTANCY
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The mainmast by the board;</span>
+ <span class="i0">My heart, with thoughts of thee, my dear,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And love well stored,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The roaring winds, the raging sea,</span>
+ <span class="i0">In hopes on shore to be once more</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Safe moored with thee!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page90" id="page90" title="90"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Aloft while mountains high we go,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ whistling winds that scud along,</span> <span class="i0">And surges
+ roaring from below,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall my
+ signal be to think on thee,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ this shall be my song:</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Blow
+ high, blow low&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And on that night, when all the crew,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The memory of their former lives</span>
+ <span class="i0">O'er flowing cans of flip renew,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And drink their sweethearts and their wives,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I'll heave a sigh and think on
+ thee,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And, as the
+ ship rolls through the sea,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ burden of my song shall be:</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Blow
+ high, blow low&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Dibdin.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxxvii">XXXVIII</a></small><br />THE PERFECT SAILOR
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The darling of our crew;</span> <span
+ class="i0">No more he'll hear the tempest howling,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For death has broached him to.</span> <span
+ class="i0">His form was of the manliest beauty,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His heart was kind and soft,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Faithful, below, he did his duty,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ now he's gone aloft.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Tom never from his word departed,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His virtues were so rare,</span> <span
+ class="i0">His friends were many and true-hearted,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His Poll was kind and fair;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page91" id="page91" title="91"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ah, many's the time and oft!</span> <span
+ class="i0">But mirth is turned to melancholy,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For Tom is gone aloft.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When He, who all commands,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Shall give, to call life's crew together,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The word to pipe all hands.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In vain Tom's life has doffed,</span>
+ <span class="i0">For, though his body's under hatches</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His soul has gone aloft.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Dibdin.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xxxix">XXXIX</a></small><br />THE DESERTER
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">If sadly thinking,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ spirits sinking,</span> <span class="i0">Could more than drinking</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My cares compose,</span> <span
+ class="i0">A cure for sorrow</span> <span class="i0">From sighs I'd
+ borrow,</span> <span class="i0">And hope to-morrow</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Would end my woes.</span> <span
+ class="i0">But as in wailing</span> <span class="i0">There's nought
+ availing,</span> <span class="i0">And Death unfailing</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Will strike the blow,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page92" id="page92" title="92"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Then for that reason,</span> <span class="i0">And for a
+ season,</span> <span class="i0">Let us be merry</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Before we go.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To joy a stranger,</span> <span class="i0">A
+ way-worn ranger,</span> <span class="i0">In every danger</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My course I've run;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Now hope all ending,</span> <span class="i0">And Death
+ befriending,</span> <span class="i0">His last aid lending,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My cares are done:</span> <span
+ class="i0">No more a rover,</span> <span class="i0">Or hapless
+ lover,</span> <span class="i0">My griefs are over,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My glass runs low;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then for that reason,</span> <span class="i0">And for a
+ season,</span> <span class="i0">Let us be merry</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Before we go!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Curran.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xl">XL</a></small><br />THE ARETHUSA
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Come, all ye jolly sailors bold,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,</span> <span
+ class="i0">While English glory I unfold,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Huzza
+ for the Arethusa!</span> <span class="i0">She is a frigate tight
+ and brave,</span> <span class="i0">As ever stemmed the dashing
+ wave;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page93" id="page93"
+ title="93"></a> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Her
+ men are staunch</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ their fav'rite launch,</span> <span class="i0">And when the foe
+ shall meet our fire,</span> <span class="i0">Sooner than strike,
+ we'll all expire</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ board of the Arethusa.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">'Twas with the spring fleet she went out</span>
+ <span class="i0">The English Channel to cruise about,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When four French sail, in show so stout</span> <span
+ class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Bore down on the
+ Arethusa.</span> <span class="i0">The famed Belle Poule straight
+ ahead did lie,</span> <span class="i0">The Arethusa seemed to fly,</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Not a sheet, or a
+ tack,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or
+ a brace, did she slack;</span> <span class="i0">Though the
+ Frenchman laughed and thought it stuff,</span> <span class="i0">But
+ they knew not the handful of men, how tough,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ board of the Arethusa.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">On deck five hundred men did dance,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The stoutest they could find in France;</span> <span
+ class="i0">We with two hundred did advance</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ board of the Arethusa.</span> <span class="i0">Our captain hailed
+ the Frenchman, &lsquo;Ho!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">The
+ Frenchman then cried out &lsquo;Hallo!&rsquo;</span> <span
+ class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Bear down, d'ye
+ see,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ our Admiral's lee!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;No, no,&rsquo;
+ says the Frenchman, &lsquo;that can't be!&rsquo;</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Then I must lug you along with me,&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Says the saucy
+ Arethusa.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page94" id="page94" title="94"></a> <span
+ class="i0">The fight was off the Frenchman's land,</span> <span
+ class="i0">We forced them back upon their strand,</span> <span
+ class="i0">For we fought till not a stick could stand</span> <span
+ class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the gallant Arethusa.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And now we've driven the foe ashore</span> <span
+ class="i0">Never to fight with Britons more,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Let
+ each fill his glass</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ his fav'rite lass;</span> <span class="i0">A health to our captain
+ and officers true,</span> <span class="i0">And all that belong to
+ the jovial crew</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ board of the Arethusa.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Prince Hoare.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xli">XLI</a></small><br />THE BEAUTY OF TERROR
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Tiger, tiger, burning bright</span> <span
+ class="i0">In the forests of the night,</span> <span class="i0">What
+ immortal hand or eye</span> <span class="i0">Could frame thy
+ fearful symmetry?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">In what distant deeps or skies</span> <span
+ class="i0">Burnt the fire of thine eyes?</span> <span class="i0">On
+ what wings dare he aspire?</span> <span class="i0">What the hand
+ dare seize the fire?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And what shoulder, and what art,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Could twist the sinews of thy heart?</span> <span
+ class="i0">And when thy heart began to beat,</span> <span class="i0">What
+ dread hand? and what dread feet?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page95" id="page95" title="95"></a> <span
+ class="i0">What the hammer? what the chain?</span> <span class="i0">In
+ what furnace was thy brain?</span> <span class="i0">What the anvil?
+ what dread grasp</span> <span class="i0">Dare its deadly terrors
+ clasp?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When the stars threw down their spears,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And watered heaven with their tears,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Did He smile His work to see?</span> <span class="i0">Did
+ He who made the lamb make thee?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Tiger, tiger, burning bright</span> <span
+ class="i0">In the forests of the night,</span> <span class="i0">What
+ immortal hand or eye</span> <span class="i0">Dare frame thy fearful
+ symmetry?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Blake.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xlii">XLII</a></small><br />DEFIANCE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The wretch's destinie:</span> <span
+ class="i0">M'Pherson's time will not be long</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ yonder gallows tree.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sae rantingly, sae
+ wantonly,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sae
+ dauntingly gaed he;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He
+ played a spring and danced it round,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Below
+ the gallows tree.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Oh, what is death but parting breath?&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On monie a bloody plain</span> <span
+ class="i0">I've dared his face, and in this place</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I scorn him yet again!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page96" id="page96" title="96"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Untie these bands from off my hands,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And bring to me my sword!</span> <span
+ class="i0">And there's no a man in all Scotland,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But I'll brave him at a word.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I've lived a life of sturt and strife;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I die by treacherie:</span> <span
+ class="i0">It burns my heart I must depart</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ not aveng&egrave;d be.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And all beneath the sky!</span> <span
+ class="i0">May coward shame distain his name,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The wretch that dares not die!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sae rantingly, sae
+ wantonly,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sae
+ dauntingly gaed he;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He
+ played a spring and danced it round,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Below
+ the gallows tree.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Burns.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xliii">XLIII</a></small><br />THE GOAL OF LIFE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Should auld acquaintance be forgot,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And never brought to min'?</span> <span
+ class="i0">Should auld acquaintance be forgot,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And days o' lang syne?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For auld lang syne,
+ my dear,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ auld lang syne,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;We'll
+ tak a cup o' kindness yet</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ auld lang syne.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page97" id="page97" title="97"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And surely I'll be mine;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For auld lang syne.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We twa hae run about the braes,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And pu'd the gowans fine;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But we've wandered mony a weary foot</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sin' auld lang syne.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We twa hae paidled i' the burn</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From mornin' sun till dine;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But seas between us braid hae roared</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sin' auld lang syne.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And gie's a hand o' thine;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For auld lang syne.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For auld lang syne,
+ my dear,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ auld lang syne,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;We'll
+ tak a cup o' kindness yet</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ auld lang syne.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Burns.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xliv">XLIV</a></small><br />BEFORE PARTING
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;An' fill it in a silver tassie;</span> <span
+ class="i0">That I may drink before I go</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ service to my bonnie lassie.</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page98" id="page98" title="98"></a> <span class="i0">The boat
+ rocks at the pier o' Leith,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fu'
+ loud the wind blaws frae the ferry,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ ship rides by the Berwick-law,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ I maun leave my bonnie Mary.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The trumpets sound, the banners fly,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The glittering spears are rank&egrave;d ready,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The shouts o' war are heard afar,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The battle closes thick and bloody;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But it's no the roar o' sea or shore</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wad mak me langer wish to tarry,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Nor shout o' war that's heard afar,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Burns.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xlv">XLV</a></small><br />DEVOTION
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O Mary, at thy window be,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;It
+ is the wished, the trysted hour!</span> <span class="i0">Those
+ smiles and glances let me see,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ mak the miser's treasure poor.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;How
+ blythely wad I bide the stoure,</span> <span class="i0">A weary
+ slave frae sun to sun,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Could I
+ the rich reward secure,</span> <span class="i0">The lovely Mary
+ Morison!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yestreen, when to the trembling string</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The dance gaed through the lighted ha',</span>
+ <span class="i0">To thee my fancy took its wing,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I sat, but neither heard or saw;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page99" id="page99" title="99"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And yon the toast of a' the toun,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I sighed, and said amang them a',</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Ye are na Mary Morison.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or canst thou break that heart of his</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whase only faut is loving thee?</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;If love for love thou wilt na gie,</span>
+ <span class="i0">At least be pity to me shown!</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A thought ungentle canna be</span> <span
+ class="i0">The thought o' Mary Morison.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Burns.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xlvi">XLVI</a></small><br />TRUE UNTIL DEATH
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">It was a' for our rightfu' King,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We left fair Scotland's strand;</span> <span
+ class="i0">It was a' for our rightfu' King</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We
+ e'er saw Irish land,</span> <span class="i8">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My
+ dear,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We e'er saw Irish land.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now a' is done that men can do,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And a' is done in vain;</span> <span
+ class="i0">My love and native land farewell,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ I maun cross the main,</span> <span class="i8">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My
+ dear,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For I maun cross the
+ main.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page100" id="page100" title="100"></a> <span
+ class="i0">He turned him right and round about</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon the Irish shore;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ gae his bridle-reins a shake,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ adieu for evermore,</span> <span class="i8">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My
+ dear,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Adieu for evermore.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The sodger from the wars returns,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The sailor frae the main;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But I hae parted frae my love,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Never
+ to meet again,</span> <span class="i8">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My
+ dear,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Never to meet again.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When day is gane, and night is come,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And a' folk bound to sleep;</span> <span
+ class="i0">I think on him that's far awa,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ lee-lang night, and weep,</span> <span class="i8">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My
+ dear,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The lee-lang night, and
+ weep.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Burns.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xlvii">XLVII</a></small><br />VENICE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee</span>
+ <span class="i0">And was the safeguard of the West: the worth</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of Venice did not fall below her birth,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.</span> <span
+ class="i0">She was a maiden City, bright and free;</span> <span
+ class="i0">No guile seduced, no force could violate;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, when she took unto herself a Mate,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page101" id="page101" title="101"></a> <span
+ class="i0">She must espouse the everlasting Sea.</span> <span
+ class="i0">And what if she had seen those glories fade,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid</span>
+ <span class="i0">When her long life hath reached its final day:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of that which once was great is passed away.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Wordsworth.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xlvii">XLVIII</a></small><br />DESTINY
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">It is not to be thought of that the Flood</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of British freedom, which, to the open sea</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hath flowed, &lsquo;with pomp of waters, unwithstood,&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Roused though it be full often to a mood</span>
+ <span class="i0">Which spurns the check of salutary bands,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands</span>
+ <span class="i0">Should perish; and to evil and to good</span>
+ <span class="i0">Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung</span>
+ <span class="i0">Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:</span>
+ <span class="i0">We must be free or die, who speak the tongue</span>
+ <span class="i0">That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold</span>
+ <span class="i0">Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Wordsworth.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xlvii">XLIX</a></small><br />THE MOTHERLAND
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When I have borne in memory what has tamed</span>
+ <span class="i0">Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page102" id="page102" title="102"></a> <span
+ class="i0">When men change swords for ledgers, and desert</span>
+ <span class="i0">The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed</span>
+ <span class="i0">I had, my Country!&mdash;am I to be blamed?</span>
+ <span class="i0">But when I think of thee, and what thou art,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Verily, in the bottom of my heart,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.</span> <span
+ class="i0">But dearly must we prize thee; we who find</span> <span
+ class="i0">In thee a bulwark for the cause of men;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And I by my affection was beguiled.</span> <span
+ class="i0">What wonder if a Poet now and then,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Among the many movements of his mind,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Felt for thee as a lover or a child!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Wordsworth.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xlvii">L</a></small><br />IDEAL
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:</span>
+ <span class="i0">England hath need of thee; she is a fen</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Have forfeited their ancient English dower</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Oh! raise us up, return to us again;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,</span>
+ <span class="i0">So didst thou travel on life's common way,</span>
+ <span class="i0">In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart</span>
+ <span class="i0">The lowliest duties on itself did lay.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Wordsworth.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page103" id="page103" title="103"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_xlvii">LI</a></small><br />TO DUTY
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O Duty! if that name thou love</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who art a light to guide, a rod</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To check the erring, and reprove;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thou, who art victory and law</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When empty terrors overawe;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From vain temptations dost set free;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;There are who ask not if thine eye</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Be on them; who, in love and truth,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where no misgiving is, rely</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon the genial sense of youth:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who do thy work, and know it not:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;May joy be theirs while life shall last!</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand
+ fast!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Serene will be our days and bright,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And happy will our nature be,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When love is an unerring light,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And joy its own security.</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And they a blissful course may hold</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Even now, who, not unwisely bold,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Live in the spirit of this creed;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet find that other strength, according to their need.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page104" id="page104" title="104"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I, loving freedom, and untried;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;No sport of every random gust,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Yet being to myself a guide,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Too blindly have reposed my trust:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And oft, when in my heart was heard</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thy timely mandate, I deferred</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The task, in smoother walks to stray;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Through no disturbance of my soul</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or strong compunction in me wrought,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I supplicate for thy control;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But in the quietness of thought:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Me this unchartered freedom tires;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I feel the weight of chance-desires:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My hopes no more must change their name,</span>
+ <span class="i0">I long for a repose that ever is the same.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The Godhead's most benignant grace;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor know we anything so fair</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As is the smile upon thy face:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Flowers laugh before thee on their beds</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And fragrance in thy footing treads;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh
+ and strong.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To humbler functions, awful Power!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I call thee: I myself commend</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Unto thy guidance from this hour;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O let my weakness have an end!</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page105" id="page105" title="105"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Give unto me, made lowly wise,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The spirit of self-sacrifice;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The confidence of reason give;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Wordsworth.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xlvii">LII</a></small><br />TWO VICTORIES
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I said, when evil men are strong,</span> <span
+ class="i0">No life is good, no pleasure long,</span> <span
+ class="i0">A weak and cowardly untruth!</span> <span class="i0">Our
+ Clifford was a happy Youth,</span> <span class="i0">And thankful
+ through a weary time</span> <span class="i0">That brought him up to
+ manhood's prime.</span> <span class="i0">Again, he wanders forth at
+ will,</span> <span class="i0">And tends a flock from hill to hill:</span>
+ <span class="i0">His garb is humble; ne'er was seen</span> <span
+ class="i0">Such garb with such a noble mien;</span> <span class="i0">Among
+ the shepherd grooms no mate</span> <span class="i0">Hath he, a
+ Child of strength and state!</span> <span class="i0">Yet lacks not
+ friends for simple glee,</span> <span class="i0">Nor yet for higher
+ sympathy.</span> <span class="i0">To his side the fallow-deer</span>
+ <span class="i0">Came, and rested without fear;</span> <span
+ class="i0">The eagle, lord of land and sea,</span> <span class="i0">Stooped
+ down to pay him fealty;</span> <span class="i0">And both the
+ undying fish that swim</span> <span class="i0">Through
+ Bowscale-Tarn did wait on him;</span> <span class="i0">The pair
+ were servants of his eye</span> <span class="i0">In their
+ immortality;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page106" id="page106"
+ title="106"></a> <span class="i0">And glancing, gleaming, dark or
+ bright,</span> <span class="i0">Moved to and fro, for his delight.</span>
+ <span class="i0">He knew the rocks which Angels haunt</span> <span
+ class="i0">Upon the mountains visitant;</span> <span class="i0">He
+ hath kenned them taking wing:</span> <span class="i0">And into
+ caves where Faeries sing</span> <span class="i0">He hath entered;
+ and been told</span> <span class="i0">By Voices how men lived of
+ old.</span> <span class="i0">Among the heavens his eye can see</span>
+ <span class="i0">The face of thing that is to be;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, if that men report him right,</span> <span
+ class="i0">His tongue could whisper words of might.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Now another day is come,</span> <span class="i0">Fitter
+ hope, and nobler doom;</span> <span class="i0">He hath thrown aside
+ his crook,</span> <span class="i0">And hath buried deep his book;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Armour rusting in his halls</span> <span class="i0">On
+ the blood of Clifford calls:</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Quell
+ the Scot!&rsquo; exclaims the Lance;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Bear
+ me to the heart of France,&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">Is the
+ longing of the Shield;</span> <span class="i0">Tell thy name, thou
+ trembling field;</span> <span class="i0">Field of death, where'er
+ thou be,</span> <span class="i0">Groan thou with our victory!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Happy day, and mighty hour,</span> <span class="i0">When
+ our Shepherd in his power,</span> <span class="i0">Mailed and
+ horsed, with lance and sword,</span> <span class="i0">To his
+ ancestors restored</span> <span class="i0">Like a reappearing Star,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Like a glory from afar,</span> <span class="i0">First
+ shall head the flock of war!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Wordsworth.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page107" id="page107" title="107"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_liii">LIII</a></small><br />IN MEMORIAM<small>NELSON:
+ PITT: FOX</small>
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To mute and to material things</span>
+ <span class="i0">New life revolving summer brings;</span> <span
+ class="i0">The genial call dead Nature hears,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And in her glory reappears.</span> <span class="i0">But
+ O my Country's wintry state</span> <span class="i0">What second
+ spring shall renovate?</span> <span class="i0">What powerful call
+ shall bid arise</span> <span class="i0">The buried warlike and the
+ wise;</span> <span class="i0">The mind that thought for Britain's
+ weal,</span> <span class="i0">The hand that grasped the victor
+ steel?</span> <span class="i0">The vernal sun new life bestows</span>
+ <span class="i0">Even on the meanest flower that blows;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But vainly, vainly may he shine,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where glory weeps o'er <strong>Nelson's</strong> shrine;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And vainly pierce the solemn gloom,</span> <span
+ class="i0">That shrouds, O <strong>Pitt</strong>, thy hallowed tomb!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Deep graved in every British heart,</span>
+ <span class="i0">O never let those names depart!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Say to your sons,&mdash;Lo, here his grave,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Who victor died on Gadite wave;</span> <span class="i0">To
+ him, as to the burning levin,</span> <span class="i0">Short,
+ bright, resistless course was given.</span> <span class="i0">Where'er
+ his country's foes were found</span> <span class="i0">Was heard the
+ fated thunder's sound,</span> <span class="i0">Till burst the bolt
+ on yonder shore,</span> <span class="i0">Rolled, blazed, destroyed,&mdash;and
+ was no more.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page108" id="page108" title="108"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor mourn ye less his perished worth,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Who bade the conqueror go forth,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And launched that thunderbolt of war</span> <span
+ class="i0">On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar;</span> <span class="i0">Who,
+ born to guide such high emprise,</span> <span class="i0">For
+ Britain's weal was early wise;</span> <span class="i0">Alas! to
+ whom the Almighty gave,</span> <span class="i0">For Britain's sins,
+ an early grave!</span> <span class="i0">His worth, who in his
+ mightiest hour</span> <span class="i0">A bauble held the pride of
+ power,</span> <span class="i0">Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And served his Albion for herself;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Who, when the frantic crowd amain</span> <span class="i0">Strained
+ at subjection's bursting rein,</span> <span class="i0">O'er their
+ wild mood full conquest gained,</span> <span class="i0">The pride
+ he would not crush restrained,</span> <span class="i0">Showed their
+ fierce zeal a worthier cause,</span> <span class="i0">And brought
+ the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's laws.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Hadst thou but lived, though stripped of
+ power,</span> <span class="i0">A watchman on the lonely tower,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thy thrilling trump had roused the land,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When fraud or danger were at hand;</span> <span
+ class="i0">By thee, as by the beacon-light,</span> <span class="i0">Our
+ pilots had kept course aright;</span> <span class="i0">As some
+ proud column, though alone,</span> <span class="i0">Thy strength
+ had propped the tottering throne</span> <span class="i0">Now is the
+ stately column broke,</span> <span class="i0">The beacon-light is
+ quenched in smoke,</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page109"
+ id="page109" title="109"></a> <span class="i0">The trumpet's silver
+ sound is still,</span> <span class="i0">The warder silent on the
+ hill!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O think, how to his latest day,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When death, just hovering, claimed his prey,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With Palinure's unaltered mood</span> <span
+ class="i0">Firm at his dangerous post he stood;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Each call for needful rest repelled,</span> <span
+ class="i0">With dying hand the rudder held,</span> <span class="i0">Till
+ in his fall with fateful sway,</span> <span class="i0">The steerage
+ of the realm gave way!</span> <span class="i0">Then, while on
+ Britain's thousand plains</span> <span class="i0">One unpolluted
+ church remains,</span> <span class="i0">Whose peaceful bells ne'er
+ sent around</span> <span class="i0">The bloody tocsin's maddening
+ sound,</span> <span class="i0">But still, upon the hallowed day,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Convoke the swains to praise and pray;</span>
+ <span class="i0">While faith and civil peace are dear,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Grace this cold marble with a tear,&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">He, who preserved them, <strong>Pitt</strong>, lies here!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor yet suppress the generous sigh,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Because his rival slumbers nigh;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Nor be thy <i>requiescat</i> dumb,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Lest it be said o'er <strong>Fox's</strong> tomb.</span>
+ <span class="i0">For talents mourn, untimely lost,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When best employed, and wanted most;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Mourn genius high, and lore profound,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And wit that loved to play, not wound;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And all the reasoning powers divine,</span> <span
+ class="i0">To penetrate, resolve, combine;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page110" id="page110" title="110"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And feelings keen, and fancy's glow,&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">They sleep with him who sleeps below:</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, if thou mourn'st they could not save</span> <span
+ class="i0">From error him who owns this grave,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Be every harsher thought suppressed,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And sacred be the last long rest.</span> <span class="i0"><i>Here</i>,
+ where the end of earthly things</span> <span class="i0">Lays
+ heroes, patriots, bards, and kings;</span> <span class="i0">Where
+ stiff the hand, and still the tongue,</span> <span class="i0">Of
+ those who fought, and spoke, and sung;</span> <span class="i0"><i>Here</i>,
+ where the fretted aisles prolong</span> <span class="i0">The
+ distant notes of holy song,</span> <span class="i0">As if some
+ angel spoke agen,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;All peace on
+ earth, good-will to men&rsquo;;</span> <span class="i0">If ever
+ from an English heart</span> <span class="i0">O, <i>here</i> let
+ prejudice depart,</span> <span class="i0">And, partial feeling cast
+ aside,</span> <span class="i0">Record, that <strong>Fox</strong> a
+ Briton died!</span> <span class="i0">When Europe crouched to
+ France's yoke,</span> <span class="i0">And Austria bent, and
+ Prussia broke,</span> <span class="i0">And the firm Russian's
+ purpose brave</span> <span class="i0">Was bartered by a timorous
+ slave,</span> <span class="i0">Even then dishonour's peace he
+ spurned,</span> <span class="i0">The sullied olive-branch returned,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Stood for his country's glory fast,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And nailed her colours to the mast!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave</span> <span
+ class="i0">A portion in this honoured grave,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ ne'er held marble in its trust</span> <span class="i0">Of two such
+ wondrous men the dust.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page111" id="page111" title="111"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With more than mortal powers endowed,</span>
+ <span class="i0">How high they soared above the crowd!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Theirs was no common party race,</span> <span class="i0">Jostling
+ by dark intrigue for place;</span> <span class="i0">Like fabled
+ Gods, their mighty war</span> <span class="i0">Shook realms and
+ nations in its jar;</span> <span class="i0">Beneath each banner
+ proud to stand,</span> <span class="i0">Looked up the noblest of
+ the land,</span> <span class="i0">Till through the British world
+ were known</span> <span class="i0">The names of <strong>Pitt</strong>
+ and <strong>Fox</strong> alone.</span> <span class="i0">Spells of
+ such force no wizard grave</span> <span class="i0">E'er framed in
+ dark Thessalian cave,</span> <span class="i0">Though his could
+ drain the ocean dry,</span> <span class="i0">And force the planets
+ from the sky.</span> <span class="i0">These spells are spent, and,
+ spent with these</span> <span class="i0">The wine of life is on the
+ lees.</span> <span class="i0">Genius, and taste, and talent gone,</span>
+ <span class="i0">For ever tombed beneath the stone,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where&mdash;taming thought to human pride!&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Drop upon <strong>Fox's</strong> grave the tear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">'Twill trickle to his rival's bier;</span> <span
+ class="i0">O'er <strong>Pitt's</strong> the mournful requiem sound,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And <strong>Fox's</strong> shall the notes rebound.</span>
+ <span class="i0">The solemn echo seems to cry,&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Here let their discord with them die.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Speak not for those a separate doom</span> <span
+ class="i0">Whom fate made Brothers in the tomb;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But search the land of living men,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where wilt thou find their like agen?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Scott.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page112" id="page112" title="112"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_liii">LIV</a></small><br />LOCHINVAR
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,</span>
+ <span class="i0">He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.</span>
+ <span class="i0">So faithful in love and so dauntless in war,</span>
+ <span class="i0">There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,</span>
+ <span class="i0">He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The bride had consented, the gallant came late;</span>
+ <span class="i0">For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,</span>
+ <span class="i0">(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And now am I come with this lost love of mine</span>
+ <span class="i0">To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.</span>
+ <span class="i0">There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far</span>
+ <span title="Closing quote missing in original" class="i0">That would
+ gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page113" id="page113" title="113"></a> <span
+ class="i0">The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up,</span>
+ <span class="i0">He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.</span>
+ <span class="i0">She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.</span>
+ <span class="i0">He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Now tread we a measure!&rsquo; said young
+ Lochinvar.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">So stately his form, and so lovely her face,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That never a hall such a galliard did grace;</span>
+ <span class="i0">While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the bride-maidens whispered, &lsquo;'Twere better
+ by far,</span> <span class="i0">To have matched our fair cousin
+ with young Lochinvar.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood
+ near;</span> <span class="i0">So light to the croup the fair lady
+ he swung,</span> <span class="i0">So light to the saddle before her
+ he sprung!</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;She is won! we are gone,
+ over bank, bush, and scaur;</span> <span class="i0">They'll have
+ fleet steeds that follow,&rsquo; quoth young Lochinvar.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">There was mounting 'mong Gr&aelig;mes of the Netherby
+ clan;</span> <span class="i0">Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves,
+ they rode and they ran:</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page114"
+ id="page114" title="114"></a> <span class="i0">There was racing and
+ chasing on Cannobie Lee,</span> <span class="i0">But the lost bride
+ of Netherby ne'er did they see.</span> <span class="i0">So daring
+ in love and so dauntless in war,</span> <span class="i0">Have ye
+ e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Scott.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_liii">LV</a></small><br />FLODDEN
+ </h2>
+ <h3>
+ THE MARCH
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Next morn the Baron climbed the tower,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To view afar the Scottish power</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Encamped on Flodden edge:</span> <span
+ class="i0">The white pavilions made a show,</span> <span class="i0">Like
+ remnants of the winter snow,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Along
+ the dusky ridge.</span> <span class="i0">Long Marmion looked: at
+ length his eye</span> <span class="i0">Unusual movement might
+ descry</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Amid the shifting lines:</span>
+ <span class="i0">The Scottish host drawn out appears,</span> <span
+ class="i0">For flashing on the hedge of spears</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The eastern sunbeam shines.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Their front now deepening, now extending;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Now drawing back, and now descending,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The skilful Marmion well could know,</span> <span
+ class="i0">They watched the motions of some foe</span> <span
+ class="i0">Who traversed on the plain below.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Even so it was. From Flodden ridge</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The Scots beheld the English host</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page115" id="page115" title="115"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And heedful watched them as they crossed</span>
+ <span class="i0">The Till by Twisel bridge.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;High
+ sight it is and haughty, while</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They
+ dive into the deep defile;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Beneath
+ the caverned cliff they fall,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Beneath
+ the castle's airy wall.</span> <span class="i0">By rock, by oak, by
+ hawthorn-tree,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Troop after
+ troop are disappearing;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Troop
+ after troop their banners rearing</span> <span class="i0">Upon the
+ eastern bank you see.</span> <span class="i0">Still pouring down
+ the rocky den,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where flows the
+ sullen Till,</span> <span class="i0">And rising from the dim-wood
+ glen,</span> <span class="i0">Standards on standards, men on men,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In slow succession still,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And pressing on in ceaseless march,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To gain the opposing hill.</span> <span
+ class="i0">That morn to many a trumpet clang,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Twisel! thy rocks deep echo rang;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ many a chief of birth and rank,</span> <span class="i0">Saint
+ Helen! at thy fountain drank.</span> <span class="i0">Thy hawthorn
+ glade, which now we see</span> <span class="i0">In spring-tide
+ bloom so lavishly,</span> <span class="i0">Had then from many an
+ axe its doom,</span> <span class="i0">To give the marching columns
+ room.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And why stands Scotland idly now,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Dark Flodden! on thy airy brow,</span> <span class="i0">Since
+ England gains the pass the while,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ struggles through the deep defile?</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page116" id="page116" title="116"></a> <span class="i0">What
+ checks the fiery soul of James?</span> <span class="i0">Why sits
+ that champion of the dames</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Inactive
+ on his steed,</span> <span class="i0">And sees between him and his
+ land,</span> <span class="i0">Between him and Tweed's southern
+ strand,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His host Lord Surrey
+ lead?</span> <span class="i0">What 'vails the vain knight-errant's
+ brand?</span> <span class="i0">O, Douglas, for thy leading wand!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fierce Randolph, for thy speed!</span>
+ <span class="i0">O for one hour of Wallace wight,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And cry &lsquo;Saint Andrew and our right!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Another sight had seen that morn,</span> <span
+ class="i0">From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And Flodden had been Bannockburn!</span> <span class="i0">The
+ precious hour has passed in vain,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ England's host has gained the plain;</span> <span class="i0">Wheeling
+ their march, and circling still,</span> <span class="i0">Around the
+ base of Flodden hill.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE ATTACK
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;But see! look up&mdash;on Flodden bent</span>
+ <span class="i0">The Scottish foe has fired his tent.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And sudden, as he spoke,</span> <span
+ class="i0">From the sharp ridges of the hill,</span> <span
+ class="i0">All downward to the banks of Till</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was
+ wreathed in sable smoke.</span> <span class="i0">Volumed and fast,
+ and rolling far,</span> <span class="i0">The cloud enveloped
+ Scotland's war,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As down the
+ hill they broke;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page117"
+ id="page117" title="117"></a> <span class="i0">Nor martial shout nor
+ minstrel tone</span> <span class="i0">Announced their march; their
+ tread alone,</span> <span class="i0">At times one warning trumpet
+ blown,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;At times a stifled hum,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Told England, from his mountain-throne</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;King James did rushing come.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Scarce could they hear, or see their foes,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Until at weapon-point they close.</span>
+ <span class="i0">They close in clouds of smoke and dust,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With sword-sway and with lance's thrust;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And such a yell was there</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of sudden and portentous birth,</span> <span class="i0">As
+ if men fought upon the earth</span> <span class="i0">And fiends in
+ upper air;</span> <span class="i0">O life and death were in the
+ shout,</span> <span class="i0">Recoil and rally, charge and rout,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And triumph and despair.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Long looked the anxious squires; their eye</span> <span
+ class="i0">Could in the darkness nought descry.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">At length the freshening western blast</span>
+ <span class="i0">Aside the shroud of battle cast;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And first the ridge of mingled spears</span> <span
+ class="i0">Above the brightening cloud appears;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And in the smoke the pennons flew,</span> <span
+ class="i0">As in the storm the white sea-mew.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then marked they, dashing broad and far,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The broken billows of the war,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ plum&egrave;d crests of chieftains brave</span> <span class="i0">Floating
+ like foam upon the wave;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ nought distinct they see:</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page118"
+ id="page118" title="118"></a> <span class="i0">Wide raged the battle on
+ the plain;</span> <span class="i0">Spears shook, and falchions
+ flashed amain;</span> <span class="i0">Fell England's arrow-flight
+ like rain;</span> <span class="i0">Crests rose, and stooped, and
+ rose again,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wild and
+ disorderly.</span> <span class="i0">Amid the scene of tumult, high</span>
+ <span class="i0">They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly:</span> <span
+ class="i0">And stainless Tunstall's banner white</span> <span
+ class="i0">And Edmund Howard's lion bright</span> <span class="i0">Still
+ bear them bravely in the fight:</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Although
+ against them come</span> <span class="i0">Of gallant Gordons many a
+ one,</span> <span class="i0">And many a stubborn Badenoch-man,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And many a rugged Border clan,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With Huntly and with Home.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Far on the left, unseen the while,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;</span> <span class="i0">Though
+ there the western mountaineer</span> <span class="i0">Rushed with
+ bare bosom on the spear,</span> <span class="i0">And flung the
+ feeble targe aside,</span> <span class="i0">And with both hands the
+ broadsword plied.</span> <span class="i0">'Twas vain: but Fortune,
+ on the right,</span> <span class="i0">With fickle smile cheered
+ Scotland's fight.</span> <span class="i0">Then fell that spotless
+ banner white,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The Howard's lion
+ fell;</span> <span class="i0">Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew</span>
+ <span class="i0">With wavering flight, while fiercer grew</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Around the battle-yell.</span> <span
+ class="i0">The Border slogan rent the sky!</span> <span class="i0">A
+ Home! a Gordon! was the cry:</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page119" id="page119" title="119"></a> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Loud
+ were the clanging blows;</span> <span class="i0">Advanced, forced
+ back, now low, now high,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ pennon sank and rose;</span> <span class="i0">As bends the bark's
+ mast in the gale,</span> <span class="i0">When rent are rigging,
+ shrouds, and sail,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;It wavered
+ 'mid the foes.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE LAST STAND
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">By this, though deep the evening fell,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Still rose the battle's deadly swell,</span> <span
+ class="i0">For still the Scots, around their King,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Unbroken, fought in desperate ring.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where's now their victor vaward wing,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where Huntly, and where Home?</span> <span
+ class="i0">O for a blast of that dread horn,</span> <span class="i0">On
+ Fontarabian echoes borne,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ to King Charles did come,</span> <span class="i0">When Roland
+ brave, and Olivier,</span> <span class="i0">And every paladin and
+ peer,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On Roncesvalles died!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Such blast might warn them, not in vain,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To quit the plunder of the slain,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And turn the doubtful day again,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;While
+ yet on Flodden side</span> <span class="i0">Afar the Royal Standard
+ flies,</span> <span class="i0">And round it toils, and bleeds, and
+ dies</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Our Caledonian pride!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But as they left the dark'ning heath,</span> <span
+ class="i0">More desperate grew the strife of death.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page120" id="page120" title="120"></a> <span
+ class="i0">The English shafts in volleys hailed,</span> <span
+ class="i0">In headlong charge their horse assailed;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep</span> <span
+ class="i0">To break the Scottish circle deep</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ fought around their King.</span> <span class="i0">But yet, though
+ thick the shafts as snow,</span> <span class="i0">Though charging
+ knights like whirlwinds go,</span> <span class="i0">Though bill-men
+ ply the ghastly blow,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Unbroken
+ was the ring;</span> <span class="i0">The stubborn spear-men still
+ made good</span> <span class="i0">Their dark impenetrable wood,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Each stepping where his comrade stood,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The instant that he fell.</span> <span
+ class="i0">No thought was there of dastard flight;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Linked in the serried phalanx tight,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As fearlessly and well;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Till utter darkness closed her wing</span> <span
+ class="i0">O'er their thin host and wounded King.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then skilful Surrey's sage commands</span> <span
+ class="i0">Led back from strife his shattered bands;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And from the charge they drew,</span> <span class="i0">As
+ mountain waves from wasted lands</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sweep
+ back to ocean blue.</span> <span class="i0">Then did their loss his
+ foemen know;</span> <span class="i0">Their King, their Lords, their
+ mightiest low,</span> <span class="i0">They melted from the field,
+ as snow,</span> <span class="i0">When streams are swoln and south
+ winds blow,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Dissolves in silent
+ dew.</span> <span class="i0">Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless
+ plash,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;While many a broken band</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page121" id="page121" title="121"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Disordered through her currents dash,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To gain the Scottish land;</span> <span
+ class="i0">To town and tower, to town and dale,</span> <span
+ class="i0">To tell red Flodden's dismal tale,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And raise the universal wail.</span> <span class="i0">Tradition,
+ legend, tune, and song</span> <span class="i0">Shall many an age
+ that wail prolong:</span> <span class="i0">Still from the sire the
+ son shall hear</span> <span class="i0">Of the stern strife and
+ carnage drear</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of Flodden's
+ fatal field,</span> <span class="i0">Where shivered was fair
+ Scotland's spear,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And broken
+ was her shield!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Scott.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_liii">LVI</a></small><br />THE CHASE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The stag at eve had drunk his fill,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where danced the moon on Monan's rill,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And deep his midnight lair had made</span> <span
+ class="i0">In lone Glenartney's hazel shade;</span> <span class="i0">But,
+ when the sun his beacon red</span> <span class="i0">Had kindled on
+ Benvoirlich's head,</span> <span class="i0">The deep-mouthed
+ bloodhound's heavy bay</span> <span class="i0">Resounded up the
+ rocky way,</span> <span class="i0">And faint from farther distance
+ borne</span> <span class="i0">Were heard the clanging hoof and
+ horn.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">As Chief, who hears his warder call,</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;To arms! the foemen storm the wall,&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The antlered monarch of the waste</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sprang from his heathery couch in haste.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page122" id="page122" title="122"></a> <span
+ class="i0">But, ere his fleet career he took,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The dew-drops from his flanks he shook;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Like crested leader proud and high,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky;</span> <span
+ class="i0">A moment gazed adown the dale,</span> <span class="i0">A
+ moment snuffed the tainted gale,</span> <span class="i0">A moment
+ listened to the cry</span> <span class="i0">That thickened as the
+ chase drew nigh;</span> <span class="i0">Then, as the headmost foes
+ appeared,</span> <span class="i0">With one brave bound the copse he
+ cleared,</span> <span class="i0">And, stretching forward free and
+ far,</span> <span class="i0">Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yelled on the view the opening pack;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back:</span> <span
+ class="i0">To many a mingled sound at once</span> <span class="i0">The
+ awakened mountain gave response.</span> <span class="i0">A hundred
+ dogs bayed deep and strong,</span> <span class="i0">Clattered a
+ hundred steeds along,</span> <span class="i0">Their peal the merry
+ horns rang out,</span> <span class="i0">A hundred voices joined the
+ shout;</span> <span class="i0">With hark and whoop and wild halloo</span>
+ <span class="i0">No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Far from the tumult fled the roe,</span> <span class="i0">Close
+ in her covert cowered the doe,</span> <span class="i0">The falcon
+ from her cairn on high</span> <span class="i0">Cast on the rout a
+ wondering eye,</span> <span class="i0">Till far beyond her piercing
+ ken</span> <span class="i0">The hurricane had swept the glen.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Faint and more faint, its failing din</span> <span
+ class="i0">Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page123" id="page123" title="123"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And silence settled wide and still</span> <span
+ class="i0">On the lone wood and mighty hill.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Less loud the sounds of silvan war</span> <span
+ class="i0">Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ roused the cavern where, 'tis told,</span> <span class="i0">A giant
+ made his den of old;</span> <span class="i0">For ere that steep
+ ascent was won,</span> <span class="i0">High in his pathway hung
+ the sun,</span> <span class="i0">And many a gallant, stayed
+ perforce,</span> <span class="i0">Was fain to breathe his faltering
+ horse,</span> <span class="i0">And of the trackers of the deer</span>
+ <span class="i0">Scarce half the lessening pack was near;</span>
+ <span class="i0">So shrewdly on the mountain-side</span> <span
+ class="i0">Had the bold burst their mettle tried.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The noble stag was pausing now</span> <span
+ class="i0">Upon the mountain's southern brow,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where broad extended, far beneath,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The varied realms of fair Menteith.</span> <span
+ class="i0">With anxious eye he wandered o'er</span> <span class="i0">Mountain
+ and meadow, moss and moor,</span> <span class="i0">And pondered
+ refuge from his toil</span> <span class="i0">By far Lochard or
+ Aberfoyle.</span> <span class="i0">But nearer was the copsewood
+ grey</span> <span class="i0">That waved and wept on Loch-Achray,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And mingled with the pine-trees blue</span> <span
+ class="i0">On the bold cliffs of Benvenue.</span> <span class="i0">Fresh
+ vigour with the hope returned,</span> <span class="i0">With flying
+ foot the heath he spurned,</span> <span class="i0">Held westward
+ with unwearied race,</span> <span class="i0">And left behind the
+ panting chase.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page124" id="page124" title="124"></a> <span
+ class="i0">'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er,</span> <span
+ class="i0">As swept the hunt through Cambus-more;</span> <span
+ class="i0">What reins were tightened in despair,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When rose Benledi's ridge in air;</span> <span class="i0">Who
+ flagged upon Bochastle's heath,</span> <span class="i0">Who shunned
+ to stem the flooded Teith,</span> <span class="i0">For twice that
+ day from shore to shore</span> <span class="i0">The gallant stag
+ swam stoutly o'er.</span> <span class="i0">Few were the stragglers,
+ following far,</span> <span class="i0">That reached the lake of
+ Vennachar;</span> <span class="i0">And when the Brigg of Turk was
+ won,</span> <span class="i0">The headmost horseman rode alone.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Alone, but with unbated zeal,</span> <span
+ class="i0">That horseman plied the scourge and steel;</span> <span
+ class="i0">For jaded now and spent with toil,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Embossed with foam and dark with soil,</span> <span
+ class="i0">While every gasp with sobs he drew,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The labouring stag strained full in view.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Fast on his flying traces came</span> <span class="i0">And
+ all but won that desperate game;</span> <span class="i0">For scarce
+ a spear's length from his haunch</span> <span class="i0">Vindictive
+ toiled the bloodhounds staunch;</span> <span class="i0">Nor nearer
+ might the dogs attain,</span> <span class="i0">Nor farther might
+ the quarry strain.</span> <span class="i0">Thus up the margin of
+ the lake,</span> <span class="i0">Between the precipice and brake,</span>
+ <span class="i0">O'er stock and rock their race they take.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page125" id="page125" title="125"></a> <span
+ class="i0">The Hunter marked that mountain high,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The lone lake's western boundary,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ deemed the stag must turn to bay</span> <span class="i0">Where that
+ huge rampart barred the way;</span> <span class="i0">Already
+ glorying in the prize,</span> <span class="i0">Measured his antlers
+ with his eyes;</span> <span class="i0">For the death-wound and
+ death-halloo</span> <span class="i0">Mustered his breath, his
+ whinyard drew;</span> <span class="i0">But thundering as he came
+ prepared,</span> <span class="i0">With ready arm and weapon bared,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The wily quarry shunned the shock,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And turned him from the opposing rock;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then, dashing down a darksome glen,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,</span> <span
+ class="i0">In the deep Trosach's wildest nook</span> <span
+ class="i0">His solitary refuge took.</span> <span class="i0">There,
+ while close couched, the thicket shed</span> <span class="i0">Cold
+ dews and wild-flowers on his head,</span> <span class="i0">He heard
+ the baffled dogs in vain</span> <span class="i0">Rave through the
+ hollow pass amain,</span> <span class="i0">Chiding the rocks that
+ yelled again.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Close on the hounds the hunter came,</span> <span
+ class="i0">To cheer them on the vanished game;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But, stumbling in the rugged dell,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The gallant horse exhausted fell.</span> <span class="i0">The
+ impatient rider strove in vain</span> <span class="i0">To rouse him
+ with the spur and rein,</span> <span class="i0">For the good steed,
+ his labours o'er,</span> <span class="i0">Stretched his stiff
+ limbs, to rise no more;</span> <span class="i0">Then touched with
+ pity and remorse</span> <span class="i0">He sorrowed o'er the
+ expiring horse.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page126"
+ id="page126" title="126"></a> <span class="i0">&lsquo;I little thought,
+ when first thy rein</span> <span class="i0">I slacked upon the
+ banks of Seine,</span> <span class="i0">That Highland eagle e'er
+ should feed</span> <span class="i0">On thy fleet limbs, my
+ matchless steed!</span> <span class="i0">Woe worth the chase, woe
+ worth the day,</span> <span class="i0">That costs thy life, my
+ gallant grey!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then through the dell his horn resounds,</span>
+ <span class="i0">From vain pursuit to call the hounds.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Back limped with slow and crippled pace</span> <span
+ class="i0">The sulky leaders of the chase;</span> <span class="i0">Close
+ to their master's side they pressed,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ drooping tail and humbled crest;</span> <span class="i0">But still
+ the dingle's hollow throat</span> <span class="i0">Prolonged the
+ swelling bugle-note.</span> <span class="i0">The owlets started
+ from their dream,</span> <span class="i0">The eagles answered with
+ their scream,</span> <span class="i0">Round and around the sounds
+ were cast,</span> <span class="i0">Till echoes seemed an answering
+ blast;</span> <span class="i0">And on the hunter hied his way,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To join some comrades of the day.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Scott.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_liii">LVII</a></small><br />THE OUTLAW
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O, Brignall banks are wild and fair,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And Greta woods are green,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And you may gather garlands there</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Would
+ grace a summer queen.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page127"
+ id="page127" title="127"></a> <span class="i0">And as I rode by
+ Dalton-hall,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Beneath the
+ turrets high,</span> <span class="i0">A Maiden on the castle wall</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was singing merrily:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And Greta woods are green;</span>
+ <span class="i0">I'd rather rove with Edmund there</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Than reign our English queen.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To leave both tower and town,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thou first must guess what life lead we</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That dwell by dale and down.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And if thou canst that riddle read,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As read full well you may,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As blythe as Queen of May.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet sang she, &lsquo;Brignall banks are fair,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And Greta woods are green;</span>
+ <span class="i0">I'd rather rove with Edmund there</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Than reign our English queen.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I read you, by your bugle-horn</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And by your palfrey good,</span> <span
+ class="i0">I read you for a Ranger sworn</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ keep the king's greenwood.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;A
+ Ranger, lady, winds his horn,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ 'tis at peep of light;</span> <span class="i0">His blast is heard
+ at merry morn,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And mine at dead
+ of night.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page128" id="page128" title="128"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Yet sang she &lsquo;Brignall banks are fair,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And Greta woods are gay;</span> <span
+ class="i0">I would I were with Edmund there,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ reign his Queen of May!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">With burnished brand and musketoon</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;So gallantly you come,</span> <span
+ class="i0">I read you for a bold Dragoon</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ lists the tuck of drum.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;I
+ list no more the tuck of drum,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;No
+ more the trumpet hear;</span> <span class="i0">But when the beetle
+ sounds his hum,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My comrades
+ take the spear.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And O! though Brignall banks be fair,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And Greta woods be gay,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Yet mickle must the maiden dare</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Would
+ reign my Queen of May!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Maiden! a nameless life I lead,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A nameless death I'll die!</span> <span
+ class="i0">The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Were better mate than I!</span> <span
+ class="i0">And when I'm with my comrades met,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Beneath the Greenwood bough,</span> <span
+ class="i0">What once we were we all forget,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor
+ think what we are now.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And Greta woods are green,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And you may gather garlands there</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Would grace a summer queen.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Scott.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page129" id="page129" title="129"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_liii">LVIII</a></small><br />PIBROCH
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Pibroch
+ of Donuil,</span> <span class="i0">Wake thy wild voice anew,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Summon Clan-Conuil.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Come away, come away,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Hark
+ to the summons!</span> <span class="i0">Come in your war array,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Gentles and commons.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Come from deep glen and</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From
+ mountains so rocky,</span> <span class="i0">The war-pipe and pennon</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Are at Inverlocky.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Come every hill-plaid and</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;True
+ heart that wears one,</span> <span class="i0">Come every steel
+ blade and</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Strong hand that
+ bears one.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Leave untended the herd,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ flock without shelter;</span> <span class="i0">Leave the corpse
+ uninterred,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The bride at the
+ altar;</span> <span class="i0">Leave the deer, leave the steer,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Leave nets and barges:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Come with your fighting gear,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Broadswords
+ and targes.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page130" id="page130" title="130"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Come as the winds come when</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Forests
+ are rended,</span> <span class="i0">Come as the waves come when</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Navies are stranded:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Faster come, faster come,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Faster
+ and faster,</span> <span class="i0">Chief, vassal, page and groom,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Tenant and master.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Fast they come, fast they come;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;See how they gather!</span> <span class="i0">Wide
+ waves the eagle plume</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Blended
+ with heather.</span> <span class="i0">Cast your plaids, draw your
+ blades,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Forward each man set!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Knell
+ for the onset!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Scott.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_liii">LIX</a></small><br />THE OMNIPOTENT
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Why sitt'st thou by that ruined hall,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thou ag&egrave;d carle so stern and grey?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Dost thou its former pride recall,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or ponder how it passed away?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Know'st thou not me?&rsquo; the Deep Voice
+ cried;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;So long enjoyed,
+ so often misused,</span> <span class="i0">Alternate, in thy fickle
+ pride,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Desired, neglected, and
+ accused!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page131" id="page131" title="131"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Before my breath, like blazing flax,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Man and his marvels pass away!</span> <span
+ class="i0">And changing empires wane and wax,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Are founded, flourish, and decay.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Redeem mine hours&mdash;the space is brief&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;While in my glass the sand-grains shiver,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And measureless thy joy or grief,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When <strong>Time</strong> and thou shalt part
+ for ever!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Scott.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_liii">LX</a></small><br />THE RED HARLAW
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The herring loves the merry moonlight,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The mackerel loves the wind,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But the oyster loves the dredging sang,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For they come of a gentle kind.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And listen, great and sma',</span>
+ <span class="i0">And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That fought on the red Harlaw.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The cronach's cried on Bennachie,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And doun the Don and a',</span> <span
+ class="i0">And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For the sair field of Harlaw.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They hae bridled a hundred black,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With a chafron of steel on each horse's head</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And a good knight upon his back.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page132" id="page132" title="132"></a> <span
+ class="i0">They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ mile, but barely ten,</span> <span class="i0">When Donald came
+ branking down the brae</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wi'
+ twenty thousand men.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Their tartans they were waving wide,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Their glaives were glancing clear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The pibrochs rang frae side to side,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Would deafen ye to hear.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The great Earl in his stirrups stood,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That Highland host to see:</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Now here a knight that's stout and good</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;May prove a jeopardie:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That rides beside my reyne,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And I were Roland Cheyne?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To turn the rein were sin and shame,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To fight were wondrous peril:</span> <span
+ class="i0">What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Were ye Glenallan's Earl?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And ye were Roland Cheyne,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The spur should be in my horse's side,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the bridle upon his mane.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">If they hae twenty thousand blades,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And we twice ten times ten,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And we are mail-clad men.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page133" id="page133" title="133"></a> <span
+ class="i0">My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As through the moorland fern,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Grow cauld for Highland kerne.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Scott.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_liii">LXI</a></small><br />FAREWELL
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Has left its last soft tone with you;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Its next must join the seaward cheer,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And shout among the shouting crew.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The accents which I scarce could form</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Beneath your frown's controlling check,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Must give the word, above the storm,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To cut the mast and clear the wreck.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The timid eye I dared not raise,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The hand that shook when pressed to thine,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Must point the guns upon the chase,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Must bid the deadly cutlass shine.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To all I love, or hope, or fear,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Honour or own, a long adieu!</span> <span
+ class="i0">To all that life has soft and dear,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Farewell! save memory of you!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Scott.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page134" id="page134" title="134"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_liii">LXII</a></small><br />BONNY DUNDEE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns
+ to be broke;</span> <span class="i0">So let each Cavalier who loves
+ honour and me,</span> <span class="i0">Come follow the bonnet of
+ Bonny Dundee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Come saddle your horses, and call up your
+ men;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Come open the West Port,
+ and let me gang free,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And it's
+ room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But the Provost, douce man, said, &lsquo;Just e'en let
+ him be,</span> <span class="i0">The Gude Town is weel quit of that
+ Deil of Dundee.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and
+ slee,</span> <span class="i0">Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou
+ Bonny Dundee!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was crammed,</span>
+ <span class="i0">As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged;</span>
+ <span class="i0">There was spite in each look, there was fear in each
+ e'e,</span> <span class="i0">As they watched for the bonnets of
+ Bonny Dundee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page135" id="page135" title="135"></a> <span
+ class="i0">These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was
+ free,</span> <span class="i0">At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny
+ Dundee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke;</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or
+ three</span> <span class="i0">For the love of the bonnet of Bonny
+ Dundee.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Gordon demands of him which way he goes:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span title="Original begins with single quote" class="i0">There are
+ hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth,</span> <span
+ class="i0">If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the
+ North;</span> <span class="i0">There are wild Duniewassals three
+ thousand times three,</span> <span class="i0">Will cry <i>hoigh!</i>
+ for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">There's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide;</span>
+ <span class="i0">There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash
+ free</span> <span class="i0">At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny
+ Dundee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ere I owe an usurper, I'll couch with the fox;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee,</span>
+ <span class="i0">You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page136" id="page136" title="136"></a> <span
+ class="i0">He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee</span>
+ <span class="i0">Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Come saddle the horses and call up the men,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Come open your gates, and let me gae free,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny
+ Dundee!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Sir Walter Scott.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxiii">LXIII</a></small><br />ROMANCE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">In Xanadu did Kubla Khan</span> <span class="i0">A
+ stately pleasure-dome decree:</span> <span class="i0">Where Alph,
+ the sacred river, ran</span> <span class="i0">Through caverns
+ measureless to man</span> <span class="i0">Down to a sunless sea.</span>
+ <span class="i0">So twice five miles of fertile ground</span> <span
+ class="i0">With walls and towers were girdled round:</span> <span
+ class="i0">And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills</span>
+ <span class="i0">Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And here were forests ancient as the hills,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But O! that deep romantic chasm which slanted</span>
+ <span class="i0">Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!</span>
+ <span class="i0">A savage place! as holy and enchanted</span> <span
+ class="i0">As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted</span> <span
+ class="i0">By woman wailing for her demon-lover!</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page137" id="page137" title="137"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,</span>
+ <span class="i0">As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,</span>
+ <span class="i0">A mighty fountain momently was forced:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst</span>
+ <span class="i0">Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:</span>
+ <span class="i0">And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever</span>
+ <span class="i0">It flung up momently the sacred river.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Five miles meandering with a mazy motion</span>
+ <span class="i0">Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then reached the caverns measureless to man,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:</span>
+ <span class="i0">And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ancestral voices prophesying war!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The shadow of the dome of pleasure</span> <span
+ class="i0">Floated midway on the waves;</span> <span class="i0">Where
+ was heard the mingled measure</span> <span class="i0">From the
+ fountain and the caves.</span> <span class="i0">It was a miracle of
+ rare device,</span> <span class="i0">A sunny pleasure-dome with
+ caves of ice!</span> <span class="i0">A damsel with a dulcimer</span>
+ <span class="i0">In a vision once I saw:</span> <span class="i0">It
+ was an Abyssinian maid,</span> <span class="i0">And on her dulcimer
+ she played,</span> <span class="i0">Singing of Mount Abora.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Could I revive within me</span> <span class="i0">Her
+ symphony and song,</span> <span class="i0">To such a deep delight
+ 'twould win me,</span> <span class="i0">That with music loud and
+ long,</span> <span class="i0">I would build that dome in air,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page138" id="page138" title="138"></a> <span
+ class="i0">That sunny dome! those caves of ice!</span> <span
+ class="i0">And all who heard should see them there,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And all should cry, Beware! Beware!</span> <span
+ class="i0">His flashing eyes, his floating hair!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Weave a circle round him thrice,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ close your eyes with holy dread,</span> <span class="i0">For he on
+ honey-dew hath fed,</span> <span class="i0">And drunk the milk of
+ Paradise.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Coleridge.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxiv">LXIV</a></small><br />SACRIFICE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom</span> <span
+ class="i0">At Aulis, and when all beside the King</span> <span
+ class="i0">Had gone away, took his right hand, and said,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O father! I am young and very happy.</span>
+ <span class="i0">I do not think the pious Calchas heard</span>
+ <span class="i0">Distinctly what the Goddess spake. Old-age</span>
+ <span class="i0">Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew</span>
+ <span class="i0">My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood</span>
+ <span class="i0">While I was resting on her knee both arms</span>
+ <span class="i0">And hitting it to make her mind my words,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And looking in her face, and she in mine,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Might he not also hear one word amiss,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Spoken from so far off, even from Olympus?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The father placed his cheek upon her head,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And tears dropt down it, but the king of men</span>
+ <span class="i0">Replied not. Then the maiden spake once more.</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O father! say'st thou nothing? Hear'st thou not</span>
+ <span class="i0">Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page139" id="page139" title="139"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Listened to fondly, and awakened me</span> <span
+ class="i0">To hear my voice amid the voice of birds,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When it was inarticulate as theirs,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the down deadened it within the nest?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">He moved her gently from him, silent still,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And this, and this alone, brought tears from her,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Although she saw fate nearer: then with sighs,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;I thought to have laid down my hair before</span>
+ <span class="i0">Benignant Artemis, and not have dimmed</span>
+ <span class="i0">Her polisht altar with my virgin blood;</span>
+ <span class="i0">I thought to have selected the white flowers</span>
+ <span class="i0">To please the Nymphs, and to have asked of each</span>
+ <span class="i0">By name, and with no sorrowful regret,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Whether, since both my parents willed the change,</span>
+ <span class="i0">I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipt brow;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And (after those who mind us girls the most)</span>
+ <span class="i0">Adore our own Athena, that she would</span> <span
+ class="i0">Regard me mildly with her azure eyes.</span> <span
+ class="i0">But, father! to see you no more, and see</span> <span
+ class="i0">Your love, O father! go ere I am gone.&rsquo; ...</span>
+ <span class="i0">Gently he moved her off, and drew her back,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Bending his lofty head far over hers,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst.</span>
+ <span class="i0">He turned away; not far, but silent still.</span>
+ <span class="i0">She now first shuddered; for in him, so nigh,</span>
+ <span class="i0">So long a silence seemed the approach of death,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And like it. Once again she raised her voice.</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O father! if the ships are now detained,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And all your vows move not the Gods above,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When the knife strikes me there will be one prayer</span>
+ <span class="i0">The less to them: and purer can there be</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page140" id="page140" title="140"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Any, or more fervent than the daughter's prayer</span>
+ <span class="i0">For her dear father's safety and success?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">A groan that shook him shook not his resolve.</span>
+ <span class="i0">An aged man now entered, and without</span> <span
+ class="i0">One word, stept slowly on, and took the wrist</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw</span>
+ <span class="i0">The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O father! grieve no more: the ships can sail.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Landor.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxv">LXV</a></small><br />SOLDIER AND SAILOR
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I love contemplating, apart</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From
+ all his homicidal glory,</span> <span class="i0">The traits that
+ soften to our heart</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Napoleon's
+ story!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">'Twas when his banners at Boulogne</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Armed in our island every freeman,</span>
+ <span class="i0">His navy chanced to capture one</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Poor British seaman.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They suffered him, I know not how,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Unprisoned on the shore to roam;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And aye was bent his longing brow</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On England's home.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">His eye, methinks, pursued the flight</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of birds to Britain half-way over</span>
+ <span class="i0">With envy; <i>they</i> could reach the white</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Dear cliffs of Dover.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page141" id="page141" title="141"></a> <span
+ class="i0">A stormy midnight watch, he thought,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Than this sojourn would have been dearer,</span>
+ <span class="i0">If but the storm his vessel brought</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To England nearer.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">At last, when care had banished sleep,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He saw one morning&mdash;dreaming&mdash;doating,</span>
+ <span class="i0">An empty hogshead from the deep</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Come shoreward floating;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He hid it in a cave, and wrought</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The live-long day laborious; lurking</span>
+ <span class="i0">Until he launched a tiny boat</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;By mighty working.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Heaven help us! 'twas a thing beyond</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Description, wretched: such a wherry</span>
+ <span class="i0">Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or crossed a ferry.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">For ploughing in the salt-sea field,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;It would have made the boldest shudder;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;No sail&mdash;no rudder.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">From neighb'ring woods he interlaced</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His sorry skiff with wattled willows;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And thus equipped he would have passed</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The foaming billows&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But Frenchmen caught him on the beach,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His little Argo sorely jeering;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Till tidings of him chanced to reach</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Napoleon's hearing.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page142" id="page142" title="142"></a> <span
+ class="i0">With folded arms Napoleon stood,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Serene
+ alike in peace and danger;</span> <span class="i0">And, in his
+ wonted attitude,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Addressed the
+ stranger:&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Rash man, that wouldst yon Channel pass</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thy heart with some sweet British lass</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Must be impassioned.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;I have no sweetheart,&rsquo; said the lad;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;But&mdash;absent long from one
+ another&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">Great was the longing that I
+ had</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To see my mother.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;And so thou shalt,&rsquo; Napoleon said,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Ye've both my favour fairly won;</span>
+ <span class="i0">A noble mother must have bred</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;So brave a son.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He gave the tar a piece of gold,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And, with a flag of truce, commanded</span>
+ <span class="i0">He should be shipped to England Old,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And safely landed.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Our sailor oft could scantly shift</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To find a dinner, plain and hearty;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But <i>never</i> changed the coin and gift</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of Bonapart&eacute;.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Campbell.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page143" id="page143" title="143"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_lxv">LXVI</a></small><br />&lsquo;YE MARINERS&rsquo;
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Ye Mariners of England!</span> <span class="i0">That
+ guard our native seas;</span> <span class="i0">Whose flag has
+ braved a thousand years</span> <span class="i0">The battle and the
+ breeze!</span> <span class="i0">Your glorious standard launch again</span>
+ <span class="i0">To match another foe!</span> <span class="i0">And
+ sweep through the deep,</span> <span class="i0">While the stormy
+ winds do blow;</span> <span class="i0">While the battle rages loud
+ and long,</span> <span class="i0">And the stormy winds do blow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The spirits of your fathers</span> <span class="i0">Shall
+ start from every wave!</span> <span class="i0">For the deck it was
+ their field of fame,</span> <span class="i0">And Ocean was their
+ grave:</span> <span class="i0">Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell</span>
+ <span class="i0">Your manly hearts shall glow,</span> <span
+ class="i0">As ye sweep through the deep,</span> <span class="i0">While
+ the stormy winds do blow;</span> <span class="i0">While the battle
+ rages loud and long,</span> <span class="i0">And the stormy winds
+ do blow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Britannia needs no bulwarks,</span> <span
+ class="i0">No towers along the steep;</span> <span class="i0">Her
+ march is o'er the mountain-waves,</span> <span class="i0">Her home
+ is on the deep.</span> <span class="i0">With thunders from her
+ native oak</span> <span class="i0">She quells the floods below,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page144" id="page144" title="144"></a> <span
+ class="i0">As they roar on the shore,</span> <span class="i0">When
+ the stormy winds do blow;</span> <span class="i0">When the battle
+ rages loud and long,</span> <span class="i0">And the stormy winds
+ do blow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The meteor flag of England</span> <span class="i0">Shall
+ yet terrific burn;</span> <span class="i0">Till danger's troubled
+ night depart,</span> <span class="i0">And the star of peace return.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then, then, ye ocean warriors!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Our song and feast shall flow</span> <span class="i0">To
+ the fame of your name,</span> <span class="i0">When the storm has
+ ceased to blow;</span> <span class="i0">When the fiery fight is
+ heard no more,</span> <span class="i0">And the storm has ceased to
+ blow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Campbell.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxv">LXVII</a></small><br />THE BATTLE OF THE
+ BALTIC
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Of Nelson and the North</span> <span class="i0">Sing
+ the glorious day's renown,</span> <span class="i0">When to battle
+ fierce came forth</span> <span class="i0">All the might of
+ Denmark's crown,</span> <span class="i0">And her arms along the
+ deep proudly shone;</span> <span class="i0">By each gun the lighted
+ brand</span> <span class="i0">In a bold determined hand,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the Prince of all the land</span> <span
+ class="i0">Led them on.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Like leviathans afloat,</span> <span class="i0">Lay
+ their bulwarks on the brine;</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page145" id="page145" title="145"></a> <span class="i0">While the
+ sign of battle flew</span> <span class="i0">On the lofty British
+ line:</span> <span class="i0">It was ten of April morn by the
+ chime:</span> <span class="i0">As they drifted on their path,</span>
+ <span class="i0">There was silence deep as death;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the boldest held his breath,</span> <span class="i0">For
+ a time.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But the might of England flushed</span> <span
+ class="i0">To anticipate the scene;</span> <span class="i0">And her
+ van the fleeter rushed</span> <span class="i0">O'er the deadly
+ space between.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Hearts of oak!&rsquo;
+ our captains cried; when each gun</span> <span class="i0">From its
+ adamantine lips</span> <span class="i0">Spread a death-shade round
+ the ships,</span> <span class="i0">Like the hurricane eclipse</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of the sun.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Again! again! again!</span> <span class="i0">And
+ the havoc did not slack,</span> <span class="i0">Till a feeble
+ cheer the Dane,</span> <span class="i0">To our cheering sent us
+ back;&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">Their shots along the deep
+ slowly boom:&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">Then cease&mdash;and
+ all is wail,</span> <span class="i0">As they strike the shattered
+ sail;</span> <span class="i0">Or, in conflagration pale</span>
+ <span class="i0">Light the gloom.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now joy, Old England, raise</span> <span class="i0">For
+ the tidings of thy might,</span> <span class="i0">By the festal
+ cities' blaze,</span> <span class="i0">Whilst the wine-cup shines
+ in light;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page146" id="page146"
+ title="146"></a> <span class="i0">And yet amidst that joy and uproar,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Let us think of them that sleep</span> <span
+ class="i0">Full many a fathom deep</span> <span class="i0">By thy
+ wild and stormy steep,</span> <span class="i0">Elsinore!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Campbell.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxviii">LXVIII</a></small><br />BATTLE SONG
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark;</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;What then? 'Tis day!</span>
+ <span class="i0">We sleep no more; the cock crows&mdash;hark!</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To arms! away!</span>
+ <span class="i0">They come! they come! the knell is rung</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of us or them;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Wide o'er their march the pomp is flung</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of gold and gem.</span>
+ <span class="i0">What collared hound of lawless sway,</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To famine dear,</span> <span
+ class="i0">What pensioned slave of Attila,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Leads
+ in the rear?</span> <span class="i0">Come they from Scythian wilds
+ afar</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Our blood to
+ spill?</span> <span class="i0">Wear they the livery of the Czar?</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They do his will.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Nor tasselled silk, nor epaulette,</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor plume, nor torse&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">No splendour gilds, all sternly met,</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Our foot and horse.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page147" id="page147" title="147"></a> <span
+ class="i0">But, dark and still, we inly glow,</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Condensed in ire!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Strike, tawdry slaves, and ye shall know</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Our gloom is fire.</span> <span
+ class="i0">In vain your pomp, ye evil powers,</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Insults the land;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Wrongs, vengeance, and <i>the cause</i> are ours,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And God's right hand!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Madmen! they trample into snakes</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The wormy clod!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Like fire, beneath their feet awakes</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The sword of God!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Behind, before, above, below,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They
+ rouse the brave;</span> <span class="i0">Where'er they go, they
+ make a foe,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or find
+ a grave.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Elliott.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxix">LXIX</a></small><br />LOYALTY
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,</span> <span
+ class="i0">O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!</span> <span
+ class="i0">When the flower is i' the bud and the leaf is on the tree,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,</span> <span
+ class="i0">O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The green leaf o' loyaltie's begun for to fa',</span>
+ <span class="i0">The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a';</span>
+ <span class="i0">But I'll water 't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie,</span>
+ <span class="i0">An' green it will grow in my ain countrie.</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page148" id="page148" title="148"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,</span> <span
+ class="i0">O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The great are now gane, a' wha ventured to save;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The new grass is springing on the tap o' their grave:</span>
+ <span class="i0">But the sun thro' the mirk blinks blythe in my e'e,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;I'll shine on ye yet in yere ain countrie.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Cunningham.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small>LXX</small>A SEA-SONG
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">A wet sheet and a flowing sea,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A wind that follows fast</span> <span
+ class="i0">And fills the white and rustling sail</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And bends the gallant mast;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And bends the gallant mast, my boys,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;While like the eagle free</span> <span
+ class="i0">Away the good ship flies, and leaves</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Old England on the lee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O for a soft and gentle wind!</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I heard a fair one cry;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But give to me the snoring breeze</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ white waves heaving high;</span> <span class="i0">And white waves
+ heaving high, my lads,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The good
+ ship tight and free&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">The world of
+ waters is our home,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And merry
+ men are we.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page149" id="page149" title="149"></a> <span
+ class="i0">There's tempest in yon horn&egrave;d moon,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And lightning in yon cloud;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But hark the music, mariners!</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ wind is piping loud;</span> <span class="i0">The wind is piping
+ loud, my boys,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The lightning
+ flashes free&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">While the hollow oak
+ our palace is,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Our heritage the
+ sea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Cunningham.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxi">LXXI</a></small><br />A SONG OF THE SEA
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Sea! the Sea! the open Sea!</span> <span
+ class="i0">The blue, the fresh, the ever free!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Without a mark, without a bound,</span> <span class="i0">It
+ runneth the earth's wide regions 'round;</span> <span class="i0">It
+ plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;</span> <span class="i0">Or
+ like a cradled creature lies.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I'm on the Sea! I'm on the Sea!</span> <span
+ class="i0">I am where I would ever be;</span> <span class="i0">With
+ the blue above, and the blue below,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ silence wheresoe'er I go;</span> <span class="i0">If a storm should
+ come and awake the deep,</span> <span class="i0">What matter? <i>I</i>
+ shall ride and sleep.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I love (O! <i>how</i> I love) to ride</span> <span
+ class="i0">On the fierce foaming bursting tide,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When every mad wave drowns the moon,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And tells how goeth the world below,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And why the south-west blasts do blow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page150" id="page150" title="150"></a> <span
+ class="i0">I never was on the dull, tame shore,</span> <span
+ class="i0">But I loved the great Sea more and more,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And backwards flew to her billowy breast,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And a mother she <i>was</i>, and <i>is</i> to me;</span>
+ <span class="i0">For I was born on the open Sea!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The waves were white, and red the morn,</span>
+ <span class="i0">In the noisy hour when I was born;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And never was heard such an outcry wild</span>
+ <span class="i0">As welcomed to life the Ocean-child!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I've lived since then, in calm and strife,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Full fifty summers a sailor's life,</span> <span
+ class="i0">With wealth to spend, and a power to range,</span> <span
+ class="i0">But never have sought, nor sighed for change;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Death, whenever he come to me,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Shall come on the wide unbounded Sea!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Procter.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxii">LXXII</a></small><br />SENNACHERIB
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the
+ sea,</span> <span class="i0">When the blue wave rolls nightly on
+ deep Galilee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That host with their banners at sunset were seen:</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page151" id="page151" title="151"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew
+ still!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But through it there rolled not the breath of his
+ pride:</span> <span class="i0">And the foam of his gasping lay
+ white on the turf,</span> <span class="i0">And cold as the spray of
+ the rock-beating surf.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And there lay the rider distorted and pale,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Byron.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxii">LXXIII</a></small><br />THE STORMING OF
+ CORINTH
+ </h2>
+ <h3>
+ THE SIGNAL
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The night is past, and shines the sun</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As if that morn were a jocund one.</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lightly and brightly breaks away</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The Morning from her mantle grey,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the noon will look on a sultry day.</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page152" id="page152" title="152"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Hark to the trump, and the drum,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the flap of the banners that flit as they're borne,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the clash, and the shout, &lsquo;They come! they
+ come!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">The horsetails are plucked
+ from the ground, and the sword</span> <span class="i0">From its
+ sheath; and they form, and but wait for the word.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman,</span> <span class="i0">Strike
+ your tents, and throng to the van;</span> <span class="i0">Mount
+ ye, spur ye, skirr the plain,</span> <span class="i0">That the
+ fugitive may flee in vain,</span> <span class="i0">When he breaks
+ from the town; and none escape,</span> <span class="i0">Aged or
+ young, in the Christian shape;</span> <span class="i0">While your
+ fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,</span> <span class="i0">Bloodstain
+ the breach through which they pass.</span> <span class="i0">The
+ steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Curved is each neck, and flowing each mane;</span> <span
+ class="i0">White is the foam of their champ on the bit:</span>
+ <span class="i0">The spears are uplifted; the matches are lit;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And crush the wall they have crumbled before:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Forms in his phalanx each janizar;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Alp at their head; his right arm is bare,</span> <span
+ class="i0">So is the blade of his scimitar;</span> <span class="i0">The
+ khan and the pachas are all at their post;</span> <span class="i0">The
+ vizier himself at the head of the host.</span> <span class="i0">When
+ the culverin's signal is fired, then on;</span> <span class="i0">Leave
+ not in Corinth a living one&mdash;</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page153" id="page153" title="153"></a> <span class="i0">A priest
+ at her altars, a chief in her halls,</span> <span class="i0">A
+ hearth in her mansions, a stone on her walls.</span> <span
+ class="i0">God and the prophet&mdash;Alla Hu!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Up to the skies with that wild halloo!</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to
+ scale;</span> <span class="i0">And your hands on your sabres, and
+ how should ye fail?</span> <span class="i0">He who first downs with
+ the red cross may crave</span> <span class="i0">His heart's dearest
+ wish; let him ask it, and have!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">Thus
+ uttered Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier;</span> <span class="i0">The
+ reply was the brandish of sabre and spear,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire:&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Silence&mdash;hark to the signal&mdash;fire!</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE ASSAULT
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">As the spring-tides, with heavy plash,</span>
+ <span class="i0">From the cliffs invading dash</span> <span
+ class="i0">Huge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Till white and thundering down they go,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Like the avalanche's snow</span> <span class="i0">On
+ the Alpine vales below;</span> <span class="i0">Thus at length,
+ outbreathed and worn,</span> <span class="i0">Corinth's sons were
+ downward borne</span> <span class="i0">By the long and oft renewed</span>
+ <span class="i0">Charge of the Moslem multitude.</span> <span
+ class="i0">In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Heaped by the host of the infidel,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Hand to hand, and foot to foot:</span> <span class="i0">Nothing
+ there, save death, was mute:</span> <span class="i0">Stroke, and
+ thrust, and flash, and cry</span> <span class="i0">For quarter or
+ for victory,</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page154" id="page154"
+ title="154"></a> <span class="i0">Mingle there with the volleying
+ thunder,</span> <span class="i0">Which makes the distant cities
+ wonder</span> <span class="i0">How the sounding battle goes,</span>
+ <span class="i0">If with them, or for their foes;</span> <span
+ class="i0">If they must mourn, or may rejoice</span> <span
+ class="i0">In that annihilating voice,</span> <span class="i0">Which
+ pierces the deep hills through and through</span> <span class="i0">With
+ an echo dread and new:</span> <span class="i0">You might have heard
+ it, on that day,</span> <span class="i0">O'er Salamis and Megara;</span>
+ <span class="i0">(We have heard the hearers say,)</span> <span
+ class="i0">Even unto Pir&aelig;us' bay.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">From the point of encountering blades to the hilt,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Sabres and swords with blood were gilt;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And all but the after carnage done,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Shriller shrieks now mingling come</span> <span
+ class="i0">From within the plundered dome:</span> <span class="i0">Hark
+ to the haste of flying feet</span> <span class="i0">That splash in
+ the blood of the slippery street;</span> <span class="i0">But here
+ and there, where 'vantage ground</span> <span class="i0">Against
+ the foe may still be found,</span> <span class="i0">Desperate
+ groups, of twelve or ten,</span> <span class="i0">Make a pause, and
+ turn again&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">With banded backs against
+ the wall,</span> <span class="i0">Fiercely stand, or fighting fall.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">There stood an old man&mdash;his hairs were white,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But his veteran arm was full of might:</span>
+ <span class="i0">So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page155" id="page155" title="155"></a> <span
+ class="i0">The dead before him, on that day,</span> <span class="i0">In
+ a semicircle lay;</span> <span class="i0">Still he combated
+ unwounded,</span> <span class="i0">Though retreating, unsurrounded.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Many a scar of former fight</span> <span class="i0">Lurked
+ beneath his corselet bright;</span> <span class="i0">But of every
+ wound his body bore,</span> <span class="i0">Each and all had been
+ ta'en before:</span> <span class="i0">Though aged, he was so iron
+ of limb,</span> <span class="i0">Few of our youth could cope with
+ him,</span> <span class="i0">And the foes, whom he singly kept at
+ bay,</span> <span class="i0">Outnumbered his thin hairs of silver
+ grey.</span> <span class="i0">From right to left his sabre swept;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Many an Othman mother wept</span> <span class="i0">Sons
+ that were unborn, when dipped</span> <span class="i0">His weapon
+ first in Moslem gore,</span> <span class="i0">Ere his years could
+ count a score.</span> <span class="i0">Of all he might have been
+ the sire</span> <span class="i0">Who fell that day beneath his ire:</span>
+ <span class="i0">For, sonless left long years ago,</span> <span
+ class="i0">His wrath made many a childless foe;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And since the day, when in the strait</span> <span
+ class="i0">His only boy had met his fate,</span> <span class="i0">His
+ parent's iron hand did doom</span> <span class="i0">More than a
+ human hecatomb.</span> <span class="i0">If shades by carnage be
+ appeased,</span> <span class="i0">Patroclus' spirit less was
+ pleased</span> <span class="i0">Than his, Minotti's son, who died</span>
+ <span class="i0">Where Asia's bounds and ours divide.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Buried he lay, where thousands before</span> <span
+ class="i0">For thousands of years were inhumed on the shore;</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page156" id="page156" title="156"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;What of them is left, to tell</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where they lie, and how they fell?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But they live in the verse that immortally saves.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE MAGAZINE
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Darkly, sternly, and all alone,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Minotti stood o'er the altar-stone:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Madonna's face upon him shone,</span> <span class="i0">Painted
+ in heavenly hues above,</span> <span class="i0">With eyes of light
+ and looks of love;</span> <span class="i0">And placed upon that
+ holy shrine</span> <span class="i0">To fix our thoughts on things
+ divine,</span> <span class="i0">When pictured there, we kneeling
+ see</span> <span class="i0">Her, and the boy-God on her knee,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Smiling sweetly on each prayer</span> <span
+ class="i0">To heaven, as if to waft it there.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Still she smiled; even now she smiles,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Though slaughter streams along her aisles:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Minotti lifted his aged eye,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ made the sign of a cross with a sigh,</span> <span class="i0">Then
+ seized a torch which blazed thereby;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ still he stood, while with steel and flame</span> <span class="i0">Inward
+ and onward the Mussulman came.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The vaults beneath the mosaic stone</span> <span
+ class="i0">Contained the dead of ages gone;</span> <span class="i0">Their
+ names were on the graven floor,</span> <span class="i0">But now
+ illegible with gore;</span> <span class="i0">The carv&egrave;d
+ crests, and curious hues</span> <span class="i0">The varied
+ marble's veins diffuse,</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page157"
+ id="page157" title="157"></a> <span class="i0">Were smeared, and
+ slippery, stained, and strown</span> <span class="i0">With broken
+ swords and helms o'erthrown:</span> <span class="i0">There were
+ dead above, and the dead below</span> <span class="i0">Lay cold in
+ many a coffined row;</span> <span class="i0">You might see them
+ piled in sable state,</span> <span class="i0">By a pale light
+ through a gloomy grate;</span> <span class="i0">But War had entered
+ their dark caves,</span> <span class="i0">And stored along the
+ vaulted graves</span> <span class="i0">Her sulphurous treasures,
+ thickly spread</span> <span class="i0">In masses by the fleshless
+ dead:</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Here, throughout the
+ siege, had been</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The Christians'
+ chiefest magazine;</span> <span class="i0">To these a late formed
+ train now led,</span> <span class="i0">Minotti's last and stern
+ resource</span> <span class="i0">Against the foe's o'erwhelming
+ force.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The foe came on, and few remain</span> <span
+ class="i0">To strive, and those must strive in vain:</span> <span
+ class="i0">For lack of further lives, to slake</span> <span
+ class="i0">The thirst of vengeance now awake,</span> <span
+ class="i0">With barbarous blows they gash the dead,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And lop the already lifeless head,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And fell the statues from their niche,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And spoil the shrines of offerings rich,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And from each other's rude hands wrest</span> <span
+ class="i0">The silver vessels saints had blessed.</span> <span
+ class="i0">To the high altar on they go;</span> <span class="i0">O,
+ but it made a glorious show!</span> <span class="i0">On its table
+ still behold</span> <span class="i0">The cup of consecrated gold;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Massy and deep, a glittering prize,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes:</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page158" id="page158" title="158"></a> <span
+ class="i0">That morn it held the holy wine,</span> <span class="i0">Converted
+ by Christ to his blood so divine,</span> <span class="i0">Which his
+ worshippers drank at the break of day,</span> <span class="i0">To
+ shrive their souls ere they joined in the fray.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Still a few drops within it lay;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ round the sacred table glow</span> <span class="i0">Twelve lofty
+ lamps, in splendid row,</span> <span class="i0">From the purest
+ metal cast;</span> <span class="i0">A spoil&mdash;the richest, and
+ the last.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">So near they came, the nearest stretched</span>
+ <span class="i0">To grasp the spoil he almost reached,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When old Minotti's hand</span> <span
+ class="i0">Touched with the torch the train&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;'Tis fired!</span> <span class="i0">Spire,
+ vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ turbaned victors, the Christian band,</span> <span class="i0">All
+ that of living or dead remain,</span> <span class="i0">Hurl'd on
+ high with the shivered fane,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ one wild roar expired!</span> <span class="i0">The shattered town&mdash;the
+ walls thrown down&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">The waves a moment
+ backward bent&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">The hills that shake,
+ although unrent,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As if an
+ earthquake passed&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">The thousand
+ shapeless things all driven</span> <span class="i0">In cloud and
+ flame athwart the heaven</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;By
+ that tremendous blast&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">Proclaimed the
+ desperate conflict o'er</span> <span class="i0">On that too long
+ afflicted shore:</span> <span class="i0">Up to the sky like rockets
+ go</span> <span class="i0">All that mingled there below:</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page159" id="page159" title="159"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Many a tall and goodly man,</span> <span class="i0">Scorched
+ and shrivelled to a span,</span> <span class="i0">When he fell to
+ earth again</span> <span class="i0">Like a cinder strewed the
+ plain:</span> <span class="i0">Down the ashes shower like rain;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles</span>
+ <span class="i0">With a thousand circling wrinkles;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Some fell on the shore, but far away</span> <span
+ class="i0">Scattered o'er the isthmus lay;</span> <span class="i0">Christian
+ or Moslem, which be they?</span> <span class="i0">Let their mother
+ say and say!</span> <span class="i0">When in cradled rest they lay,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And each nursing mother smiled</span> <span
+ class="i0">On the sweet sleep of her child,</span> <span class="i0">Little
+ deemed she such a day</span> <span class="i0">Would rend those
+ tender limbs away.</span> <span class="i0">Not the matrons that
+ them bore</span> <span class="i0">Could discern their offspring
+ more;</span> <span class="i0">That one moment left no trace</span>
+ <span class="i0">More of human form or face</span> <span class="i0">Save
+ a scattered scalp or bone:</span> <span class="i0">And down came
+ blazing rafters, strown</span> <span class="i0">Around, and many a
+ falling stone,</span> <span class="i0">Deeply dinted in the clay,</span>
+ <span class="i0">All blackened there and reeking lay.</span> <span
+ class="i0">All the living things that heard</span> <span class="i0">That
+ deadly earth-shock disappeared:</span> <span class="i0">The wild
+ birds flew; the wild dogs fled,</span> <span class="i0">And howling
+ left the unburied dead;</span> <span class="i0">The camels from
+ their keepers broke;</span> <span class="i0">The distant steer
+ forsook the yoke&mdash;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page160"
+ id="page160" title="160"></a> <span class="i0">The nearer steed plunged
+ o'er the plain,</span> <span class="i0">And burst his girth, and
+ tore his rein;</span> <span class="i0">The bull-frog's note from
+ out the marsh</span> <span class="i0">Deep-mouthed arose, and
+ doubly harsh;</span> <span class="i0">The wolves yelled on the
+ caverned hill</span> <span class="i0">Where echo rolled in thunder
+ still;</span> <span class="i0">The jackals' troop in gathered cry</span>
+ <span class="i0">Bayed from afar complainingly,</span> <span
+ class="i0">With a mixed and mournful sound,</span> <span class="i0">Like
+ crying babe, and beaten hound:</span> <span class="i0">With sudden
+ wing and ruffled breast</span> <span class="i0">The eagle left his
+ rocky nest,</span> <span class="i0">And mounted nearer to the sun,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The clouds beneath him seemed so dun;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Their smoke assailed his startled beak,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And made him higher soar and shriek&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thus was Corinth lost and won!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Byron.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxii">LXXIV</a></small><br />ALHAMA
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Moorish King rides up and down,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Through Granada's royal town;</span> <span class="i0">From
+ Elvira's gates to those</span> <span class="i0">Of Bivarambla on he
+ goes.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Letters to the monarch tell</span> <span class="i0">How
+ Alhama's city fell:</span> <span class="i0">In the fire the scroll
+ he threw,</span> <span class="i0">And the messenger he slew.</span>
+ <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page161" id="page161" title="161"></a> <span
+ class="i0">He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And through the street directs his course;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Through the street of Zacatin</span> <span class="i0">To
+ the Alhambra spurring in.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When the Alhambra walls he gained,</span> <span
+ class="i0">On the moment he ordained</span> <span class="i0">That
+ the trumpet straight should sound</span> <span class="i0">With the
+ silver clarion round.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And when the hollow drums of war</span> <span
+ class="i0">Beat the loud alarm afar,</span> <span class="i0">That
+ the Moors of town and plain</span> <span class="i0">Might answer to
+ the martial strain&mdash;</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then the Moors, by this aware,</span> <span
+ class="i0">That bloody Mars recalled them there</span> <span
+ class="i0">One by one, and two by two,</span> <span class="i0">To a
+ mighty squadron grew.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Out then spake an aged Moor</span> <span class="i0">In
+ these words the king before,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Wherefore
+ call on us, O King?</span> <span class="i0">What may mean this
+ gathering?&rsquo;</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Friends! ye have, alas! to know</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of a most disastrous blow;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page162" id="page162" title="162"></a> <span
+ class="i0">That the Christians, stern and bold,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Have obtained Alhama's hold.&rsquo;</span> <span
+ class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Out then spake old Alfaqui,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ his beard so white to see,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Good
+ King! thou art justly served,</span> <span class="i0">Good King!
+ this thou hast deserved.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">By thee were slain, in evil hour,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The Abencerrage, Granada's flower;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And strangers were received by thee</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of Cordova the Chivalry.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And for this, O King! is sent</span> <span
+ class="i0">On thee a double chastisement:</span> <span class="i0">Thee
+ and thine, thy crown and realm,</span> <span class="i0">One last
+ wreck shall overwhelm.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He who holds no laws in awe,</span> <span
+ class="i0">He must perish by the law;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ Granada must be won,</span> <span class="i0">And thyself with her
+ undone.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Fire flashed from out the old Moor's eyes,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The monarch's wrath began to rise,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Because he answered, and because</span> <span class="i0">He
+ spake exceeding well of laws.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page163" id="page163" title="163"></a> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;There is no law to say such things</span> <span
+ class="i0">As may disgust the ear of kings:&rsquo;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Thus, snorting with his choler, said</span> <span
+ class="i0">The Moorish King, and doomed him dead.</span> <span
+ class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!</span> <span class="i0">Though
+ thy beard so hoary be,</span> <span class="i0">The King hath sent
+ to have thee seized,</span> <span class="i0">For Alhama's loss
+ displeased.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And to fix thy head upon</span> <span class="i0">High
+ Alhambra's loftiest stone;</span> <span class="i0">That this for
+ thee should be the law,</span> <span class="i0">And others tremble
+ when they saw.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Cavalier, and man of worth!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Let these words of mine go forth!</span> <span class="i0">Let
+ the Moorish Monarch know,</span> <span class="i0">That to him I
+ nothing owe.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But on my soul Alhama weighs,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And on my inmost spirit preys;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ if the King his land hath lost,</span> <span class="i0">Yet others
+ may have lost the most.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Sires have lost their children, wives</span> <span
+ class="i0">Their lords, and valiant men their lives!</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page164" id="page164" title="164"></a> <span
+ class="i0">One what best his love might claim</span> <span
+ class="i0">Hath lost, another wealth, or fame.</span> <span
+ class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I lost a damsel in that hour,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of all the land the loveliest flower;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Doubloons a hundred I would pay,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ think her ransom cheap that day.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And as these things the old Moor said,</span>
+ <span class="i0">They severed from the trunk his head;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And to the Alhambra's wall with speed</span> <span
+ class="i0">'Twas carried, as the King decreed.</span> <span
+ class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And men and infants therein weep</span> <span
+ class="i0">Their loss, so heavy and so deep;</span> <span class="i0">Granada's
+ ladies, all she rears</span> <span class="i0">Within her walls,
+ burst into tears.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And from the windows o'er the walls</span> <span
+ class="i0">The sable web of mourning falls;</span> <span class="i0">The
+ King weeps as a woman o'er</span> <span class="i0">His loss, for it
+ is much and sore.</span> <span class="i9">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Woe
+ is me, Alhama!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Byron.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxii">LXXV</a></small><br />FRIENDSHIP
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">My boat is on the shore,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ my bark is on the sea;</span> <span class="i0">But, before I go,
+ Tom Moore,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Here's a double
+ health to thee!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page165" id="page165" title="165"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Here's a sigh to those who love me,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And a smile to those who hate;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, whatever sky's above me,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Here's
+ a heart for every fate.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Though the ocean roar around me,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Yet it still shall bear me on;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Though a desert should surround me,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;It hath springs that may be won.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Were 't the last drop in the well,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As I gasped upon the brink,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Ere my fainting spirit fell,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;'Tis
+ to thee that I would drink.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">With that water, as this wine,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The libation I would pour</span> <span
+ class="i0">Should be, &lsquo;Peace with thine and mine,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And a health to thee, Tom Moore!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Byron.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxii">LXXVI</a></small><br />THE RACE WITH DEATH
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Are level with the waters, there shall be</span>
+ <span class="i0">A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A loud lament along the sweeping sea!</span>
+ <span class="i0">If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,</span>
+ <span class="i0">What should thy sons do?&mdash;anything but weep:</span>
+ <span class="i0">And yet they only murmur in their sleep.</span>
+ <span class="i0">In contrast with their fathers&mdash;as the slime,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The dull green ooze of the receding deep,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page166" id="page166" title="166"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Is with the dashing of the spring-tide foam</span> <span
+ class="i0">That drives the sailor shipless to his home,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Are they to those that were; and thus they creep,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Crouching and crab-like, through their sapping streets.</span>
+ <span class="i0">O agony! that centuries should reap</span> <span
+ class="i0">No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred years</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of wealth and glory turned to dust and tears,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And every monument the stranger meets,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And even the Lion all subdued appears,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the harsh sound of the barbarian drum</span>
+ <span class="i0">With dull and daily dissonance repeats</span>
+ <span class="i0">The echo of thy tyrant's voice along</span> <span
+ class="i0">The soft waves, once all musical to song,</span> <span
+ class="i0">That heaved beneath the moonlight with the throng</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of gondolas and to the busy hum</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds</span>
+ <span class="i0">Were but the overbeating of the heart,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And flow of too much happiness, which needs</span>
+ <span class="i0">The aid of age to turn its course apart</span>
+ <span class="i0">From the luxuriant and voluptuous flood</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of sweet sensations, battling with the blood.</span>
+ <span class="i0">But these are better than the gloomy errors,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The weeds of nations in their last decay,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When Vice walks forth with her unsoftened terrors,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Mirth is madness, and but smiles to slay;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Hope is nothing but a false delay,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The sick man's lightening half an hour ere death,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When Faintness, the last mortal birth of Pain,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And apathy of limb, the dull beginning</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page167" id="page167" title="167"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Of the cold staggering race which Death is winning,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Steals vein by vein and pulse by pulse away;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet so relieving the o'er-tortured clay,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To him appears renewal of his breath,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And freedom the mere numbness of his chain;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And then he talks of life, and how again</span> <span
+ class="i0">He feels his spirits soaring&mdash;albeit weak,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And of the fresher air, which he would seek:</span>
+ <span class="i0">And as he whispers knows not that he gasps,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That his thin finger feels not what it clasps;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And so the film comes o'er him, and the dizzy</span>
+ <span class="i0">Chamber swims round and round, and shadows busy,</span>
+ <span class="i0">At which he vainly catches, flit and gleam,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Till the last rattle chokes the strangled scream,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And all is ice and blackness, and the earth</span>
+ <span class="i0">That which it was the moment ere our birth.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Byron.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxii">LXXVII</a></small><br />THE GLORY THAT WAS
+ GREECE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where burning Sappho loved and sung,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Where grew the arts of war and peace,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where Delos rose, and Ph&oelig;bus sprung!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Eternal summer gilds them yet,</span> <span
+ class="i0">But all except their sun is set.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Scian and the Teian muse,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The hero's harp, the lover's lute,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Have found the fame your shores refuse:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Their place of birth alone is mute</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page168" id="page168" title="168"></a> <span
+ class="i0">To sounds which echo further west</span> <span class="i0">Than
+ your sires' &lsquo;Islands of the Blest.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The mountains look on Marathon&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And Marathon looks on the sea;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, musing there an hour alone,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I
+ dreamed that Greece might still be free;</span> <span class="i0">For,
+ standing on the Persians' grave,</span> <span class="i0">I could
+ not deem myself a slave.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">A king sate on the rocky brow</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And ships by thousands lay below,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And men in nations;&mdash;all were his!</span>
+ <span class="i0">He counted them at break of day,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And when the sun set, where were they?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And where are they? and where art thou,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My country? On thy voiceless shore</span>
+ <span class="i0">The heroic lay is tuneless now,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The heroic bosom beats no more!</span> <span
+ class="i0">And must thy lyre, so long divine,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Degenerate into hands like mine?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">'Tis something in the dearth of fame,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Though linked among a fettered race,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To feel at least a patriot's shame,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Even as I sing, suffuse my face;</span>
+ <span class="i0">For what is left the poet here?</span> <span
+ class="i0">For Greeks a blush, for Greece a tear!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Must <i>we</i> but weep o'er days more blest?</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Must <i>we</i> but blush? Our fathers bled.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Earth! render back from out thy breast</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A remnant of our Spartan dead!</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page169" id="page169" title="169"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Of the three hundred grant but three,</span> <span
+ class="i0">To make a new Thermopyl&aelig;!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">What, silent still? and silent all?</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ah! no: the voices of the dead</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sound like a distant torrent's fall,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And answer, &lsquo;Let one living head,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But one arise,&mdash;we come, we come!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">'Tis but the living who are dumb.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">In vain&mdash;in vain: strike other chords;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fill high the cup with Samian wine!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And shed the blood of Scio's vine!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hark! rising to the ignoble call,</span> <span
+ class="i0">How answers each bold Bacchanal!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of two such lessons, why forget</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The nobler and the manlier one?</span> <span
+ class="i0">You have the letters Cadmus gave;</span> <span class="i0">Think
+ ye he meant them for a slave?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We will not think of themes like these!</span>
+ <span class="i0">It made Anacreon's song divine:</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He served&mdash;but served Polycrates:</span>
+ <span class="i0">A tyrant; but our masters then</span> <span
+ class="i0">Were still, at least, our countrymen.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The tyrant of the Chersonese</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was freedom's best and bravest friend;</span>
+ <span class="i0"><i>That</i> tyrant was Miltiades!</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Oh! that the present hour would lend</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page170" id="page170" title="170"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Another despot of the kind!</span> <span class="i0">Such
+ chains as his were sure to bind.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On Suli's rock and Parga's shore</span>
+ <span class="i0">Exists the remnant of a line</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Such as the Doric mothers bore;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And there, perhaps, some seed is sown</span> <span
+ class="i0">The Heracleidan blood might own.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Trust not for freedom to the Franks&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They have a king who buys and sells;</span>
+ <span class="i0">In native swords and native ranks</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The only hope of courage dwells:</span>
+ <span class="i0">But Turkish force and Latin fraud</span> <span
+ class="i0">Would break your shield, however broad.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Our virgins dance beneath the shade&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">I see their glorious black eyes shine;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But, gazing on each glowing maid,</span>
+ <span class="i0">My own the burning tear-drop laves,</span> <span
+ class="i0">To think such breasts must suckle slaves.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where nothing save the waves and I</span>
+ <span class="i0">May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;There, swan-like, let me sing and die:</span>
+ <span class="i0">A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Byron.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page171" id="page171" title="171"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_lxxii">LXXVIII</a></small><br />HAIL AND FAREWELL
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Since others it hath ceased to move:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet, though I cannot be beloved,</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Still let me
+ love!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">My days are in the yellow leaf;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The flowers and fruits of love are gone;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The worm, the canker, and the grief</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Are mine
+ alone!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The fire that on my bosom preys</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is lone as some volcanic isle;</span> <span
+ class="i0">No torch is kindled at its blaze&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A funeral
+ pile.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The hope, the fear, the jealous care,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The exalted portion of the pain</span> <span
+ class="i0">And power of love, I cannot share,</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But wear the
+ chain.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But 'tis not thus, and 'tis not here,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor <i>now</i></span>
+ <span class="i0">Where glory decks the hero's bier,</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or binds his
+ brow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The sword, the banner, and the field,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Glory and Greece, around me see!</span>
+ <span class="i0">The Spartan borne upon his shield</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Was not more
+ free.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page172" id="page172" title="172"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Awake! (not Greece&mdash;she <i>is</i> awake!)</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Awake, my spirit! Think through <i>whom</i></span>
+ <span class="i0">Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,</span>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ then strike home!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Tread those reviving passions down,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Unworthy manhood! unto thee</span> <span
+ class="i0">Indifferent should the smile or frown</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of beauty be.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">If thou regrett'st thy youth, <i>why live?</i></span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The lad of honourable death</span>
+ <span class="i0">Is here: up to the field, and give</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Away thy
+ breath!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Seek out&mdash;less often sought than found&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A soldier's grave, for thee the best;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then look around, and choose thy ground,</span>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ take thy rest.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Byron.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxix">LXXIX</a></small><br />AFTER CORUNNA
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As his corse to the rampart we hurried;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O'er the grave where our hero we buried.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We buried him darkly at dead of night,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The sods with our bayonets turning,</span>
+ <span class="i0">By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the lantern dimly burning.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page173" id="page173" title="173"></a> <span
+ class="i0">No useless coffin enclosed his breast,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But he lay like a warrior taking his rest</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With his martial cloak around him.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Few and short were the prayers we said,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And we spoke not a word of sorrow;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And we bitterly thought of the morrow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And smoothed down his lonely pillow,</span>
+ <span class="i0">How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And we far away on the billow!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the grave where a Briton has laid him.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But half of our heavy task was done,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When the clock struck the hour for retiring;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And we heard the distant and random gun</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That the foe was sullenly firing.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Slowly and sadly we laid him down,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From the field of his fame fresh and gory;</span>
+ <span class="i0">We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But we left him alone with his glory.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Wolfe.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page174" id="page174" title="174"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_lxxx">LXXX</a></small><br />THE OLD NAVY
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The captain stood on the carronade: &lsquo;First
+ lieutenant,&rsquo; says he,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Send all
+ my merry men aft here, for they must list to me;</span> <span
+ class="i0">I haven't the gift of the gab, my sons&mdash;because I'm bred
+ to the sea;</span> <span class="i0">That ship there is a Frenchman,
+ who means to fight with we.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea,</span> <span
+ class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I've fought 'gainst every
+ odds&mdash;but I've gained the victory!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">That ship there is a Frenchman, and if we don't take <i>she</i>,</span>
+ <span class="i0">'Tis a thousand bullets to one, that she will capture
+ <i>we</i>;</span> <span class="i0">I haven't the gift of the gab,
+ my boys; so each man to his gun;</span> <span class="i0">If she's
+ not mine in half an hour, I'll flog each mother's son.</span> <span
+ class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For odds bobs, hammer and
+ tongs, long as I've been to sea,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I've
+ fought 'gainst every odds&mdash;and I've gained the victory!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We fought for twenty minutes, when the Frenchman had
+ enough;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;I little thought,&rsquo;
+ said he, &lsquo;that your men were of such stuff&rsquo;;</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page175" id="page175" title="175"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Our captain took the Frenchman's sword, a low bow made to <i>he</i>;</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;I haven't the gift of the gab, monsieur, but
+ polite I wish to be.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea,</span> <span
+ class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I've fought 'gainst every
+ odds&mdash;and I've gained the victory!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Our captain sent for all of us: &lsquo;My merry men,&rsquo;
+ said he,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;I haven't the gift of the
+ gab, my lads, but yet I thankful be.</span> <span class="i0">You've
+ done your duty handsomely, each man stood to his gun;</span> <span
+ class="i0">If you hadn't, you villains, as sure as day, I'd have flogged
+ each mother's son.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ odds bobs, hammer and tongs, as long as I'm at sea,</span> <span
+ class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I'll fight 'gainst every
+ odds&mdash;and I'll gain the victory!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Marryat.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxxi">LXXXI</a></small><br />CASABIANCA
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The boy stood on the burning deck</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whence all but he had fled;</span> <span
+ class="i0">The flame that lit the battle's wreck</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Shone round him o'er the dead.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page176" id="page176" title="176"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Yet beautiful and bright he stood,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As born to rule the storm:</span> <span
+ class="i0">A creature of heroic blood,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ proud though child-like form.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The flames rolled on&mdash;he would not go</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Without his father's word;</span>
+ <span class="i0">That father, faint in death below,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His voice no longer heard.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He called aloud; &lsquo;Say, father! say</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;If yet my task is done!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">He knew not that the chieftain lay</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Unconscious of his son.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Speak, father!&rsquo; once again he cried,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;If I may yet be gone!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And but the booming shots replied,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And fast the flames rolled on.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Upon his brow he felt their breath,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And in his waving hair;</span> <span
+ class="i0">He looked from that lone post of death</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In still yet brave despair,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And shouted but once more aloud,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;My father! must I stay?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The wreathing fires made way.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They caught the flag on high,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And streamed above the gallant child</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Like banners in the sky.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page177" id="page177" title="177"></a> <span
+ class="i0">There came a burst of thunder-sound&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The boy&mdash;O! where was he?</span> <span
+ class="i0">Ask of the winds that far around</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ fragments strewed the sea:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That well had borne their part!</span> <span
+ class="i0">But the noblest thing which perished there</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was that young faithful heart.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Hemans.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxxi">LXXXII</a></small><br />THE PILGRIM FATHERS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The breaking waves dashed high</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On a stern and rock-bound coast,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the woods against a stormy sky</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Their giant branches tossed;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And the heavy night hung dark</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The hills and waters o'er,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When a band of exiles moored their bark</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On the wild New England shore.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Not as the conqueror comes,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They,
+ the true-hearted, came;</span> <span class="i0">Not with the roll
+ of the stirring drums,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the
+ trumpet that sings of fame;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Not as the flying come,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ silence and in fear;&mdash;</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page178" id="page178" title="178"></a> <span class="i0">They shook
+ the depths of the desert gloom</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ their hymns of lofty cheer.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Amidst the storm they sang,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ the stars heard and the sea;</span> <span class="i0">And the
+ sounding aisles of the dim woods rang</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ the anthem of the free!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The ocean eagle soared</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From
+ his nest by the white wave's foam;</span> <span class="i0">And the
+ rocking pines of the forest roared&mdash;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;This
+ was their welcome home!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">There were men with hoary hair</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Amidst that pilgrim band;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Why had <i>they</i> come to wither there,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Away from their childhood's land?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">There was woman's fearless eye,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lit by her deep love's truth;</span> <span
+ class="i0">There was manhood's brow serenely high,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the fiery heart of youth.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">What sought they thus afar?</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Bright
+ jewels of the mine?</span> <span class="i0">The wealth of seas, the
+ spoils of war?</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They sought a
+ faith's pure shrine!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Ay, call it holy ground,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ soil where first they trod.</span> <span class="i0">They have left
+ unstained what there they found&mdash;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Freedom
+ to worship God.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Hemans.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page179" id="page179" title="179"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_lxxxiii">LXXXIII</a></small><br />TO THE ADVENTUROUS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Round many western islands have I been</span>
+ <span class="i0">Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Oft of one wide expanse had I been told</span> <span
+ class="i0">That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet did I never breathe its pure serene</span>
+ <span class="i0">Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then felt I like some watcher of the skies</span>
+ <span class="i0">When a new planet swims into his ken;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes</span> <span
+ class="i0">He stared at the Pacific&mdash;and all his men</span>
+ <span class="i0">Looked at each other with a wild surmise&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Silent, upon a peak in Darien.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Keats.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxxiv">LXXXIV</a></small><br />HORATIUS
+ </h2>
+ <h3>
+ THE TRYSTING
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Lars Porsena of Clusium</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;By
+ the Nine Gods he swore</span> <span class="i0">That the great house
+ of Tarquin</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Should suffer wrong
+ no more.</span> <span class="i0">By the Nine Gods he swore it,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And named a trysting day,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And bade his messengers ride forth</span> <span
+ class="i0">East and west and south and north</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ summon his array.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page180" id="page180" title="180"></a> <span
+ class="i0">East and west and south and north</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ messengers ride fast,</span> <span class="i0">And tower and town
+ and cottage</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Have heard the
+ trumpet's blast.</span> <span class="i0">Shame on the false
+ Etruscan</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who lingers in his
+ home,</span> <span class="i0">When Porsena of Clusium</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is on the march for Rome.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The horsemen and the footmen</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Are pouring in amain</span> <span class="i0">From
+ many a stately market-place,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From
+ many a fruitful plain;</span> <span class="i0">From many a lonely
+ hamlet</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Which, hid by beech and
+ pine,</span> <span class="i0">Like an eagle's nest hangs on the
+ crest</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of purple Apennine;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">From lordly Volaterr&aelig;,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where scowls the far-famed hold</span> <span
+ class="i0">Piled by the hands of giants</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ godlike kings of old;</span> <span class="i0">From sea-girt
+ Populonia</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose sentinels
+ descry</span> <span class="i0">Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fringing the southern sky;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">From the proud mart of Pis&aelig;,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Queen of the western waves,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where ride Massilia's triremes</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Heavy
+ with fair-haired slaves;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page181"
+ id="page181" title="181"></a> <span class="i0">From where sweet Clanis
+ wanders</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Through corn and vines
+ and flowers;</span> <span class="i0">From where Cortona lifts to
+ heaven</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Her diadem of towers.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Tall are the oaks whose acorns</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Drop in dark Auser's rill;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Fat are the stags that champ the boughs</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Ciminian hill;</span> <span class="i0">Beyond
+ all streams Clitumnus</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is to the
+ herdsman dear;</span> <span class="i0">Best of all pools the fowler
+ loves</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The great Volsinian mere.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But now no stroke of woodman</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is heard by Auser's rill;</span> <span
+ class="i0">No hunter tracks the stag's green path</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Up the Ciminian hill;</span> <span class="i0">Unwatched
+ along Clitumnus</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Grazes the
+ milk-white steer;</span> <span class="i0">Unharmed the water-fowl
+ may dip</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the Volsinian mere.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The harvests of Arretium</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;This
+ year old men shall reap;</span> <span class="i0">This year young
+ boys in Umbro</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall plunge the
+ struggling sheep;</span> <span class="i0">And in the vats of Luna</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;This year the must shall foam</span>
+ <span class="i0">Round the white feet of laughing girls</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose sires have marched to Rome.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page182" id="page182" title="182"></a> <span
+ class="i0">There be thirty chosen prophets,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ wisest of the land,</span> <span class="i0">Who alway by Lars
+ Porsena</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Both morn and evening
+ stand:</span> <span class="i0">Evening and morn the Thirty</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Have turned the verses o'er,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Traced from the right on linen white</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;By mighty seers of yore.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And with one voice the Thirty</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Have their glad answer given:</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Go forth, beloved of Heaven;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Go, and return in glory</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ Clusium's royal dome,</span> <span class="i0">And hang round
+ Nurscia's altars</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The golden
+ shields of Rome.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And now hath every city</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sent
+ up her tale of men;</span> <span class="i0">The foot are fourscore
+ thousand,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The horse are
+ thousands ten.</span> <span class="i0">Before the gates of Sutrium</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is met the great array.</span> <span
+ class="i0">A proud man was Lars Porsena</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon
+ the trysting day!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">For all the Etruscan armies</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Were
+ ranged beneath his eye,</span> <span class="i0">And many a banished
+ Roman,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And many a stout ally;</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page183" id="page183" title="183"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And with a mighty following</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ join the muster came</span> <span class="i0">The Tusculan Mamilius,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Prince of the Latian name.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE TROUBLE IN ROME
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But by the yellow Tiber</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was
+ tumult and affright:</span> <span class="i0">From all the spacious
+ champaign</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To Rome men took
+ their flight.</span> <span class="i0">A mile around the city</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The throng stopped up the ways;</span>
+ <span class="i0">A fearful sight it was to see</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Through two long nights and days.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">For aged folk on crutches,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ women great with child,</span> <span class="i0">And mothers sobbing
+ over babes</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That clung to them
+ and smiled,</span> <span class="i0">And sick men borne in litters</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;High on the necks of slaves,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And troops of sun-burned husbandmen</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With reaping-hooks and staves,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And droves of mules and asses</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Laden with skins of wine,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And endless flocks of goats and sheep,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And endless herds of kine,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And endless trains of waggons</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ creaked beneath the weight</span> <span class="i0">Of corn-sacks
+ and of household goods,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Choked
+ every roaring gate.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page184" id="page184" title="184"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Now from the rock Tarpeian</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Could
+ the wan burghers spy</span> <span class="i0">The line of blazing
+ villages</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Red in the midnight
+ sky.</span> <span class="i0">The Fathers of the City,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They sat all night and day,</span>
+ <span class="i0">For every hour some horseman came</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With tidings of dismay.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To eastward and to westward</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Have
+ spread the Tuscan bands;</span> <span class="i0">Nor house, nor
+ fence, nor dovecote</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ Crustumerium stands.</span> <span class="i0">Verbenna down to Ostia</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Hath wasted all the plain;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Astur hath stormed Janiculum,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the stout guards are slain.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I wis, in all the Senate</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;There
+ was no heart so bold</span> <span class="i0">But sore it ached, and
+ fast it beat,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When that ill
+ news was told.</span> <span class="i0">Forthwith up rose the
+ Consul,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Up rose the Fathers
+ all;</span> <span class="i0">In haste they girded up their gowns,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And hied them to the wall.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They held a council standing</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Before the River-Gate;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Short time was there, ye well may guess,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For musing or debate.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page185" id="page185" title="185"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Out spake the Consul roundly:</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;The
+ bridge must straight go down;</span> <span class="i0">For, since
+ Janiculum is lost,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nought else
+ can save the town.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Just then a scout came flying,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;All wild with haste and fear:</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;To arms! to arms! Sir Consul:</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lars Porsena is here.&rsquo;</span> <span
+ class="i0">On the low hills to westward</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ Consul fixed his eye,</span> <span class="i0">And saw the swarthy
+ storm of dust</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Rise fast along
+ the sky.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And nearer fast and nearer</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Doth
+ the red whirlwind come;</span> <span class="i0">And louder still
+ and still more loud,</span> <span class="i0">From underneath that
+ rolling cloud</span> <span class="i0">Is heard the trumpet's
+ war-note proud,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The trampling,
+ and the hum.</span> <span class="i0">And plainly and more plainly</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Now through the gloom appears,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Far to left and far to right,</span> <span
+ class="i0">In broken gleams of dark-blue light,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The long array of helmets bright,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ long array of spears.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And plainly and more plainly</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Above that glimmering line</span> <span
+ class="i0">Now might ye see the banners</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of
+ twelve fair cities shine;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page186"
+ id="page186" title="186"></a> <span class="i0">But the banner of proud
+ Clusium</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was highest of them
+ all,</span> <span class="i0">The terror of the Umbrian,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The terror of the Gaul.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And plainly and more plainly</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Now might the burghers know,</span> <span
+ class="i0">By port and vest, by horse and crest,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Each warlike Lucumo.</span> <span class="i0">There
+ Cilnius of Arretium</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On his
+ fleet roan was seen;</span> <span class="i0">And Astur of the
+ fourfold shield,</span> <span class="i0">Girt with the brand none
+ else may wield,</span> <span class="i0">Tolumnius with the belt of
+ gold,</span> <span class="i0">And dark Verbenna from the hold</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;By reedy Thrasymene.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Fast by the royal standard</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O'erlooking
+ all the war,</span> <span class="i0">Lars Porsena of Clusium</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sate in his ivory car.</span> <span
+ class="i0">By the right wheel rode Mamilius,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Prince
+ of the Latian name;</span> <span class="i0">And by the left false
+ Sextus,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That wrought the deed
+ of shame.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But when the face of Sextus</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was
+ seen among the foes,</span> <span class="i0">A yell that rent the
+ firmament</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From all the town
+ arose.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page187" id="page187"
+ title="187"></a> <span class="i0">On the house-tops was no woman</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But spat towards him, and hissed;</span>
+ <span class="i0">No child but screamed out curses,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And shook its little fist.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But the Consul's brow was sad,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the Consul's speech was low,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And darkly looked he at the wall,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And darkly at the foe.</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Their van will be upon us</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Before
+ the bridge goes down;</span> <span class="i0">And if they once may
+ win the bridge,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;What hope to
+ save the town?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then out spake brave Horatius,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The Captain of the gate:</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;To every man upon this earth</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Death cometh soon or late;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And how can man die better</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Than
+ facing fearful odds,</span> <span class="i0">For the ashes of his
+ fathers</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the temples of his
+ Gods,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And for the tender mother</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who
+ dandled him to rest,</span> <span class="i0">And for the wife who
+ nurses</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His baby at her breast,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And for the holy maidens</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who
+ feed the eternal flame,</span> <span class="i0">To save them from
+ false Sextus</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That wrought the
+ deed of shame?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page188" id="page188" title="188"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ all the speed ye may;</span> <span class="i0">I, with two more to
+ help me,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Will hold the foe in
+ play.</span> <span class="i0">In yon strait path a thousand</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;May well be stopped by three.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Now who will stand on either hand,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And keep the bridge with me?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then out spake Spurius Lartius,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A Ramnian proud was he:</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And keep the bridge with thee.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And out spake strong Heminius,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of Titian blood was he:</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;I will abide on thy left side,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And keep the bridge with thee.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Horatius,&rsquo; quoth the Consul,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;As thou sayest, so let it be.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And straight against that great array</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Forth went the dauntless Three.</span> <span
+ class="i0">For Romans in Rome's quarrel</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Spared
+ neither land nor gold,</span> <span class="i0">Nor son nor wife,
+ nor limb nor life,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the brave
+ days of old.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then none was for a party;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Then
+ all were for the state;</span> <span class="i0">Then the great man
+ helped the poor,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the poor
+ man loved the great:</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page189"
+ id="page189" title="189"></a> <span class="i0">Then lands were fairly
+ portioned;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Then spoils were
+ fairly sold:</span> <span class="i0">The Romans were like brothers</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the brave days of old.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now Roman is to Roman</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;More
+ hateful than a foe,</span> <span class="i0">And the Tribunes beard
+ the high,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the Fathers grind
+ the low.</span> <span class="i0">As we wax hot in faction,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In battle we wax cold:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Wherefore men fight not as they fought</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the brave days of old.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE KEEPING OF THE BRIDGE
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now while the Three were tightening</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Their harness on their backs,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The Consul was the foremost man</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ take in hand an axe:</span> <span class="i0">And Fathers mixed with
+ Commons</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Seized hatchet, bar,
+ and crow,</span> <span class="i0">And smote upon the planks above,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And loosed the props below.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Meanwhile the Tuscan army,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Right
+ glorious to behold,</span> <span class="i0">Came flashing back the
+ noonday light,</span> <span class="i0">Rank behind rank, like
+ surges bright</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of a broad sea of
+ gold.</span> <span class="i0">Four hundred trumpets sounded</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A peal of warlike glee,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page190" id="page190" title="190"></a> <span
+ class="i0">As that great host, with measured tread,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where stood the dauntless Three.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Three stood calm and silent,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And looked upon the foes,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And a great shout of laughter</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From
+ all the vanguard rose:</span> <span class="i0">And forth three
+ chiefs came spurring</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Before
+ that deep array;</span> <span class="i0">To earth they sprang,
+ their swords they drew,</span> <span class="i0">And lifted high
+ their shields, and flew</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To win
+ the narrow way;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Aunus from green Tifernum,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lord
+ of the Hill of Vines;</span> <span class="i0">And Seius, whose
+ eight hundred slaves</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sicken in
+ Ilva's mines;</span> <span class="i0">And Picus, long to Clusium</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Vassal in peace and war,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Who led to fight his Umbrian powers</span> <span
+ class="i0">From that grey crag where, girt with towers,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The fortress of Nequinum lowers</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O'er the pale waves of Nar.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Into the stream beneath:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Herminius struck at Seius,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ clove him to the teeth:</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page191"
+ id="page191" title="191"></a> <span class="i0">At Picus brave Horatius</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Darted one fiery thrust,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Clashed in the bloody dust.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then Ocnus of Falerii</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Rushed
+ on the Roman Three;</span> <span class="i0">And Lausulus of Urgo,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The rover of the sea;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And Aruns of Volsinium,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who
+ slew the great wild boar,</span> <span class="i0">The great wild
+ boar that had his den</span> <span class="i0">Amidst the reeds of
+ Cosa's fen,</span> <span class="i0">And wasted fields, and
+ slaughtered men,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Along
+ Albinia's shore.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Herminius smote down Aruns:</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lartius
+ laid Ocnus low:</span> <span class="i0">Right to the heart of
+ Lausulus</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Horatius sent a blow.</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Lie there,&rsquo; he cried, &lsquo;fell pirate!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;No more, aghast and pale,</span> <span
+ class="i0">From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark</span> <span
+ class="i0">The track of thy destroying bark.</span> <span class="i0">No
+ more Campania's hinds shall fly</span> <span class="i0">To woods
+ and caverns when they spy</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thy
+ thrice-accursed sail.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But now no sound of laughter</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was heard amongst the foes.</span> <span
+ class="i0">A wild and wrathful clamour</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From
+ all the vanguard rose.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page192"
+ id="page192" title="192"></a> <span class="i0">Six spears' lengths from
+ the entrance</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Halted that deep
+ array,</span> <span class="i0">And for a space no man came forth</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To win the narrow way.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But hark! the cry is Astur:</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ lo! the ranks divide;</span> <span class="i0">And the great Lord of
+ Luna</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Comes with his stately
+ stride.</span> <span class="i0">Upon his ample shoulders</span>
+ <span title="Original not indented" class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Clangs loud
+ the fourfold shield,</span> <span class="i0">And in his hand he
+ shakes the brand</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Which none but
+ he can wield.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He smiled on those bold Romans</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A smile serene and high;</span> <span
+ class="i0">He eyed the flinching Tuscans,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ scorn was in his eye.</span> <span class="i0">Quoth he, &lsquo;The
+ she-wolf's litter</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Stands
+ savagely at bay:</span> <span class="i0">But will ye dare to
+ follow,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;If Astur clears the
+ way?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then, whirling up his broadsword</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With both hands to the height,</span> <span
+ class="i0">He rushed against Horatius,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ smote with all his might.</span> <span class="i0">With shield and
+ blade Horatius</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Right deftly
+ turned the blow.</span> <span class="i0">The blow, though turned,
+ came yet too nigh;</span> <span title="Original indented" class="i0">It
+ missed his helm, but gashed his thigh:</span> <span class="i0">The
+ Tuscans raised a joyful cry</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ see the red blood flow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page193" id="page193" title="193"></a> <span
+ class="i0">He reeled, and on Herminius</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He
+ leaned one breathing-space;</span> <span class="i0">Then, like a
+ wild cat mad with wounds,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sprang
+ right at Astur's face.</span> <span class="i0">Through teeth, and
+ skull, and helmet,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;So fierce a
+ thrust he sped</span> <span class="i0">The good sword stood a
+ handbreadth out</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Behind the
+ Tuscan's head.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And the great Lord of Luna</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fell
+ at that deadly stroke,</span> <span class="i0">As falls on Mount
+ Alvernus</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A thunder-smitten oak:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Far o'er the crashing forest</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The giant arms lie spread;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the pale augurs, muttering low,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Gaze on the blasted head.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">On Astur's throat Horatius</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Right
+ firmly pressed his heel,</span> <span class="i0">And thrice and
+ four times tugged amain,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ere he
+ wrenched out the steel.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;And see,&rsquo;
+ he cried, &lsquo;the welcome,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fair
+ guests, that waits you here!</span> <span class="i0">What noble
+ Lucumo comes next</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To taste our
+ Roman cheer?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But at his haughty challenge</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A sullen murmur ran,</span> <span class="i0">Mingled
+ of wrath and shame and dread,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Along
+ that glittering van.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page194"
+ id="page194" title="194"></a> <span class="i0">There lacked not men of
+ prowess,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor men of lordly
+ race;</span> <span class="i0">For all Etruria's noblest</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Were round the fatal place.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But all Etruria's noblest</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Felt
+ their hearts sink to see</span> <span class="i0">On the earth the
+ bloody corpses,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the path the
+ dauntless Three:</span> <span class="i0">And, from the ghastly
+ entrance</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where those bold
+ Romans stood,</span> <span class="i0">All shrank, like boys who
+ unaware,</span> <span class="i0">Ranging the woods to start a hare,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Come to the mouth of the dark lair</span> <span
+ class="i0">Where, growling low, a fierce old bear</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lies amidst bones and blood.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Was none who would be foremost</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To lead such dire attack;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But those behind cried &lsquo;Forward!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And those before cried &lsquo;Back!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And backward now and forward</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wavers the deep array;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And on the tossing sea of steel,</span> <span
+ title="Original indented" class="i0">To and fro the standards reel;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the victorious trumpet-peal</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Dies fitfully away.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet one man for one moment</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Strode
+ out before the crowd;</span> <span class="i0">Well known was he to
+ all the Three,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And they gave
+ him greeting loud.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page195"
+ id="page195" title="195"></a> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Now welcome,
+ welcome, Sextus!</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Now welcome to
+ thy home!</span> <span class="i0">Why dost thou stay, and turn
+ away?</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Here lies the road to
+ Rome.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Thrice looked he at the city;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thrice looked he at the dead;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And thrice came on in fury,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ thrice turned back in dread:</span> <span class="i0">And, white
+ with fear and hatred,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Scowled
+ at the narrow way</span> <span class="i0">Where, wallowing in a
+ pool of blood,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The bravest
+ Tuscans lay.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But meanwhile axe and lever</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Have
+ manfully been plied;</span> <span class="i0">And now the bridge
+ hangs tottering</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Above the
+ boiling tide.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Come back, come back,
+ Horatius!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Loud cried the
+ Fathers all.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Back, Lartius! back,
+ Herminius!</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Back, ere the ruin
+ fall!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Back darted Spurius Lartius;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Herminius darted back:</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, as they passed, beneath their feet</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They felt the timbers crack.</span> <span
+ class="i0">But, when they turned their faces,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And on the farther shore</span> <span
+ class="i0">Saw brave Horatius stand alone,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They
+ would have crossed once more.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page196" id="page196" title="196"></a> <span
+ class="i0">But with a crash like thunder</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fell
+ every loosened beam,</span> <span class="i0">And, like a dam, the
+ mighty wreck</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lay right athwart
+ the stream:</span> <span class="i0">And a long shout of triumph</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Rose from the walls of Rome,</span>
+ <span class="i0">As to the highest turret-tops</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was splashed the yellow foam.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And, like a horse unbroken</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When
+ first he feels the rein,</span> <span class="i0">The furious river
+ struggled hard,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And tossed his
+ tawny mane;</span> <span class="i0">And burst the curb, and
+ bounded,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Rejoicing to be free;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And whirling down, in fierce career,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Battlement, and plank, and pier,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Rushed
+ headlong to the sea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ FATHER TIBER
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Alone stood brave Horatius,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ constant still in mind;</span> <span class="i0">Thrice thirty
+ thousand foes before,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the
+ broad flood behind.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Down with him!&rsquo;
+ cried false Sextus,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With a
+ smile on his pale face.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Now yield
+ thee,&rsquo; cried Lars Porsena,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Now
+ yield thee to our grace.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Round turned he, as not deigning</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Those craven ranks to see;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page197" id="page197" title="197"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Nought spake he to Lars Porsena,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ Sextus nought spake he;</span> <span class="i0">But he saw on
+ Palatinus</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The white porch of
+ his home;</span> <span class="i0">And he spake to the noble river</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That rolls by the towers of Rome.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O Tiber! father Tiber!</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To whom the Romans pray,</span> <span
+ class="i0">A Roman's life, a Roman's arms,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Take
+ thou in charge this day!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">So he
+ spake, and speaking sheathed</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ good sword by his side,</span> <span class="i0">And with his
+ harness on his back</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Plunged
+ headlong in the tide.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">No sound of joy or sorrow</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was
+ heard from either bank;</span> <span class="i0">But friends and
+ foes in dumb surprise,</span> <span class="i0">With parted lips and
+ straining eyes,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Stood gazing
+ where he sank;</span> <span class="i0">And when above the surges</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They saw his crest appear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And even the ranks of Tuscany</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Could
+ scarce forbear to cheer.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But fiercely ran the current,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Swollen high by months of rain:</span> <span
+ class="i0">And fast his blood was flowing;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ he was sore in pain,</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page198"
+ id="page198" title="198"></a> <span class="i0">And heavy with his
+ armour,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And spent with changing
+ blows:</span> <span class="i0">And oft they thought him sinking,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But still again he rose.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Never, I ween, did swimmer,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ such an evil case,</span> <span class="i0">Struggle through such a
+ raging flood</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Safe to the
+ landing-place:</span> <span class="i0">But his limbs were borne up
+ bravely</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;By the brave heart
+ within,</span> <span class="i0">And our good father Tiber</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Bare bravely up his chin.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Curse on him!&rsquo; quoth false Sextus;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Will not the villain drown?</span>
+ <span class="i0">But for this stay ere close of day</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We should have sacked the town!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Heaven help him!&rsquo; quoth Lars Porsena,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;And bring him safe to shore;</span>
+ <span class="i0">For such a gallant feat of arms</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was never seen before.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And now he feels the bottom;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Now on dry earth he stands;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Now round him throng the Fathers</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ press his gory hands;</span> <span class="i0">And now with shouts
+ and clapping,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And noise of
+ weeping loud,</span> <span class="i0">He enters through the
+ River-Gate,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Borne by the joyous
+ crowd.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page199" id="page199" title="199"></a> <span
+ class="i0">They gave him of the corn-land,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ was of public right,</span> <span class="i0">As much as two strong
+ oxen</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Could plough from morn
+ till night;</span> <span class="i0">And they made a molten image,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And set it up on high,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And there it stands unto this day</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ witness if I lie.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">It stands in the Comitium</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Plain
+ for all folk to see;</span> <span class="i0">Horatius in his
+ harness,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Halting upon one knee:</span>
+ <span class="i0">And underneath is written,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ letters all of gold,</span> <span class="i0">How valiantly he kept
+ the bridge</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the brave days of
+ old.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And still his name sounds stirring</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Unto the men of Rome,</span> <span class="i0">As
+ the trumpet-blast that cries to them</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ charge the Volscian home;</span> <span class="i0">And wives still
+ pray to Juno</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For boys with
+ hearts as bold</span> <span class="i0">As his who kept the bridge
+ so well</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the brave days of
+ old.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And in the nights of winter,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When the cold north winds blow,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the long howling of the wolves</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is heard amidst the snow;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page200" id="page200" title="200"></a> <span
+ class="i0">When round the lonely cottage</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Roars
+ loud the tempest's din,</span> <span class="i0">And the good logs
+ of Algidus</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Roar louder yet
+ within;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When the oldest cask is opened,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the largest lamp is lit;</span> <span
+ class="i0">When the chestnuts glow in the embers,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the kid turns on the spit;</span> <span
+ class="i0">When young and old in circle</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Around
+ the firebrands close;</span> <span class="i0">When the girls are
+ weaving baskets,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the lads
+ are shaping bows;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When the goodman mends his armour</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And trims his helmet's plume;</span> <span
+ class="i0">When the goodwife's shuttle merrily</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Goes flashing through the loom;</span> <span
+ class="i0">With weeping and with laughter</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Still
+ is the story told,</span> <span class="i0">How well Horatius kept
+ the bridge</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the brave days of
+ old.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Macaulay.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxxiv">LXXXV</a></small><br />THE ARMADA
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's
+ praise;</span> <span class="i0">I tell of the thrice famous deeds
+ she wrought in ancient days,</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page201" id="page201" title="201"></a> <span class="i0">When that
+ great fleet invincible against her bore in vain</span> <span
+ class="i0">The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.</span>
+ <span class="i0">It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,</span>
+ <span class="i0">There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to
+ Plymouth Bay;</span> <span class="i0">Her crew hath seen Castile's
+ black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,</span> <span class="i0">At
+ earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile.</span>
+ <span class="i0">At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial
+ grace;</span> <span class="i0">And the tall Pinta, till the noon,
+ had held her close in chase.</span> <span class="i0">Forthwith a
+ guard at every gun was placed along the wall;</span> <span
+ class="i0">The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty hall;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the
+ coast,</span> <span class="i0">And with loose rein and bloody spur
+ rode inland many a post.</span> <span class="i0">With his white
+ hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums;</span>
+ <span class="i0">His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample
+ space;</span> <span class="i0">For there behoves him to set up the
+ standard of Her Grace.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page202"
+ id="page202" title="202"></a> <span class="i0">And haughtily the
+ trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,</span> <span class="i0">As
+ slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies
+ down!</span> <span class="i0">So stalked he when he turned to
+ flight, on that famed Picard field,</span> <span class="i0">Bohemia's
+ plume, and Genoa's bow, and C&aelig;sar's eagle shield.</span>
+ <span class="i0">So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to
+ bay,</span> <span class="i0">And crushed and torn beneath his claws
+ the princely hunters lay.</span> <span class="i0">Ho! strike the
+ flagstaff deep, Sir Knight: ho! scatter flowers, fair maids:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute; ho! gallants, draw
+ your blades:</span> <span class="i0">Thou sun, shine on her
+ joyously: ye breezes, waft her wide;</span> <span class="i0">Our
+ glorious <strong>semper eadem</strong>, the banner of our pride.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that
+ banner's massy fold;</span> <span class="i0">The parting gleam of
+ sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;</span> <span class="i0">Night
+ sank upon the dusky beach and on the purple sea,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall
+ be.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page203" id="page203"
+ title="203"></a> <span class="i0">From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from
+ Lynn to Milford Bay,</span> <span class="i0">That time of slumber
+ was as bright and busy as the day;</span> <span class="i0">For
+ swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread,</span>
+ <span class="i0">High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: it shone on
+ Beachy Head.</span> <span class="i0">Far on the deep the Spaniard
+ saw, along each southern shire,</span> <span class="i0">Cape beyond
+ cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.</span>
+ <span class="i0">The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering
+ waves:</span> <span class="i0">The rugged miners poured to war from
+ Mendip's sunless caves!</span> <span class="i0">O'er Longleat's
+ towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew:</span> <span
+ class="i0">He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of
+ Beaulieu.</span> <span class="i0">Right sharp and quick the bells
+ all night rang out from Bristol town,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the
+ night,</span> <span class="i0">And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill
+ the streak of blood-red light:</span> <span class="i0">Then bugle's
+ note and cannon's roar the death-like silence broke,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke.</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page204" id="page204" title="204"></a> <span
+ class="i0">At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires;</span>
+ <span class="i0">At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling
+ spires;</span> <span class="i0">From all the batteries of the Tower
+ pealed loud the voice of fear;</span> <span class="i0">And all the
+ thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying
+ feet,</span> <span class="i0">And the broad streams of pikes and
+ flags rushed down each roaring street;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,</span>
+ <span class="i0">As fast from every village round the horse came
+ spurring in.</span> <span class="i0">And eastward straight from
+ wild Blackheath the warlike errand went,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those
+ bright couriers forth;</span> <span class="i0">High on bleak
+ Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still:</span>
+ <span class="i0">All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang
+ from hill to hill:</span> <span class="i0">Till the proud Peak
+ unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales,</span> <span class="i0">Till
+ like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy huts of Wales,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page205" id="page205" title="205"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely
+ height,</span> <span class="i0">Till streamed in crimson on the
+ wind the Wrekin's crest of light,</span> <span class="i0">Till
+ broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the
+ boundless plain;</span> <span class="i0">Till Belvoir's lordly
+ terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's
+ embattled pile,</span> <span class="i0">And the red glare on
+ Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Macaulay.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxxiv">LXXXVI</a></small><br />THE LAST BUCCANEER
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The winds were yelling, the waves were swelling,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The sky was black and drear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship
+ without a name</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Alongside the
+ last Buccaneer.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Whence flies your sloop full sail before so
+ fierce a gale,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When all others
+ drive bare on the seas?</span> <span class="i0">Say, come ye from
+ the shore of the holy Salvador,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or
+ the gulf of the rich Caribbees?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page206" id="page206" title="206"></a> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line
+ can sound,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Without rudder or
+ needle we steer;</span> <span class="i0">Above, below, our bark
+ dies the sea-fowl and the shark,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As
+ we fly by the last Buccaneer.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To-night there shall be heard on the rocks of Cape de
+ Verde</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A loud crash and a louder
+ roar;</span> <span class="i0">And to-morrow shall the deep with a
+ heavy moaning sweep</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The corpses
+ and wreck to the shore,&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the breath of the citron shades;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Severn's towering mast securely now hies fast,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Through the seas of the balmy Trades.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">From St Jago's wealthy port, from Havannah's royal
+ fort,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The seaman goes forth
+ without fear;</span> <span class="i0">For since that stormy night
+ not a mortal hath had sight</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of
+ the flag of the last Buccaneer.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Macaulay.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxxiv">LXXXVII</a></small><br />A JACOBITE'S
+ EPITAPH
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To my true king I offered free from stain</span>
+ <span class="i0">Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain.</span>
+ <span class="i0">For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth, away,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And one dear hope, that was more prized than they.</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page207" id="page207" title="207"></a> <span
+ class="i0">For him I languished in a foreign clime,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Heard on Lavernia Scargill's whispering trees,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Each morning started from the dream to weep;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave</span>
+ <span class="i0">The resting-place I asked&mdash;an early grave.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone,</span>
+ <span class="i0">From that proud country which was once mine own,</span>
+ <span class="i0">By those white cliffs I never more must see,</span>
+ <span class="i0">By that dear language which I speak like thee,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear</span>
+ <span class="i0">O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Macaulay.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxxviii">LXXXVIII</a></small><br />THE SONG OF THE
+ WESTERN MEN
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">A good sword and a trusty hand!</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A merry heart and true!</span> <span
+ class="i0">King James's men shall understand</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;What
+ Cornish lads can do.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And have they fixed the where and when?</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And shall Trelawny die?</span> <span
+ class="i0">Here's twenty thousand Cornish men</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Will know the reason why!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Out spake their captain brave and bold,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A merry wight was he:</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;If London Tower were Michael's hold,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We'll set Trelawny free!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page208" id="page208" title="208"></a> <span
+ class="i0">We'll cross the Tamar, land to land,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The Severn is no stay,</span> <span
+ class="i0">With &ldquo;one and all,&rdquo; and hand in hand,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And who shall bid us nay?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And when we come to London Wall,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A pleasant sight to view,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Come forth! come forth! ye cowards all,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Here's men as good as you.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Trelawny he's in keep and hold,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Trelawny he may die;</span> <span class="i0">But
+ here's twenty thousand Cornish bold</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Will
+ know the reason why!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Hawker.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxxix">LXXXIX</a></small><br />THE BUILDING OF THE
+ SHIP
+ </h2>
+ <h3>
+ THE MODEL
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Build me straight, O worthy Master!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That shall laugh at all disaster,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The merchant's word</span> <span class="i0">Delighted
+ the Master heard;</span> <span class="i0">For his heart was in his
+ work, and the heart</span> <span class="i0">Giveth grace unto every
+ Art.</span> <span class="i0">A quiet smile played round his lips,</span>
+ <span class="i0">As the eddies and dimples of the tide</span> <span
+ class="i0">Play round the bows of ships,</span> <span class="i0">That
+ steadily at anchor ride.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page209"
+ id="page209" title="209"></a> <span class="i0">And with a voice that was
+ full of glee,</span> <span class="i0">He answered, &lsquo;Ere long
+ we will launch</span> <span class="i0">A vessel as goodly, and
+ strong, and staunch,</span> <span class="i0">As ever weathered a
+ wintry sea!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And first with nicest skill and art,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Perfect and finished in every part,</span> <span
+ class="i0">A little model the Master wrought,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Which should be to the larger plan</span> <span
+ class="i0">What the child is to the man,</span> <span class="i0">Its
+ counterpart in miniature;</span> <span class="i0">That with a hand
+ more swift and sure</span> <span class="i0">The greater labour
+ might be brought</span> <span class="i0">To answer to his inward
+ thought.</span> <span class="i0">And as he laboured, his mind ran
+ o'er</span> <span class="i0">The various ships that were built of
+ yore,</span> <span class="i0">And above them all, and strangest of
+ all,</span> <span class="i0">Towered the Great Harry, crank and
+ tall,</span> <span class="i0">Whose picture was hanging on the
+ wall,</span> <span class="i0">With bows and stern raised high in
+ air,</span> <span class="i0">And balconies hanging here and there,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And signal lanterns and flags afloat,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And eight round towers, like those that frown</span>
+ <span class="i0">From some old castle, looking down</span> <span
+ class="i0">Upon the drawbridge and the moat.</span> <span class="i0">And
+ he said with a smile, &lsquo;Our ship, I wis,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Shall be of another form than this!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">It was of another form, indeed;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Built for freight, and yet for speed,</span> <span
+ class="i0">A beautiful and gallant craft;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page210" id="page210" title="210"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Pressing down upon sail and mast,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Might not the sharp bows overwhelm;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Broad in the beam, but sloping aft</span> <span
+ class="i0">With graceful curve and slow degrees,</span> <span
+ class="i0">That she might be docile to the helm,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And that the currents of parted seas,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Closing behind, with mighty force,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Might aid and not impede her course.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE BUILDERS
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">In the ship-yard stood the Master,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With the model of the vessel,</span> <span
+ class="i0">That should laugh at all disaster,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Covering many a rood of ground,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Lay the timber piled around;</span> <span class="i0">Timber
+ of chestnut, and elm, and oak,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ scattered here and there, with these,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ knarred and crooked cedar knees;</span> <span class="i0">Brought
+ from regions far away,</span> <span class="i0">From Pascagoula's
+ sunny bay,</span> <span class="i0">And the banks of the roaring
+ Roanoke!</span> <span class="i0">Ah! what a wondrous thing it is</span>
+ <span class="i0">To note how many wheels of toil</span> <span
+ class="i0">One thought, one word, can set in motion!</span> <span
+ class="i0">There's not a ship that sails the ocean,</span> <span
+ class="i0">But every climate, every soil,</span> <span class="i0">Must
+ bring its tribute, great or small,</span> <span class="i0">And help
+ to build the wooden wall!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page211" id="page211" title="211"></a> <span
+ class="i0">The sun was rising o'er the sea,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ long the level shadows lay,</span> <span class="i0">As if they,
+ too, the beams would be</span> <span class="i0">Of some great, airy
+ argosy,</span> <span class="i0">Framed and launched in a single
+ day.</span> <span class="i0">That silent architect, the sun,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Had hewn and laid them every one,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Ere the work of man was yet begun.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Beside the Master, when he spoke,</span> <span class="i0">A
+ youth, against an anchor leaning,</span> <span class="i0">Listened
+ to catch his slightest meaning.</span> <span class="i0">Only the
+ long waves, as they broke</span> <span class="i0">In ripples on the
+ pebbly beach,</span> <span class="i0">Interrupted the old man's
+ speech.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Beautiful they were, in sooth,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The old man and the fiery youth!</span> <span class="i0">The
+ old man, in whose busy brain</span> <span class="i0">Many a ship
+ that sailed the main</span> <span class="i0">Was modelled o'er and
+ o'er again;&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">The fiery youth, who was
+ to be</span> <span class="i0">The heir of his dexterity,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When he had built and launched from land</span>
+ <span class="i0">What the elder head had planned.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Thus,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;will we build this
+ ship!</span> <span class="i0">Lay square the blocks upon the slip,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And follow well this plan of mine.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Choose the timbers with greatest care;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of all that is unsound beware;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page212" id="page212" title="212"></a> <span
+ class="i0">For only what is sound and strong</span> <span class="i0">To
+ this vessel shall belong.</span> <span class="i0">Cedar of Maine
+ and Georgia pine</span> <span class="i0">Here together shall
+ combine.</span> <span class="i0">A goodly frame, and a goodly fame,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the <strong>Union</strong> be her name!</span>
+ <span class="i0">For the day that gives her to the sea</span> <span
+ class="i0">Shall give my daughter unto thee!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Master's word</span> <span class="i0">Enraptur&egrave;d
+ the young man heard;</span> <span class="i0">And as he turned his
+ face aside,</span> <span class="i0">With a look of joy and a thrill
+ of pride,</span> <span class="i0">Standing before</span> <span
+ class="i0">Her father's door,</span> <span class="i0">He saw the
+ form of his promised bride.</span> <span class="i0">The sun shone
+ on her golden hair,</span> <span class="i0">And her cheek was
+ glowing fresh and fair,</span> <span class="i0">With the breath of
+ morn and the soft sea air.</span> <span class="i0">Like a beauteous
+ barge was she,</span> <span class="i0">Still at rest on the sandy
+ beach,</span> <span class="i0">Just beyond the billow's reach;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But he</span> <span class="i0">Was the restless,
+ seething, stormy sea!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Ah! how skilful grows the hand</span> <span
+ class="i0">That obeyeth Love's command!</span> <span class="i0">It
+ is the heart, and not the brain,</span> <span class="i0">That to
+ the highest doth attain,</span> <span class="i0">And he who
+ followeth Love's behest</span> <span class="i0">Far exceedeth all
+ the rest!</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page213" id="page213"
+ title="213"></a> <span class="i0">Thus with the rising of the sun</span>
+ <span class="i0">Was the noble task begun,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ soon throughout the ship-yard's bounds</span> <span class="i0">Were
+ heard the intermingled sounds</span> <span class="i0">Of axes and
+ of mallets, plied</span> <span class="i0">With vigourous arms on
+ every side;</span> <span class="i0">Plied so deftly and so well,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That ere the shadows of evening fell,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The keel of oak for a noble ship,</span> <span class="i0">Scarfed
+ and bolted, straight and strong,</span> <span class="i0">Was lying
+ ready, and stretched along</span> <span class="i0">The blocks, well
+ placed upon the slip.</span> <span class="i0">Happy, thrice happy,
+ every one</span> <span class="i0">Who sees his labour well begun,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And not perplexed and multiplied,</span> <span
+ class="i0">By idly waiting for time and tide!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And when the hot, long day was o'er,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The young man at the Master's door</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sat with the maiden calm and still.</span> <span
+ class="i0">And within the porch, a little more</span> <span
+ class="i0">Removed beyond the evening chill,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ father sat, and told them tales</span> <span class="i0">Of wrecks
+ in the great September gales,</span> <span class="i0">Of pirates
+ upon the Spanish Main,</span> <span class="i0">And ships that never
+ came back again;</span> <span class="i0">The chance and change of a
+ sailor's life,</span> <span class="i0">Want and plenty, rest and
+ strife,</span> <span class="i0">His roving fancy, like the wind,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That nothing can stay and nothing can bind:</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the magic charm of foreign lands,</span> <span
+ class="i0">With shadows of palms and shining sands,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page214" id="page214" title="214"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Where the tumbling surf,</span> <span class="i0">O'er
+ the coral reefs of Madagascar,</span> <span class="i0">Washes the
+ feet of the swarthy Lascar,</span> <span class="i0">As he lies
+ alone and asleep on the turf.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And the trembling maiden held her breath</span>
+ <span class="i0">At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With all its terror and mystery,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death,</span> <span
+ class="i0">That divides and yet unites mankind!</span> <span
+ class="i0">And whenever the old man paused, a gleam</span> <span
+ class="i0">From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume</span>
+ <span class="i0">The silent group in the twilight gloom,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And thoughtful faces, as in a dream;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And for a moment one might mark</span> <span class="i0">What
+ had been hidden by the dark,</span> <span class="i0">That the head
+ of the maiden lay at rest,</span> <span class="i0">Tenderly, on the
+ young man's breast!</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ IN THE SHIP-YARD
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Day by day the vessel grew,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ timbers fashioned strong and true,</span> <span class="i0">Stemson
+ and keelson and sternson-knee,</span> <span class="i0">Till, framed
+ with perfect symmetry,</span> <span class="i0">A skeleton ship rose
+ up to view!</span> <span class="i0">And round the bows and along
+ the side</span> <span class="i0">The heavy hammers and mallets
+ plied,</span> <span class="i0">Till after many a week, at length,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Wonderful for form and strength,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sublime in its enormous bulk,</span> <span class="i0">Loomed
+ aloft the shadowy hulk!</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page215"
+ id="page215" title="215"></a> <span class="i0">And around it columns of
+ smoke, upwreathing,</span> <span class="i0">Rose from the boiling,
+ bubbling, seething</span> <span class="i0">Caldron that glowed,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And overflowed</span> <span class="i0">With the
+ black tar, heated for the sheathing.</span> <span class="i0">And
+ amid the clamours</span> <span class="i0">Of clattering hammers,</span>
+ <span class="i0">He who listened heard now and then</span> <span
+ class="i0">The song of the Master and his men:&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Build me straight, O worthy Master,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel,</span>
+ <span class="i0">That shall laugh at all disaster,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">With oaken brace and copper band,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Lay the rudder on the sand,</span> <span class="i0">That,
+ like a thought, should have control</span> <span class="i0">Over
+ the movement of the whole;</span> <span class="i0">And near it the
+ anchor, whose giant hand</span> <span class="i0">Would reach down
+ and grapple with the land,</span> <span class="i0">And immovable
+ and fast</span> <span class="i0">Hold the great ship against the
+ bellowing blast!</span> <span class="i0">And at the bows an image
+ stood,</span> <span class="i0">By a cunning artist carved in wood,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With robes of white, that far behind</span> <span
+ class="i0">Seemed to be fluttering in the wind.</span> <span
+ class="i0">It was not shaped in a classic mould,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Or Naiad rising from the water,</span> <span class="i0">But
+ modelled from the Master's daughter!</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page216" id="page216" title="216"></a> <span class="i0">On many a
+ dreary and misty night</span> <span class="i0">'Twill be seen by
+ the rays of the signal light,</span> <span class="i0">Speeding
+ along through the rain and the dark,</span> <span class="i0">Like a
+ ghost in its snow-white sark,</span> <span class="i0">The pilot of
+ some phantom bark,</span> <span class="i0">Guiding the vessel in
+ its flight</span> <span class="i0">By a path none other knows
+ aright,</span> <span class="i0">Behold, at last,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Each tall and tapering mast</span> <span class="i0">Is
+ swung into its place;</span> <span class="i0">Shrouds and stays</span>
+ <span class="i0">Holding it firm and fast!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Long ago,</span> <span class="i0">In the
+ deer-haunted forests of Maine,</span> <span class="i0">When upon
+ mountain and plain</span> <span class="i0">Lay the snow,</span>
+ <span class="i0">They fell&mdash;those lordly pines!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Those grand, majestic pines!</span> <span class="i0">'Mid
+ shouts and cheers</span> <span class="i0">The jaded steers,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Panting beneath the goad,</span> <span class="i0">Dragged
+ down the weary, winding road</span> <span class="i0">Those captive
+ kings so straight and tall,</span> <span class="i0">To be shorn of
+ their streaming hair</span> <span class="i0">And, naked and bare,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To feel the stress and the strain</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of the wind and the reeling main,</span> <span class="i0">Whose
+ roar</span> <span class="i0">Would remind them for evermore</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of their native forest they should not see again.</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page217" id="page217" title="217"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And everywhere</span> <span class="i0">The slender,
+ graceful spars</span> <span class="i0">Poise aloft in the air,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And at the mast head,</span> <span class="i0">White,
+ blue, and red,</span> <span class="i0">A flag unrolls the stripes
+ and stars,</span> <span class="i0">Ah! when the wanderer, lonely,
+ friendless,</span> <span class="i0">In foreign harbours shall
+ behold</span> <span class="i0">That flag unrolled,</span>
+ <span class="i0">'Twill be as a friendly hand</span> <span
+ class="i0">Stretched out from his native land,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE TWO BRIDALS
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">All is finished! and at length</span> <span
+ class="i0">Has come the bridal day</span> <span class="i0">Of
+ beauty and of strength.</span> <span class="i0">To-day the vessel
+ shall be launched!</span> <span class="i0">With fleecy clouds the
+ sky is blanched,</span> <span class="i0">And o'er the bay,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Slowly, in all his splendours dight,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The great sun rises to behold the sight.</span> <span
+ class="i0">The ocean old,</span> <span class="i0">Centuries old,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Paces restless to and fro</span> <span class="i0">Up and
+ down the sands of gold.</span> <span class="i0">His beating heart
+ is not at rest;</span> <span class="i0">And far and wide,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page218" id="page218" title="218"></a> <span
+ class="i0">With ceaseless flow,</span> <span class="i0">His beard
+ of snow</span> <span class="i0">Heaves with the heaving of his
+ breast.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He waits impatient for his bride.</span> <span
+ class="i0">There she stands,</span> <span class="i0">With her foot
+ upon the sands,</span> <span class="i0">Decked with flags and
+ streamers gay</span> <span class="i0">In honour of her marriage
+ day,</span> <span class="i0">Her snow-white signals fluttering,
+ blending,</span> <span class="i0">Round her like a veil descending,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ready to be</span> <span class="i0">The bride of
+ the grey, old sea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">On the deck another bride</span> <span class="i0">Is
+ standing by her lover's side.</span> <span class="i0">Shadows from
+ the flags and shrouds,</span> <span class="i0">Like the shadows
+ cast by clouds,</span> <span class="i0">Broken by many a sunny
+ fleck,</span> <span class="i0">Fall around them on the deck.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The prayer is said,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ service read,</span> <span class="i0">The joyous bridegroom bows
+ his head,</span> <span class="i0">And in tears the good old Master</span>
+ <span class="i0">Shakes the brown hand of his son,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek</span> <span
+ class="i0">In silence, for he cannot speak,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ ever faster</span> <span class="i0">Down his own the tears begin to
+ run.</span> <span class="i0">The worthy pastor&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The shepherd of that wandering flock,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page219" id="page219" title="219"></a> <span
+ class="i0">That has the ocean for its wold,</span> <span class="i0">That
+ has the vessel for its fold,</span> <span class="i0">Leaping ever
+ from rock to rock&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">Spake, with
+ accents mild and clear,</span> <span class="i0">Words of warning,
+ words of cheer,</span> <span class="i0">But tedious to the
+ bridegroom's ear.</span> <span class="i0">He knew the chart,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of the sailor's heart,</span> <span class="i0">All
+ its pleasures and its griefs,</span> <span class="i0">All its
+ shallows and rocky reefs,</span> <span class="i0">All those secret
+ currents that flow</span> <span class="i0">With such resistless
+ undertow,</span> <span class="i0">And lift and drift with terrible
+ force,</span> <span class="i0">The will from its moorings and its
+ course.</span> <span class="i0">Therefore he spake, and thus said
+ he:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Like unto ships far off at sea,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Outward or homeward bound, are we.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Before, behind, and all around,</span> <span class="i0">Floats
+ and swings the horizon's bound,</span> <span class="i0">Seems at
+ its distant rim to rise</span> <span class="i0">And climb the
+ crystal wall of the skies,</span> <span class="i0">And then again
+ to turn and sink,</span> <span class="i0">As if we could slide from
+ its outer brink.</span> <span class="i0">Ah! it is not the sea,</span>
+ <span class="i0">It is not the sea that sinks and shelves,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But ourselves</span> <span class="i0">That rock
+ and rise</span> <span class="i0">With endless and uneasy motion,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Now touching the very skies,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Now sinking into the depths of ocean.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page220" id="page220" title="220"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Ah! if our souls but poise and swing</span> <span
+ class="i0">Like the compass in its brazen ring,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Ever level, and ever true</span> <span class="i0">To the
+ toil and the task we have to do,</span> <span class="i0">We shall
+ sail securely, and safely reach</span> <span class="i0">The
+ Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach</span> <span class="i0">The
+ sights we see, and the sounds we hear,</span> <span class="i0">Will
+ be those of joy and not of fear!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then the Master,</span> <span class="i0">With a
+ gesture of command,</span> <span class="i0">Waved his hand;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And at the word,</span> <span class="i0">Loud and
+ sudden there was heard,</span> <span class="i0">All around them and
+ below,</span> <span class="i0">The sound of hammers, blow on blow,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Knocking away the shores and spurs.</span> <span
+ class="i0">And see! she stirs!</span> <span class="i0">She starts&mdash;she
+ moves&mdash;she seems to feel</span> <span class="i0">The thrill of
+ life along her keel,</span> <span class="i0">And, spurning with her
+ foot the ground,</span> <span class="i0">With one exulting, joyous
+ bound,</span> <span class="i0">She leaps into the ocean's arms!</span>
+ <span class="i0">And lo! from the assembled crowd</span> <span
+ class="i0">There rose a shout, prolonged and loud,</span> <span
+ class="i0">That to the ocean seemed to say,&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;Take her, O bridegroom, old and grey,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Take her to thy protecting arms,</span> <span
+ class="i0">With all her youth and all her charms!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">How beautiful she is! How fair</span> <span
+ class="i0">She lies within those arms, that press</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page221" id="page221" title="221"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Her form with many a soft caress</span> <span class="i0">Of
+ tenderness and watchful care!</span> <span class="i0">Sail forth
+ into the sea, O ship!</span> <span class="i0">Through wind and
+ wave, right onward steer!</span> <span class="i0">The moistened
+ eye, the trembling lip,</span> <span class="i0">Are not the signs
+ of doubt or fear.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Sail forth into the sea of life,</span> <span
+ class="i0">O gentle, loving, trusting wife,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ safe from all adversity</span> <span class="i0">Upon the bosom of
+ that sea</span> <span class="i0">Thy comings and thy goings be!</span>
+ <span class="i0">For gentleness and love and trust</span> <span
+ class="i0">Prevail o'er angry wave and gust;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ in the wreck of noble lives</span> <span class="i0">Something
+ immortal still survives!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Thou, too, sail on, O ship of State!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sail on, O Union, strong and great!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Humanity with all its fears,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ all the hopes of future years,</span> <span class="i0">Is hanging
+ breathless on thy fate!</span> <span class="i0">We know what Master
+ laid thy keel,</span> <span class="i0">What Workmen wrought thy
+ ribs of steel,</span> <span class="i0">Who made each mast, and
+ sail, and rope,</span> <span class="i0">What anvils rang, what
+ hammers beat,</span> <span class="i0">In what a forge and what a
+ heat</span> <span class="i0">Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Fear not each sudden sound and shock,</span> <span
+ class="i0">'Tis of the wave and not the rock;</span> <span
+ class="i0">'Tis but the flapping of the sail,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page222" id="page222" title="222"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And not a rent made by the gale!</span> <span class="i0">In
+ spite of rock and tempest's roar,</span> <span class="i0">In spite
+ of false lights on the shore,</span> <span class="i0">Sail on, nor
+ fear to breast the sea!</span> <span class="i0">Our hearts, our
+ hopes, are all with thee,</span> <span class="i0">Our hearts, our
+ hopes, our prayers, our tears,</span> <span class="i0">Our faith
+ triumphant o'er our fears,</span> <span class="i0">Are all with
+ thee,&mdash;are all with thee!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Longfellow.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page223" id="page223" title="223"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_lxxxix">XC</a></small><br />THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Othere, the old sea-captain,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who dwelt in Helgoland,</span> <span
+ class="i0">To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Which he held in his brown right hand.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">His figure was tall and stately,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Like a boy's his eye appeared;</span> <span
+ class="i0">His hair was yellow as hay,</span> <span class="i0">But
+ threads of a silvery grey</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Gleamed
+ in his tawny beard.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Hearty and hale was Othere,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His
+ cheek had the colour of oak;</span> <span class="i0">With a kind of
+ laugh in his speech,</span> <span class="i0">Like the sea-tide on a
+ beach,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As unto the king he
+ spoke.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And Alfred, King of the Saxons,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Had a book upon his knees,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And wrote down the wondrous tale</span> <span class="i0">Of
+ him who was first to sail</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Into
+ the Arctic seas.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;So far I live to the northward,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;No man lives north of me;</span> <span
+ class="i0">To the east are wild mountain-chains,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And beyond them meres and plains;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ the westward all is sea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page224" id="page224" title="224"></a> <span
+ class="i0">So far I live to the northward,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From
+ the harbour of Skeringes-hale,</span> <span class="i0">If you only
+ sailed by day</span> <span class="i0">With a fair wind all the way,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;More than a month would you sail.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I own six hundred reindeer,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ sheep and swine beside;</span> <span class="i0">I have tribute from
+ the Finns,</span> <span class="i0">Whalebone and reindeer-skins,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And ropes of walrus-hide.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I ploughed the land with horses,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But my heart was ill at ease,</span> <span
+ class="i0">For the old seafaring men</span> <span class="i0">Came
+ to me now and then,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With their
+ sagas of the seas;&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Of Iceland and of Greenland,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the stormy Hebrides,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the undiscovered deep;&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">I
+ could not eat nor sleep</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ thinking of those seas.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To the northward stretched the desert,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;How far I fain would know;</span>
+ <span class="i0">So at last I sallied forth,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ three days sailed due north,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As
+ far as the whale-ships go.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To the west of me was the ocean,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To the right the desolate shore,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But I did not slacken sail</span> <span class="i0">For
+ the walrus or the whale,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Till
+ after three days more.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page225" id="page225" title="225"></a> <span
+ class="i0">The days grew longer and longer,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Till
+ they became as one,</span> <span class="i0">And southward through
+ the haze</span> <span class="i0">I saw the sullen blaze</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the red midnight sun.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And then uprose before me,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon
+ the water's edge,</span> <span class="i0">The huge and haggard
+ shape</span> <span class="i0">Of that unknown North Cape,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose form is like a wedge.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The sea was rough and stormy,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The tempest howled and wailed,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the sea-fog, like a ghost,</span> <span class="i0">Haunted
+ that dreary coast,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But onward
+ still I sailed.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Four days I steered to eastward,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Four days without a night:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Round in a fiery ring</span> <span class="i0">Went the
+ great sun, O King,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With red and
+ lurid light.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Here Alfred, King of the Saxons,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ceased writing for a while;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And raised his eyes from his book,</span> <span
+ class="i0">With a strange and puzzled look,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ an incredulous smile.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But Othere, the old sea-captain,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He neither paused nor stirred,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Till the King listened, and then</span> <span class="i0">Once
+ more took up his pen,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And wrote
+ down every word.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page226" id="page226" title="226"></a> <span
+ class="i0">&lsquo;And now the land,&rsquo; said Othere,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Bent southward suddenly,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And I followed the curving shore,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And ever southward bore</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Into
+ a nameless sea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And there we hunted the walrus,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The narwhale, and the seal;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Ha! 'twas a noble game!</span> <span class="i0">And like
+ the lightning's flame</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Flew our
+ harpoons of steel.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">There were six of us all together,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Norsemen of Helgoland;</span> <span
+ class="i0">In two days and no more</span> <span class="i0">We
+ killed of them threescore,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ dragged them to the strand.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Here Alfred, the Truth-Teller,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Suddenly closed his book,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And lifted his blue eyes,</span> <span class="i0">With
+ doubt and strange surmise</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Depicted
+ in their look.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And Othere, the old sea-captain,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Stared at him wild and weird,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then smiled till his shining teeth</span> <span
+ class="i0">Gleamed white from underneath</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His
+ tawny, quivering beard.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And to the King of the Saxons,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In witness of the truth,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Raising his noble head,</span> <span class="i0">He
+ stretched his brown hand, and said,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Behold
+ this walrus-tooth!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Longfellow.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page227" id="page227" title="227"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_lxxxix">XCI</a></small><br />THE CUMBERLAND
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On board of the Cumberland, sloop of war;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And at times from the fortress across the bay</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The alarum of drums
+ swept past,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or
+ a bugle blast</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From the camp on
+ the shore.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then far away to the south uprose</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A little feather of snow-white smoke,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And we knew that the iron ship of our foes</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Was steadily
+ steering its course</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ try the force</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of our ribs of
+ oak.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Down upon us heavily runs,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Silent
+ and sullen, the floating fort;</span> <span class="i0">Then comes a
+ puff of smoke from her guns,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ leaps the terrible death,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ fiery breath,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From each open
+ port.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We are not idle, but send her straight</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Defiance back in a full broadside!</span>
+ <span class="i0">As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Rebounds our
+ heavier hail</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;From
+ each iron scale</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the
+ monster's hide.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Strike your flag!&rsquo; the rebel cries,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In his arrogant old plantation strain</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Never!&rsquo; our gallant Morris replies;</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page228" id="page228" title="228"></a> <span
+ class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;It is better to
+ sink than to yield!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ the whole air pealed</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With the
+ cheers of our men.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then, like a kraken huge and black,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Down went the Cumberland all a wreck,</span> <span
+ class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With a sudden shudder of
+ death,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ the cannon's breath</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For her
+ dying gasp.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Still floated our flag at the mainmast
+ head.</span> <span class="i0">Lord, how beautiful was thy day!</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Every waft of the
+ air</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Was
+ a whisper of prayer,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or a dirge
+ for the dead.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ye are at peace in the troubled stream!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ho! brave land! with hearts like these,</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Thy flag that is
+ rent in twain</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall
+ be one again,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And without a
+ seam!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Longfellow.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_lxxxix">XCII</a></small><br />A DUTCH PICTURE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Simon Danz has come home again,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From cruising about with his buccaneers;</span>
+ <span class="i0">He has singed the beard of the King of Spain,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And carried away the Dean of Jaen</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And sold him in Algiers.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page229" id="page229" title="229"></a> <span
+ class="i0">In his house by the Maes, with its roof of tiles</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And weathercocks flying aloft in air,</span>
+ <span class="i0">There are silver tankards of antique styles,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Plunder of convent and castle, and piles</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of carpets rich and rare.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">In his tulip-garden there by the town,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Overlooking the sluggish stream,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With his Moorish cap and dressing-gown,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The old sea-captain, hale and brown,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Walks in a waking dream.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">A smile in his grey mustachio lurks</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whenever he thinks of the King of Spain,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the listed tulips look like Turks,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the silent gardener as he works</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is changed to the Dean of Jaen.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The windmills on the outermost</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Verge of the landscape in the haze,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To him are towers on the Spanish coast</span>
+ <span class="i0">With whiskered sentinels at their post,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Though this is the river Maes.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But when the winter rains begin,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He sits and smokes by the blazing brands,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And old seafaring men come in,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Goat-bearded, grey, and with double chin,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And rings upon their hands.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They sit there in the shadow and shine</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the flickering fire of the winter night;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Figures in colour and design</span> <span
+ class="i0">Like those by Rembrandt of the Rhine,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Half darkness and half light.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page230" id="page230" title="230"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And they talk of their ventures lost or won,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And their talk is ever and ever the same,</span>
+ <span class="i0">While they drink the red wine of Tarragon,</span>
+ <span class="i0">From the cellars of some Spanish Don</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or convent set on flame.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Restless at times, with heavy strides</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He paces his parlour to and fro;</span>
+ <span class="i0">He is like a ship that at anchor rides,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And swings with the rising and falling tides,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And tugs at her anchor-tow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Voices mysterious far and near,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sound of the wind and sound of the sea,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Are calling and whispering in his ear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Simon Danz! Why stayest thou here?</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Come forth and follow me!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">So he thinks he shall take to the sea again</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For one more cruise with his buccaneers,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To singe the beard of the King of Spain,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And capture another Dean of Jaen</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And sell him in Algiers.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Longfellow.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small>XCIII</small>BARBARA FRIETCHIE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Up from the meadows rich with corn,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Clear in the cool September morn,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The clustered spires of Frederick stand</span>
+ <span class="i0">Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page231" id="page231" title="231"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Round about them orchards sweep,</span> <span class="i0">Apple
+ and peach tree fruited deep,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Fair as a garden of the Lord</span> <span
+ class="i0">To the eyes of the famished rebel horde</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">On that pleasant morn of the early fall</span>
+ <span class="i0">When Lee marched over the mountain wall,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Over the mountains winding down,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Horse and foot into Frederick town.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Forty flags with their silver stars,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Forty flags with their crimson bars,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Flapped in the morning wind: the sun</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of noon looked down, and saw not one.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Bravest of all in Frederick town,</span> <span
+ class="i0">She took up the flag the men hauled down;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">In her attic window the staff she set,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To show that one heart was loyal yet.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Up the street came the rebel tread,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Under his slouched hat left and right</span> <span
+ class="i0">He glanced; the old flag met his sight.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Halt!&rsquo;&mdash;the dust-brown ranks stood
+ fast.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Fire!&rsquo;&mdash;out blazed
+ the rifle-blast.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">It shivered the window, pane and sash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">It rent the banner with seam and gash.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page232" id="page232" title="232"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff</span> <span
+ class="i0">Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">She leaned far out on the window-sill,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And shook it forth with a royal will.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Shoot, if you must, this old grey head,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But spare your country's flag,&rsquo; she said.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Over the face of the leader came;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The nobler nature within him stirred</span> <span
+ class="i0">To life at that woman's deed and word:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Who touches a hair of yon grey head</span>
+ <span class="i0">Dies like a dog! March on!&rsquo; he said.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">All day long through Frederick street</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sounded the tread of marching feet:</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">All day long that free flag tost</span> <span
+ class="i0">Over the heads of the rebel host.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Ever its torn folds rose and fell</span> <span
+ class="i0">On the loyal winds that loved it well;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And through the hill-gaps sunset light</span>
+ <span class="i0">Shone over it with a warm good-night.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Whittier.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xciv">XCIV</a></small><br />A BALLAD OF THE FLEET
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from
+ far away:</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page233" id="page233"
+ title="233"></a> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Spanish ships of war at sea! we
+ have sighted fifty-three!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">Then sware
+ Lord Thomas Howard: &lsquo;'Fore God I am no coward;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow
+ quick.</span> <span class="i0">We are six ships of the line; can we
+ fight with fifty-three?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: &lsquo;I know you are
+ no coward;</span> <span class="i0">You fly them for a moment to
+ fight with them again.</span> <span class="i0">But I've ninety men
+ and more that are lying sick ashore.</span> <span class="i0">I
+ should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">So Lord Howard passed away with five ships of war that
+ day,</span> <span class="i0">Till he melted like a cloud in the
+ silent summer heaven;</span> <span class="i0">But Sir Richard bore
+ in hand all the sick men from the land</span> <span class="i0">Very
+ carefully and slow,</span> <span class="i0">Men of Bideford in
+ Devon,</span> <span class="i0">And we laid them on the ballast down
+ below;</span> <span class="i0">For we brought them all aboard,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page234" id="page234" title="234"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to
+ Spain,</span> <span class="i0">To the thumbscrew and the stake, for
+ the glory of the Lord.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to
+ fight,</span> <span class="i0">And he sailed away from Flores till
+ the Spaniard came in sight,</span> <span class="i0">With his huge
+ sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Shall
+ we fight or shall we fly?</span> <span class="i0">Good Sir Richard,
+ tell us now,</span> <span class="i0">For to fight is but to die!</span>
+ <span class="i0">There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be
+ set.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">And Sir Richard said again:
+ &lsquo;We be all good English men.</span> <span class="i0">Let us
+ bang those dogs of Seville, the children of the devil,</span> <span
+ class="i0">For I never turned my back upon Don or devil yet.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we roared a
+ hurrah, and so</span> <span class="i0">The little Revenge ran on
+ sheer into the heart of the foe,</span> <span class="i0">With her
+ hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below;</span> <span
+ class="i0">For half their fleet to the right and half to the left were
+ seen,</span> <span class="i0">And the little Revenge ran on through
+ the long sea-lane between.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page235" id="page235" title="235"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks and
+ laughed,</span> <span class="i0">Thousands of their seamen made
+ mock at the mad little craft</span> <span class="i0">Running on and
+ on, till delayed</span> <span class="i0">By their mountain-like San
+ Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a
+ cloud</span> <span class="i0">Whence the thunderbolt will fall</span>
+ <span class="i0">Long and loud,</span> <span class="i0">Four
+ galleons drew away</span> <span class="i0">From the Spanish fleet
+ that day,</span> <span class="i0">And two upon the larboard and two
+ upon the starboard lay,</span> <span class="i0">And the battle
+ thunder broke from them all.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself
+ and went,</span> <span class="i0">Having that within her womb that
+ had left her ill content;</span> <span class="i0">And the rest they
+ came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand,</span> <span
+ class="i0">For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes
+ his ears</span> <span class="i0">When he leaps from the water to
+ the land.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page236" id="page236" title="236"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the
+ summer sea,</span> <span class="i0">But never a moment ceased the
+ fight of the one and the fifty-three.</span> <span class="i0">Ship
+ after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her
+ battle-thunder and flame;</span> <span class="i0">Ship after ship,
+ the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame.</span>
+ <span class="i0">For some were sunk and many were shattered, and so
+ could fight us no more&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">God of
+ battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">For he said, &lsquo;Fight on! fight on!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Though his vessel was all but a wreck;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And it chanced that, when half of the short summer
+ night was gone,</span> <span class="i0">With a grisly wound to be
+ drest he had left the deck,</span> <span class="i0">But a bullet
+ struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And he said, &lsquo;Fight on! fight on!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And the night went down and the sun smiled out far over
+ the summer sea,</span> <span class="i0">And the Spanish fleet with
+ broken sides lay round us all in a ring;</span> <span class="i0">But
+ they dared not touch us again, for they feared that we still could
+ sting,</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page237" id="page237"
+ title="237"></a> <span class="i0">So they watched what the end would be.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And we had not fought them in vain,</span> <span
+ class="i0">But in perilous plight were we,</span> <span class="i0">Seeing
+ forty of our poor hundred were slain,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ half of the rest of us maimed for life</span> <span class="i0">In
+ the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and
+ cold,</span> <span class="i0">And the pikes were all broken or
+ bent, and the powder was all of it spent;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ the masts and the rigging were lying over the side;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But Sir Richard cried in his English pride:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;We have fought such a fight for a day and a
+ night</span> <span class="i0">As may never be fought again!</span>
+ <span title="Original reads 'We have one great glory'" class="i0">We
+ have won great glory, my men!</span> <span class="i0">And a day
+ less or more</span> <span class="i0">At sea or ashore,</span>
+ <span class="i0">We die&mdash;does it matter when?</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sink me the ship, Master Gunner&mdash;sink her, split her in
+ twain!</span> <span class="i0">Fall into the hands of God, not into
+ the hands of Spain!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And the gunner said, &lsquo;Ay, ay,&rsquo; but the
+ seamen made reply:</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;We have children,
+ we have wives,</span> <span class="i0">And the Lord hath spared our
+ lives.</span> <span class="i0">We will make the Spaniard promise,
+ if we yield, to let us go;</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page238" id="page238" title="238"></a> <span class="i0">We shall
+ live to fight again and to strike another blow.&rsquo;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him
+ then,</span> <span class="i0">Where they laid him by the mast, old
+ Sir Richard caught at last,</span> <span class="i0">And they
+ praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But he rose upon their decks, and he cried:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant
+ man and true;</span> <span class="i0">I have only done my duty as a
+ man is bound to do:</span> <span class="i0">With a joyful spirit I
+ Sir Richard Grenville die!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">And he
+ fell upon their decks and he died.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant
+ and true,</span> <span class="i0">And had holden the power and
+ glory of Spain so cheap</span> <span class="i0">That he dared her
+ with one little ship and his English few;</span> <span class="i0">Was
+ he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew,</span> <span
+ class="i0">But they sank his body with honour down into the deep,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And they manned the Revenge with a swarthier alien
+ crew,</span> <span class="i0">And away she sailed with her loss and
+ longed for her own;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page239"
+ id="page239" title="239"></a> <span class="i0">When a wind from the
+ lands they had ruined awoke from sleep,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ the water began to heave and the weather to moan,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And a wave like the wave that is raised by an
+ earthquake grew,</span> <span class="i0">Till it smote on their
+ hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shattered navy
+ of Spain,</span> <span class="i0">And the little Revenge herself
+ went down by the island crags</span> <span class="i0">To be lost
+ evermore in the main.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Tennyson.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xcv">XCV</a></small><br />THE HEAVY BRIGADE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The charge of the gallant three hundred, the Heavy
+ Brigade!</span> <span class="i0">Down the hill, down the hill,
+ thousands of Russians,</span> <span class="i0">Thousands of
+ horsemen, drew to the valley&mdash;and stayed;</span> <span
+ class="i0">For Scarlett and Scarlett's three hundred were riding by</span>
+ <span class="i0">When the points of the Russian lances arose in the sky;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And he called, &lsquo;Left wheel into line!&rsquo; and
+ they wheeled and obeyed.</span> <span class="i0">Then he looked at
+ the host that had halted he knew not why,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page240" id="page240" title="240"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And he turned half round, and he bad his trumpeter sound</span>
+ <span class="i0">To the charge, and he rode on ahead, as he waved his
+ blade</span> <span class="i0">To the gallant three hundred whose
+ glory will never die&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Follow,&rsquo;
+ and up the hill, up the hill, up the hill,</span> <span class="i0">Followed
+ the Heavy Brigade.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and the might of
+ the fight!</span> <span class="i0">Thousands of horsemen had
+ gathered there on the height,</span> <span class="i0">With a wing
+ pushed out to the left and a wing to the right,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And who shall escape if they close? but he dashed up alone</span>
+ <span class="i0">Through the great grey slope of men,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Swayed his sabre, and held his own</span> <span
+ class="i0">Like an Englishman there and then;</span> <span
+ class="i0">All in a moment followed with force</span> <span
+ class="i0">Three that were next in their fiery course,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Wedged themselves in between horse and horse,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Fought for their lives in the narrow gap they had made&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Four amid thousands! and up the hill, up the hill,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Gallopt the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Fell like a cannon-shot,</span> <span class="i0">Burst
+ like a thunderbolt,</span> <span class="i0">Crashed like a
+ hurricane,</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page241" id="page241"
+ title="241"></a> <span class="i0">Broke through the mass from below,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Drove through the midst of the foe,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Plunged up and down, to and fro,</span> <span class="i0">Rode
+ flashing blow upon blow,</span> <span class="i0">Brave Inniskillens
+ and Greys</span> <span class="i0">Whirling their sabres in circles
+ of light!</span> <span class="i0">And some of us, all in amaze,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Who were held for a while from the fight,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And were only standing at gaze,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When the dark-muffled Russian crowd</span> <span
+ class="i0">Folded its wings from the left and the right,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And rolled them around like a cloud,&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">O mad for the charge and the battle were we,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When our own good redcoats sank from sight,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Like drops of blood in a dark grey sea,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And we turned to each other, whispering, all dismayed,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Lost are the gallant three hundred of Scarlett's
+ Brigade!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Lost one and all&rsquo; were the words</span>
+ <span class="i0">Muttered in our dismay;</span> <span class="i0">But
+ they rode like Victors and Lords</span> <span class="i0">Through
+ the forest of lances and swords</span> <span class="i0">In the
+ heart of the Russian hordes,</span> <span class="i0">They rode, or
+ they stood at bay&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">Struck with the
+ sword-hand and slew,</span> <span class="i0">Down with the
+ bridle-hand drew</span> <span class="i0">The foe from the saddle
+ and threw</span> <span class="i0">Underfoot there in the fray&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ranged like a storm or stood like a rock</span>
+ <span class="i0">In the wave of a stormy day;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page242" id="page242" title="242"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Till suddenly shock upon shock</span> <span class="i0">Staggered
+ the mass from without,</span> <span class="i0">Drove it in wild
+ disarray,</span> <span class="i0">For our men gallopt up with a
+ cheer and a shout,</span> <span class="i0">And the foemen surged,
+ and wavered and reeled</span> <span class="i0">Up the hill, up the
+ hill, up the hill, out of the field,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ over the brow and away.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Glory to each and to all, and the charge that they
+ made!</span> <span class="i0">Glory to all the three hundred, and
+ all the Brigade!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Tennyson.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xcvi">XCVI</a></small><br />THE PRIVATE OF THE
+ BUFFS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Last night, among his fellow roughs,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He jested, quaffed, and swore;</span> <span
+ class="i0">A drunken private of the Buffs,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who
+ never looked before.</span> <span class="i0">To-day, beneath the
+ foeman's frown,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He stands in
+ Elgin's place,</span> <span class="i0">Ambassador from Britain's
+ crown</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And type of all her race.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Bewildered, and alone,</span> <span
+ class="i0">A heart, with English instinct fraught,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He yet can call his own.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page243" id="page243" title="243"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Ay, tear his body limb from limb,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Bring
+ cord, or axe, or flame:</span> <span class="i0">He only knows, that
+ not through <i>him</i></span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall
+ England come to shame.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Like dreams, to come and go;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;One sheet of living snow;</span> <span
+ class="i0">The smoke, above his father's door,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In grey soft eddyings hung:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Must he then watch it rise no more,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Doomed by himself, so young?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yes, honour calls!&mdash;with strength like steel</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He put the vision by.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Let dusky Indians whine and kneel;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;An English lad must die.</span> <span
+ class="i0">And thus, with eyes that would not shrink,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With knee to man unbent,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Unfaltering on its dreadful brink,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To his red grave he went.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Vain, mightiest fleets of iron frames;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Vain, those all-shattering guns;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Unless proud England keep, untamed,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The strong heart of her sons.</span> <span
+ class="i0">So, let his name through Europe ring&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A man of mean estate,</span> <span class="i0">Who
+ died, as firm as Sparta's king,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Because
+ his soul was great.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Doyle.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page244" id="page244" title="244"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_xcvi">XCVII</a></small><br />THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Eleven men of
+ England</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+ breastwork charged in vain;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Eleven
+ men of England</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lie
+ stripped, and gashed, and slain.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Slain;
+ but of foes that guarded</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Their
+ rock-built fortress well,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Some
+ twenty had been mastered,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;When
+ the last soldier fell.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Whilst Napier piloted his wondrous way</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Across the sand-waves of the desert sea,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then flashed at once, on each fierce clan, dismay,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lord of their wild Truckee.</span>
+ <span class="i0">These missed the glen to which their steps were bent,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Mistook a mandate, from afar half heard,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And, in that glorious error, calmly went</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To death without a word.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The robber-chief
+ mused deeply</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Above
+ those daring dead;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Bring
+ here,&rsquo; at length he shouted,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Bring
+ quick, the battle thread.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Let
+ Eblis blast for ever</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Their
+ souls, if Allah will:</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ we must keep unbroken</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ old rules of the Hill.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Before the Ghiznee
+ tiger</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Leapt
+ forth to burn and slay;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page245"
+ id="page245" title="245"></a> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Before
+ the holy Prophet</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Taught
+ our grim tribes to pray;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Before
+ Secunder's lances</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Pierced
+ through each Indian glen;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ mountain laws of honour</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Were
+ framed for fearless men.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Still, when a chief
+ dies bravely,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;We
+ bind with green <i>one</i> wrist&mdash;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Green
+ for the brave, for heroes</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<strong>One</strong>
+ crimson thread we twist.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Say
+ ye, Oh gallant Hillmen,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ these, whose life has fled,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Which
+ is the fitting colour,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ green one or the red?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Our brethren, laid in honoured graves, may wear</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Their green reward,&rsquo; each noble
+ savage said;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;To these, whom hawks
+ and hungry wolves shall tear,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who
+ dares deny the red?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Thus conquering hate, and steadfast to the right,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fresh from the heart that haughty verdict
+ came;</span> <span class="i0">Beneath a waning moon, each spectral
+ height</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Rolled back
+ its loud acclaim.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Once more the chief
+ gazed keenly</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Down
+ on those daring dead;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;From
+ his good sword their heart's blood</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Crept
+ to that crimson thread.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Once
+ more he cried, &lsquo;The judgment,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Good
+ friends, is wise and true,</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page246" id="page246" title="246"></a> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ though the red <i>be</i> given,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Have
+ we not more to do?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;These were not
+ stirred by anger,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor
+ yet by lust made bold;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Renown
+ they thought above them,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor
+ did they look for gold.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ them their leader's signal</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Was
+ as the voice of God:</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Unmoved,
+ and uncomplaining,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ path it showed they trod.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As, without sound
+ or struggle,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ stars unhurrying march,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where
+ Allah's finger guides them,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Through
+ yonder purple arch,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;These
+ Franks, sublimely silent,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Without
+ a quickened breath,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Went
+ in the strength of duty</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Straight
+ to their goal of death.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;If I were
+ now to ask you</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ name our bravest man,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ye
+ all at once would answer,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They
+ called him Mehrab Khan.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He
+ sleeps among his fathers,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Dear
+ to our native land,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ the bright mark he bled for</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Firm
+ round his faithful hand.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;The songs
+ they sing of Rustum</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fill
+ all the past with light;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If
+ truth be in their music,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He
+ was a noble knight.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page247"
+ id="page247" title="247"></a> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ were those heroes living</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ strong for battle still,</span> <span
+ title="Original reads 'Mehrad'" class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Would
+ Mehrab Khan or Rustum</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Have
+ climbed, like these, the hill?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And they replied, &lsquo;Though Mehrab Khan was brave,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As chief, he chose himself what
+ risks to run;</span> <span class="i0">Prince Rustum lied, his
+ forfeit life to save,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Which
+ these had never done.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Enough!&rsquo;
+ he shouted fiercely;</span> <span
+ title="Opening quote missing in original" class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Doomed
+ though they be to hell,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Bind
+ fast the crimson trophy</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Round
+ <strong>both</strong> wrists&mdash;bind it well.</span> <span
+ class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who knows but that great
+ Allah</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;May
+ grudge such matchless men,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ none so decked in heaven,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ the fiends' flaming den?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then all those
+ gallant robbers</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shouted
+ a stern &lsquo;Amen!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They
+ raised the slaughtered sergeant,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They
+ raised his mangled ten.</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ when we found their bodies</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Left
+ bleaching in the wind,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Around
+ <strong>both</strong> wrists in glory</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ crimson thread was twined.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then Napier's knightly heart, touched to the core,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Rung, like an echo, to that
+ knightly deed,</span> <span class="i0">He bade its memory live for
+ evermore,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ those who run may read.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Doyle.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page248" id="page248" title="248"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_xcviii">XCVIII</a></small><br />HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-west died
+ away;</span> <span class="i0">Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red,
+ reeking into Cadiz Bay;</span> <span class="i0">Bluish 'mid the
+ burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;</span> <span class="i0">In
+ the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey;</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Here and here did England help me: how can I
+ help England?&rsquo;&mdash;say,</span> <span class="i0">Whoso turns
+ as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,</span> <span
+ class="i0">While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Browning.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_xcviii">XCIX</a></small><br />HERV&Eacute; RIEL
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred
+ ninety-two,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Did the English
+ fight the French,&mdash;woe to France!</span> <span class="i0">And,
+ the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter thro' the blue,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks
+ pursue,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Came crowding ship on
+ ship to St. Malo on the Rance,</span> <span class="i0">With the
+ English fleet in view.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page249" id="page249" title="249"></a> <span
+ class="i0">'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full
+ chase;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;First and foremost of
+ the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Close
+ on him fled, great and small,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Twenty-two
+ good ships in all;</span> <span class="i0">And they signalled to
+ the place</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Help the winners of a
+ race!</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Get us guidance, give us
+ harbour, take us quick&mdash;or, quicker still,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Here's the English can and will!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on
+ board;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Why, what hope or
+ chance have ships like these to pass?&rsquo; laughed they:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the
+ passage scarred and scored,</span> <span class="i0">Shall the <i>Formidable</i>
+ here with her twelve and eighty guns</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Think
+ to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty
+ tons,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And with flow
+ at full beside?</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Now,
+ 'tis slackest ebb of tide.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Reach
+ the mooring? Rather say,</span> <span class="i0">While rock stands
+ or water runs,</span> <span class="i0">Not a ship will leave the
+ bay!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then was called a council straight.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Brief and bitter the debate:</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page250" id="page250" title="250"></a> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Here's
+ the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow</span>
+ <span class="i0">All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern
+ and bow,</span> <span class="i0">For a prize to Plymouth Sound?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Better run the ships aground!&rsquo;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;(Ended Damfreville his speech).</span> <span
+ class="i0">Not a minute more to wait!</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Let
+ the Captains all and each</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Shove
+ ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!</span> <span
+ class="i0">France must undergo her fate.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Give the word!&rsquo; But no such word</span>
+ <span class="i0">Was ever spoke or heard;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For
+ up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these</span>
+ <span class="i0">&mdash;A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate&mdash;first,
+ second, third?</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;No such man of
+ mark, and meet</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With his betters
+ to compete!</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But a simple Breton
+ sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet,</span> <span class="i0">A
+ poor coasting-pilot he, Herv&eacute; Riel the Croisickese.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And, &lsquo;What mockery or malice have we here?&rsquo;
+ cries Herv&eacute; Riel:</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Are
+ you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the
+ soundings, tell</span> <span class="i0">On my fingers every bank,
+ every shallow, every swell</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page251" id="page251" title="251"></a> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;'Twixt
+ the offing here and Gr&egrave;ve where the river disembogues?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's
+ for?</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Morn and eve,
+ night and day,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Have
+ I piloted your bay,</span> <span class="i0">Entered free and
+ anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were
+ worse than fifty Hogues!</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sirs,
+ they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Only let me lead the line,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Have
+ the biggest ship to steer,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Get
+ this <i>Formidable</i> clear,</span> <span class="i0">Make the
+ others follow mine,</span> <span class="i0">And I lead them, most
+ and least, by a passage I know well,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Right
+ to Solidor past Gr&egrave;ve,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ there lay them safe and sound;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ if one ship misbehave,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&mdash;Keel
+ so much as grate the ground,</span> <span class="i0">Why, I've
+ nothing but my life,&mdash;here's my head!&rsquo; cries Herv&eacute;
+ Riel.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Not a minute more to wait.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Steer
+ us in, then, small and great!</span> <span
+ title="Closing quote missing in original" class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Take
+ the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!&rsquo; cried his chief.</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Captains, give the sailor place!</span>
+ <span title="Closing quote missing in original" class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He
+ is Admiral, in brief.&rsquo;</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page252" id="page252" title="252"></a> <span class="i0">Still the
+ north-wind, by God's grace!</span> <span class="i0">See the noble
+ fellow's face,</span> <span class="i0">As the big ship with a
+ bound,</span> <span class="i0">Clears the entry like a hound,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide seas
+ profound!</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;See, safe thro' shoal
+ and rock,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;How they follow in a
+ flock,</span> <span class="i0">Not a ship that misbehaves, not a
+ keel that grates the ground,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Not
+ a spar that comes to grief!</span> <span class="i0">The peril, see,
+ is past,</span> <span class="i0">All are harboured to the last,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And just as Herv&eacute; Riel hollas &lsquo;Anchor!&rsquo;&mdash;sure
+ as fate</span> <span class="i0">Up the English come, too late!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">So, the storm subsides to calm:</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They see the green trees wave</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On the o'erlooking Gr&egrave;ve.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hearts that bled are stanched with balm.</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Just our rapture to enhance,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Let the English take the bay,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Gnash their teeth and glare askance,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As they cannonade away!</span> <span
+ class="i0">'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's
+ countenance!</span> <span class="i0">Out burst all with one accord,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;This is Paradise for Hell!</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page253" id="page253" title="253"></a> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Let France, let France's King</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Thank the man that did the
+ thing!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">What a shout, and all one
+ word,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Herv&eacute; Riel!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">As he stepped in front once more,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Not a symptom of surprise</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the frank blue Breton eyes,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Just the same man as before.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then said Damfreville, &lsquo;My friend,</span>
+ <span class="i0">I must speak out at the end,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Though I find the speaking hard.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Praise is deeper than the lips:</span> <span
+ class="i0">You have saved the King his ships,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;You must name your own reward.</span> <span
+ class="i0">'Faith our sun was near eclipse!</span> <span class="i0">Demand
+ whate'er you will,</span> <span class="i0">France remains your
+ debtor still.</span> <span class="i0">Ask to heart's content and
+ have! or my name's not Damfreville.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then a beam of fun outbroke</span> <span class="i0">On
+ the bearded mouth that spoke,</span> <span class="i0">As the honest
+ heart laughed through</span> <span class="i0">Those frank eyes of
+ Breton blue:</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Since I needs must say
+ my say,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Since on board the
+ duty's done,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And from Malo
+ Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Since 'tis ask and have, I may&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Since the others go ashore&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Come! A good whole holiday!</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page254" id="page254" title="254"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the
+ Belle Aurore!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">That he asked and that
+ he got,&mdash;nothing more.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Name and deed alike are lost:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Not a pillar nor a post</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Not a head in white and black</span> <span class="i0">On
+ a single fishing smack,</span> <span class="i0">In memory of the
+ man but for whom had gone to wrack</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;All
+ that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Go to Paris: rank on rank</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Search
+ the heroes flung pell-mell</span> <span class="i0">On the Louvre,
+ face and flank!</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;You shall look
+ long enough ere you come to Herv&eacute; Riel.</span> <span
+ class="i0">So, for better and for worse,</span> <span class="i0">Herv&eacute;
+ Riel, accept my verse!</span> <span class="i0">In my verse, Herv&eacute;
+ Riel, do thou once more</span> <span class="i0">Save the squadron,
+ honour France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Browning.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_c">C</a></small><br />THE DYING FIREMAN
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I am the mashed fireman with breast-bone broken,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Tumbling walls buried me in their d&eacute;bris,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts
+ of my comrades,</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page255"
+ id="page255" title="255"></a> <span class="i0">I heard the distant click
+ of their picks and shovels,</span> <span class="i0">They have
+ cleared the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading
+ hush is for my sake,</span> <span class="i0">Painless after all I
+ lie, exhausted but not so unhappy,</span> <span class="i0">White
+ and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their
+ fire-caps,</span> <span class="i0">The kneeling crowd fades with
+ the light of the torches.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Whitman.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_c">CI</a></small><br />A SEA-FIGHT
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and
+ stars?</span> <span class="i0">List to the yarn, as my
+ grandmother's father the sailor told it to me.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Our foe was no skulk in his ship, I tell you
+ (said he),</span> <span class="i0">His was the surly English pluck,
+ and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Along the lowered eve he came horribly raking us.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon
+ touched,</span> <span class="i0">My captain lashed fast with his
+ own hands.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We had received some eighteen-pound shots under the
+ water,</span> <span class="i0">On our lower-gun-deck two large
+ pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up
+ overhead.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page256" id="page256" title="256"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the
+ gain, and five feet of water reported,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give
+ them a chance for themselves.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by
+ the sentinels,</span> <span class="i0">They see so many strange
+ faces they do not know whom to trust.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Our frigate takes fire,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ other asks if we demand quarter?</span> <span class="i0">If our
+ colours are struck and the fighting done?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little
+ captain,</span> <span class="i0">&ldquo;We have not struck,&rdquo;
+ he composedly cries, &ldquo;we have just begun our part of the fighting.&rdquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Only three guns are in use,</span> <span class="i0">One
+ is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Two well served with grape and canister silence his
+ musketry and clear his decks.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The tops alone second the fire of this little battery,
+ especially the main-top,</span> <span class="i0">They hold out
+ bravely during the whole of the action.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Not a moment's cease,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page257" id="page257" title="257"></a> <span
+ class="i0">One of the pumps had been shot away, it is generally thought
+ we are sinking.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Serene stands the little captain,</span> <span
+ class="i0">He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low,</span>
+ <span class="i0">His eyes give more light to us than our
+ battle-lanterns.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Toward twelve, there in the beams of the moon, they
+ surrender to us.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Whitman.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_c">CII</a></small><br />BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Beat! beat! drums!&mdash;blow! bugles! blow!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Through the windows&mdash;through doors&mdash;burst
+ like a ruthless force,</span> <span class="i0">Into the solemn
+ church, and scatter the congregation,</span> <span class="i0">Into
+ the school where the scholar is studying;</span> <span class="i0">Leave
+ not the bridegroom quiet&mdash;no happiness must he have now with his
+ bride,</span> <span class="i0">Nor the peaceful farmer any peace,
+ ploughing his field or gathering his grain,</span> <span class="i0">So
+ fierce you whirr and pound, you drums&mdash;so shrill, you bugles, blow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Beat! beat! drums!&mdash;blow! bugles! blow!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Over the traffic of cities&mdash;over the rumble of
+ wheels in the streets;</span> <span class="i0">Are beds prepared
+ for sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers must sleep in those
+ beds,</span> <span class="i0">No bargainers' bargains by day&mdash;no
+ brokers or speculators&mdash;would they continue?</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page258" id="page258" title="258"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to
+ sing?</span> <span class="i0">Would the lawyer rise in the court to
+ state his case before the judge?</span> <span class="i0">Then
+ rattle quicker, heavier, drums&mdash;you bugles, wilder blow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Beat! beat! drums!&mdash;blow! bugles! blow!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Make no parley&mdash;stop for no expostulation,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Mind not the timid&mdash;mind not the weeper or prayer,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's
+ entreaties,</span> <span class="i0">Make even the trestle to shake
+ the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses,</span> <span
+ class="i0">So strong you thump, O terrible drums&mdash;so loud, you
+ bugles, blow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Whitman.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_c">CIII</a></small><br />TWO VETERANS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ last sunbeam</span> <span class="i0">Lightly falls from the
+ finished Sabbath,</span> <span class="i0">On the pavement here, and
+ there beyond it is looking</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Down
+ a new-made double grave.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lo! the
+ moon ascending,</span> <span class="i0">Up from the east the
+ silvery round moon,</span> <span class="i0">Beautiful over the
+ house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Immense
+ and silent moon.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page259" id="page259" title="259"></a> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I see a sad
+ procession,</span> <span class="i0">And I hear the sound of coming
+ full-keyed bugles,</span> <span class="i0">All the channels of the
+ city streets they're flooding,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As
+ with voices and with tears.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I hear
+ the great drums pounding,</span> <span class="i0">And the small
+ drums steady whirring,</span> <span class="i0">And every blow of
+ the great convulsive drums</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Strikes
+ me through and through.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For the
+ son is brought with the father,</span> <span class="i0">(In the
+ foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Two veterans son and father dropt together,</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And the
+ double grave awaits them).</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Now
+ nearer blow the bugles,</span> <span class="i0">And the drums
+ strike more convulsive,</span> <span class="i0">And the daylight
+ o'er the pavement quite has faded,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ the strong dead-march enwraps me.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In the
+ eastern sky up-buoying,</span> <span class="i0">The sorrowful vast
+ phantom moves illumined,</span> <span class="i0">('Tis some
+ mother's large transparent face</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ heaven brighter growing).</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O
+ strong dead-march you please me!</span> <span class="i0">O moon
+ immense with your silvery face you soothe me!</span> <span
+ class="i0">O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial!</span>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;What I
+ have I also give you.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ moon gives you light,</span> <span class="i0">And the bugles and
+ the drums give you music,</span> <span class="i0">And my heart, O
+ my soldiers, my veterans,</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My
+ heart gives you love.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Whitman.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page260" id="page260" title="260"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_civ">CIV</a></small><br />THE PLEASANT ISLE OF AV&Egrave;S
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Oh England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and
+ high,</span> <span class="i0">But England is a cruel place for such
+ poor folks as I;</span> <span class="i0">And such a port for
+ mariners I ne'er shall see again</span> <span class="i0">As the
+ pleasant Isle of Av&egrave;s, beside the Spanish main.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">There were forty craft in Av&egrave;s that were both
+ swift and stout,</span> <span class="i0">All furnished well with
+ small arms and cannons round about;</span> <span class="i0">And a
+ thousand men in Av&egrave;s made laws so fair and free</span> <span
+ class="i0">To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Thence we sailed against the Spaniard with his hoards
+ of plate and gold,</span> <span class="i0">Which he wrung with
+ cruel tortures from Indian folk of old;</span> <span class="i0">Likewise
+ the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as stone,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Who flog men and keel-haul them, and starve them to the bone.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O the palms grew high in Av&egrave;s, and fruits that
+ shone like gold,</span> <span class="i0">And the colibris and
+ parrots they were gorgeous to behold;</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page261" id="page261" title="261"></a> <span class="i0">And the
+ negro maids to Av&egrave;s from bondage fast did flee,</span> <span
+ class="i0">To welcome gallant sailors, a-sweeping in from sea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O sweet it was in Av&egrave;s to hear the landward
+ breeze,</span> <span class="i0">A-swing with good tobacco in a net
+ between the trees,</span> <span class="i0">With a negro lass to fan
+ you, while you listened to the roar</span> <span class="i0">Of the
+ breakers on the reef outside, that never touched the shore.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must
+ be;</span> <span class="i0">So the King's ships sailed on Av&egrave;s,
+ and quite put down were we.</span> <span class="i0">All day we
+ fought like bulldogs, but they burst the booms at night;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the fight.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Till, for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young
+ thing she died;</span> <span class="i0">But as I lay a-gasping, a
+ Bristol sail came by,</span> <span class="i0">And brought me home
+ to England here, to beg until I die.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And now I'm old and going&mdash;I'm sure I can't tell
+ where;</span> <span class="i0">One comfort is, this world's so
+ hard, I can't be worse off there:</span> <span class="i0">If I
+ might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main,</span> <span
+ class="i0">To the pleasant Isle of Av&egrave;s, to look at it once
+ again.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Kingsley.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page262" id="page262" title="262"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_civ">CV</a></small><br />A WELCOME
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Welcome, wild North-easter.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Shame
+ it is to see</span> <span class="i0">Odes to every zephyr;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ne'er a verse to thee.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Welcome, black North-easter!</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O'er
+ the German foam;</span> <span class="i0">O'er the Danish moorlands,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From thy frozen home.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Tired we are of summer,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Tired
+ of gaudy glare,</span> <span class="i0">Showers soft and steaming,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Hot and breathless air.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Tired of listless dreaming,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Through
+ the lazy day:</span> <span class="i0">Jovial wind of winter</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Turns us out to play!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sweep the golden reed-beds;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Crisp
+ the lazy dyke;</span> <span class="i0">Hunger into madness</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Every plunging pike.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Fill the lake with wild-fowl;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fill
+ the marsh with snipe;</span> <span class="i0">While on dreary
+ moorlands</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lonely curlew pipe.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Through the black fir-forest</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thunder harsh and dry,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Shattering down the snow-flakes</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Off
+ the curdled sky.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page263"
+ id="page263" title="263"></a> <span class="i0">Hark! The brave
+ North-easter!</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Breast-high lies
+ the scent,</span> <span class="i0">On by holt and headland,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Over heath and bent.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Chime, ye dappled darlings,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Through
+ the sleet and snow.</span> <span class="i0">Who can over-ride you?</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Let the horses go!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Chime, ye dappled darlings,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Down
+ the roaring blast;</span> <span class="i0">You shall see a fox die</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ere an hour be past.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Go! and rest to-morrow,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Hunting
+ in your dreams,</span> <span class="i0">While our skates are
+ ringing</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;O'er the frozen
+ streams.</span> <span class="i0">Let the luscious South-wind</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Breathe in lovers' sighs,</span> <span
+ class="i0">While the lazy gallants</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Bask
+ in ladies' eyes.</span> <span class="i0">What does he but soften</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Heart alike and pen?</span> <span
+ class="i0">'Tis the hard grey weather</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Breeds
+ hard English men.</span> <span class="i0">What's the soft
+ South-wester?</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;'Tis the ladies'
+ breeze,</span> <span class="i0">Bringing home their true-loves</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Out of all the seas:</span> <span
+ class="i0">But the black North-easter,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Through
+ the snowstorm hurled,</span> <span class="i0">Drives our English
+ hearts of oak</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Seaward round the
+ world.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page264" id="page264"
+ title="264"></a> <span class="i0">Come, as came our fathers,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Heralded by thee,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Conquering from the eastward,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lords
+ by land and sea.</span> <span class="i0">Come; and strong within us</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Stir the Vikings' blood;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Bracing brain and sinew;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Blow,
+ thou wind of God!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Kingsley.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cvi">CVI</a></small><br />THE BIRKENHEAD
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Amid the loud ebriety of War,</span> <span
+ class="i0">With shouts of &lsquo;la Republique&rsquo; and &lsquo;la
+ Gloire,&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">The Vengeur's crew, 'twas
+ said, with flying flag</span> <span class="i0">And broadside
+ blazing level with the wave</span> <span class="i0">Went down
+ erect, defiant, to their grave</span> <span class="i0">Beneath the
+ sea.&mdash;'Twas but a Frenchman's brag,</span> <span class="i0">Yet
+ Europe rang with it for many a year.</span> <span class="i0">Now we
+ recount no fable; Europe, hear!</span> <span class="i0">And when
+ they tell thee &lsquo;England is a fen</span> <span class="i0">Corrupt,
+ a kingdom tottering to decay,</span> <span class="i0">Her nerveless
+ burghers lying an easy prey</span> <span class="i0">For the first
+ comer,&rsquo; tell how the other day</span> <span class="i0">A crew
+ of half a thousand Englishmen</span> <span class="i0">Went down
+ into the deep in Simon's Bay!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Not with the cheer of battle in the throat,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or cannon-glare and din to stir their blood,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But, roused from dreams of home to find their boat</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page265" id="page265" title="265"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Fast sinking, mustered on the deck they stood,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Biding God's pleasure and their chief's command.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Calm was the sea, but not less calm that band</span>
+ <span class="i0">Close ranged upon the poop, with bated breath</span>
+ <span class="i0">But flinching not though eye to eye with Death! Heroes!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Who were those Heroes? Veterans steeled</span>
+ <span class="i0">To face the King of Terrors mid the scaith</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of many an hurricane and trench&egrave;d field?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Far other: weavers from the stocking-frame;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Boys from the plough; cornets with beardless chin,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But steeped in honour and in discipline!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Weep, Britain, for the Cape whose ill-starred name,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Long since divorced from Hope suggests but shame,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Disaster, and thy Captains held at bay</span>
+ <span class="i0">By naked hordes; but as thou weepest, thank</span>
+ <span class="i0">Heaven for those undegenerate sons who sank</span>
+ <span class="i0">Aboard the Birkenhead in Simon's Bay!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Yule.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cvii">CVII</a></small><br />APOLLO
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thick breaks the red flame;</span> <span class="i0">All
+ Etna heaves fiercely</span> <span class="i0">Her forest-clothed
+ frame.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Not here, O Apollo!</span> <span class="i0">Are
+ haunts meet for thee.</span> <span class="i0">But, where Helicon
+ breaks down</span> <span class="i0">In cliff to the sea,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page266" id="page266" title="266"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Where the moon-silvered inlets</span> <span class="i0">Send
+ far their light voice</span> <span class="i0">Up the still vale of
+ Thisbe,</span> <span class="i0">O speed, and rejoice!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">On the sward at the cliff-top</span> <span
+ class="i0">Lie strewn the white flocks.</span> <span class="i0">On
+ the cliff-side the pigeons</span> <span class="i0">Roost deep in
+ the rocks.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">In the moonlight the shepherds,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Soft lulled by the rills,</span> <span class="i0">Lie
+ wrapt in their blankets</span> <span class="i0">Asleep on the
+ hills.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&mdash;What forms are these coming</span> <span
+ class="i0">So white through the gloom?</span> <span class="i0">What
+ garments out-glistening</span> <span class="i0">The gold-flowered
+ broom?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">What sweet-breathing presence</span> <span
+ class="i0">Out-perfumes the thyme?</span> <span class="i0">What
+ voices enrapture</span> <span class="i0">The night's balmy prime?&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">'Tis Apollo comes leading</span> <span class="i0">His
+ choir, the Nine.</span> <span class="i0">&mdash;The leader is
+ fairest,</span> <span class="i0">But all are divine.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They are lost in the hollows!</span> <span
+ class="i0">They stream up again!</span> <span class="i0">What seeks
+ on this mountain</span> <span class="i0">The glorified train?&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page267" id="page267" title="267"></a> <span
+ class="i0">They bathe on this mountain,</span> <span class="i0">In
+ the spring by the road;</span> <span class="i0">Then on to Olympus,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Their endless abode.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&mdash;Whose praise do they mention?</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of what is it told?&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">What
+ will be for ever;</span> <span class="i0">What was from of old.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">First hymn they the Father</span> <span class="i0">Of
+ all things; and then,</span> <span class="i0">The rest of
+ immortals,</span> <span class="i0">The action of men.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The day in his hotness,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ strife with the palm;</span> <span class="i0">The night in her
+ silence,</span> <span class="i0">The stars in their calm.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Arnold.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cvii">CVIII</a></small><br />THE DEATH OF SOHRAB
+ </h2>
+ <h3>
+ THE DUEL
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And he too drew his sword; at once they rushed</span>
+ <span class="i0">Together, as two eagles on one prey</span> <span
+ class="i0">Come rushing down together from the clouds,</span> <span
+ class="i0">One from the east, one from the west; their shields</span>
+ <span class="i0">Dashed with a clang together, and a din</span>
+ <span class="i0">Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters</span>
+ <span class="i0">Make often in the forest's heart at morn,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page268" id="page268" title="268"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Of hewing axes, crashing trees&mdash;such blows</span>
+ <span class="i0">Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And you would say that sun and stars took part</span>
+ <span class="i0">In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud</span>
+ <span class="i0">Grew suddenly in Heaven, and darkened the sun</span>
+ <span class="i0">Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose</span>
+ <span class="i0">Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair.</span>
+ <span class="i0">In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they alone;</span>
+ <span class="i0">For both the on-looking hosts on either hand</span>
+ <span class="i0">Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream.</span>
+ <span class="i0">But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes</span>
+ <span class="i0">And labouring breath; first Rustum struck the shield</span>
+ <span class="i0">Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-spiked spear</span>
+ <span class="i0">Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Rustum plucked it back with angry groan.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest</span>
+ <span class="i0">He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Never till now defiled, sank to the dust;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Rustum bowed his head; but then the gloom</span>
+ <span class="i0">Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Who stood at hand, uttered a dreadful cry;&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">No horse's cry was that, most like the roar</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of some pained desert-lion, who all day</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hath trailed the hunter's javelin in his side,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And comes at night to die upon the sand.</span>
+ <span class="i0">The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream.</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page269" id="page269" title="269"></a> <span
+ class="i0">But Sohrab heard, and quailed not, but rushed on,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And struck again; and again Rustum bowed</span>
+ <span class="i0">His head; but this time all the blade, like glass,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And in the hand the hilt remained alone.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes</span>
+ <span class="i0">Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And shouted: <i>Rustum!</i>&mdash;Sohrab heard that
+ shout,</span> <span class="i0">And shrank amazed; back he recoiled
+ one step,</span> <span class="i0">And scanned with blinking eyes
+ the advancing form;</span> <span class="i0">And then he stood
+ bewildered; and he dropped</span> <span class="i0">His covering
+ shield, and the spear pierced his side.</span> <span class="i0">He
+ reeled, and staggering back, sank to the ground;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all</span>
+ <span class="i0">The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ SOHRAB
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Then with a bitter smile, Rustum began:&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill</span>
+ <span class="i0">A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or else that the great Rustum would come down</span>
+ <span class="i0">Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move</span>
+ <span class="i0">His heart to take a gift, and let thee go.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And then that all the Tartar host would praise</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To glad thy father in his weak old age.</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page270" id="page270" title="270"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Dearer to the red jackels shalt thou be</span>
+ <span class="i0">Than to thy friends, and to thy father old,&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied:&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man!</span>
+ <span class="i0">No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart.</span>
+ <span class="i0">For were I matched with ten such men as thee,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And I were that which till to-day I was,</span>
+ <span class="i0">They should be lying here, I standing there.</span>
+ <span class="i0">But that beloved name unnerved my arm&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">That name, and something, I confess, in thee,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield</span>
+ <span class="i0">Fall; and thy spear transfix an unarmed foe.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And now thou boastest, and insultest my fate.</span>
+ <span class="i0">But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear:</span>
+ <span class="i0">The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death!</span>
+ <span class="i0">My father, whom I seek through all the world,</span>
+ <span class="i0">He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As when some hunter in the spring hath
+ found</span> <span class="i0">A breeding eagle sitting on her nest,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Upon the craggy isle of a hill-lake,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And pierced her with an arrow as she rose,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And followed her to find her where she fell</span> <span
+ class="i0">Far off;&mdash;anon her mate comes winging back</span>
+ <span class="i0">From hunting, and a great way off decries</span>
+ <span class="i0">His huddling young left-sole; at that he checks</span>
+ <span class="i0">His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps</span>
+ <span class="i0">Circles above his eyry, with loud screams</span>
+ <span class="i0">Chiding his mate back to her nest; but she</span>
+ <span class="i0">Lies dying, with the arrow in her side,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page271" id="page271" title="271"></a> <span
+ class="i0">In some far stony gorge out of his ken,</span> <span
+ class="i0">A heap of fluttering feathers&mdash;never more</span>
+ <span class="i0">Shall the lake glass her, flying over it;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Never the black and dripping precipices</span>
+ <span class="i0">Echo her stormy scream as she sails by&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss,</span>
+ <span class="i0">So Rustum knew not his own loss, but stood</span>
+ <span class="i0">Over his dying son, and knew him not.</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But, with a cold, incredulous voice he said:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;What prate is this of fathers and revenge?</span>
+ <span class="i0">The mighty Rustum never had a son.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And with a failing voice Sohrab replied:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Ah yes, he had! and that lost son am I,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Surely the news will one day reach his ear,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap</span>
+ <span class="i0">To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only son!</span>
+ <span class="i0">What will that grief, what will that vengeance be?</span>
+ <span class="i0">O could I live, till I that grief had seen!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet him I pity not so much, but her,</span> <span
+ class="i0">My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells</span> <span
+ class="i0">With that old king, her father, who grows grey</span>
+ <span class="i0">With age, and rules over the valiant Koords.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Her most I pity, who no more will see</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp,</span> <span
+ class="i0">With spoils and honour, when the war is done.</span>
+ <span class="i0">But a dark rumour will be bruited up,</span> <span
+ class="i0">From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And then will that defenceless woman learn</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page272" id="page272" title="272"></a> <span
+ class="i0">That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more,</span> <span
+ class="i0">But that in battle with a nameless foe,</span> <span
+ class="i0">By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE RECOGNITION
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He spoke, and as he ceased he wept aloud,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thinking of her he left, and his own death.</span>
+ <span class="i0">He spoke; but Rustum listened plunged in thought.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Nor did he yet believe it was his son</span> <span
+ class="i0">Who spoke, although he called back names he knew;</span>
+ <span class="i0">For he had had sure tidings that the babe,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Which was in Ader-baijan born to him,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Had been a puny girl, no boy at all&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">So that sad mother sent him word, for fear</span> <span
+ class="i0">Rustum should seek the boy, to train in arms.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And as he deemed that either Sohrab took,</span>
+ <span class="i0">By a false boast, the style of Rustum's son;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame.</span>
+ <span class="i0">So deemed he; yet he listened plunged in thought;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to shore</span>
+ <span class="i0">At the full moon; tears gathered in his eyes;</span>
+ <span class="i0">For he remembered his own early youth,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The shepherd from his mountain-lodge descries</span>
+ <span class="i0">A far, bright city, smitten by the sun,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Through many rolling clouds&mdash;so Rustum saw</span>
+ <span class="i0">His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in her bloom;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And that old king, her father, who loved well</span>
+ <span class="i0">His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child</span>
+ <span class="i0">With joy; and all the pleasant life they led,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page273" id="page273" title="273"></a> <span
+ class="i0">They three, in that long-distant summer-time&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt</span>
+ <span class="i0">And hound, and morn on those delightful hills</span>
+ <span class="i0">In Ader-baijan. And he saw that Youth,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of age and looks to be his own dear son,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of an unskilful gardener has been cut,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom,</span>
+ <span class="i0">On the mown, dying grass&mdash;so Sohrab lay,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Lovely in death, upon the common sand.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Rustum gazed on him in grief, and said:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son</span>
+ <span class="i0">Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have loved:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men</span>
+ <span class="i0">Have told thee false&mdash;thou art not Rustum's son.</span>
+ <span class="i0">For Rustum had no son; one child he had&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But one&mdash;a girl; who with her mother now</span>
+ <span class="i0">Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But Sohrab answered him in wrath; for now</span>
+ <span class="i0">The anguish of the deep-fixed spear grew fierce,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And he desir&egrave;d to draw forth the steel,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And let the blood flow free, and so to die&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But first he would convince his stubborn foe;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And, rising sternly on one arm, he said:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Man, who art thou who dost deny my
+ words?</span> <span class="i0">Truth sits upon the lips of dying
+ men,</span> <span class="i0">And falsehood, while I lived, was far
+ from mine.</span> <span class="i0">I tell thee, pricked upon this
+ arm I bear</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page274" id="page274"
+ title="274"></a> <span class="i0">That seal which Rustum to my mother
+ gave,</span> <span class="i0">That she might prick it on the babe
+ she bore.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He spoke; and
+ all the blood left Rustum's cheeks,</span> <span class="i0">And his
+ knees tottered, and he smote his hand</span> <span class="i0">Against
+ his breast, his heavy mail&egrave;d hand,</span> <span class="i0">That
+ the hard iron corselet clanked aloud;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ to his heart he pressed the other hand,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ in a hollow voice he spake and said:</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Sohrab,
+ that were a proof that could not lie!</span> <span class="i0">If
+ thou show this, then art thou Rustum's son.&rsquo;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Then with weak hasty fingers Sohrab loosed</span>
+ <span class="i0">His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And showed a sign in faint vermilion points</span>
+ <span class="i0">Pricked; as a cunning workman, in Pekin,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase,</span>
+ <span class="i0">An emperor's gift&mdash;at early morn he paints,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And all day long, and, when night comes, the lamp</span>
+ <span class="i0">Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">So delicately pricked the sign appeared</span>
+ <span class="i0">On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Rustum's seal.</span>
+ <span class="i0">It was that griffin, which of old reared Zal,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Rustum's great father, whom they left to die,</span>
+ <span class="i0">A helpless babe, among the mountain rocks;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Him that kind creature found, and reared, and loved&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Sohrab bared that image on his arm,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And himself scanned it long with mournful eyes,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And then he touched it with his hand and said:&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;How sayest thou? Is that sign the
+ proper sign</span> <span class="i0">Of Rustum's son, or of some
+ other man's?&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page275" id="page275" title="275"></a>RUKSH
+ THE HORSE
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood</span>
+ <span class="i0">Speechless; and then he uttered one sharp cry:</span>
+ <span class="i0"><i>O boy&mdash;thy father!</i>&mdash;and his voice
+ choked there.</span> <span class="i0">And then a dark cloud passed
+ before his eyes,</span> <span class="i0">And his head swam, and he
+ sank down to earth.</span> <span class="i0">But Sohrab crawled to
+ where he lay, and cast</span> <span class="i0">His arms about his
+ neck, and kissed his lips,</span> <span class="i0">And with fond
+ faltering fingers stroked his cheeks,</span> <span class="i0">Trying
+ to call him back to life; and life</span> <span class="i0">Came
+ back to Rustum, and he oped his eyes,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ they stood wide with horror; and he seized</span> <span class="i0">In
+ both his hands the dust which lay around,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ threw it on his head, and smirched his hair,&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And his sobs choked him; and he clutched his sword,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To draw it, and for ever let life out.</span>
+ <span class="i0">But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And with a soothing voice he spake, and said:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Father, forbear! for I but meet
+ to-day</span> <span class="i0">The doom which at my birth was
+ written down</span> <span class="i0">In Heaven, and thou art
+ Heaven's unconscious hand.</span> <span class="i0">Surely my heart
+ cried out that it was thou,</span> <span class="i0">When first I
+ saw thee; and thy heart spoke too,</span> <span class="i0">I know
+ it! but fate trod these promptings down</span> <span class="i0">Under
+ its iron heel; fate, fate engaged</span> <span class="i0">The
+ strife, and hurled me on my father's spear.</span> <span class="i0">But
+ let us speak no more of this! I find</span> <span class="i0">My
+ father; let me feel that I have found!</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page276" id="page276" title="276"></a> <span class="i0">Come, sit
+ beside me on this sand, and take</span> <span class="i0">My head
+ betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ wash them with thy tears, and say: <i>My son!</i></span> <span
+ class="i0">Quick! quick! for numbered are my sands of life,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And swift; for like the lightning to this field</span>
+ <span class="i0">I came, and like the wind I go away&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind.</span>
+ <span class="i0">But it was writ in Heaven that this should be.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;So said he, and his voice released the
+ heart</span> <span class="i0">Of Rustum and his tears broke forth;
+ he cast</span> <span class="i0">His arms round his son's neck, and
+ wept aloud,</span> <span class="i0">And kissed him. And awe fell on
+ both the hosts,</span> <span class="i0">When they saw Rustum's
+ grief; and Ruksh the horse,</span> <span class="i0">With his head
+ bowing to the ground and mane</span> <span class="i0">Sweeping the
+ dust, came near, and in mute woe</span> <span class="i0">First to
+ the one, then to the other moved</span> <span class="i0">His head,
+ as if inquiring what their grief</span> <span class="i0">Might
+ mean; and from his dark, compassionate eyes,</span> <span class="i0">The
+ big warm tears rolled down, and caked the sand.</span> <span
+ class="i0">But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said:&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Ruksh, now thou grievest; but, O
+ Ruksh, thy feet</span> <span class="i0">Should first have rotted on
+ their nimble joints,</span> <span class="i0">Or ere they brought
+ thy master to this field!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ Sohrab looked upon the horse and said:</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Is
+ this, then, Ruksh? How often in past days,</span> <span class="i0">My
+ mother told me of thee, thou brave steed,</span> <span class="i0">My
+ terrible father's terrible horse! and said,</span> <span class="i0">That
+ I should one day find thy lord and thee.</span> <span class="i0">Come,
+ let me lay my hand upon thy mane!</span> <span class="i0">O Ruksh,
+ thou art more fortunate than I;</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page277" id="page277" title="277"></a> <span class="i0">For thou
+ hast gone where I shall never go,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ snuffed the breezes of my father's home.</span> <span class="i0">And
+ thou hast trod the sands of Seistan,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ seen the river of Helmund, and the Lake</span> <span class="i0">Of
+ Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself</span> <span class="i0">Has often
+ stroked thy neck, and given thee food,</span> <span class="i0">Corn
+ in a golden platter soaked with wine,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ said: <i>O Ruksh! bear Rustum well!</i>&mdash;but I</span> <span
+ class="i0">Have never known my grandsire's furrowed face,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund stream;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But lodged among my father's foes, and seen</span>
+ <span class="i0">Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the black Toorkman tents; and only drunk</span>
+ <span class="i0">The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The northern Sir; and this great Oxus stream,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ RUSTUM
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Then with a heavy groan, Rustum bewailed:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;O that its waves were flowing over me!</span>
+ <span class="i0">O that I saw its grains of yellow silt</span>
+ <span class="i0">Roll tumbling in the current o'er my head!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But with a grave mild voice, Sohrab
+ replied:&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Desire not that, my
+ father! thou must live.</span> <span class="i0">For some are born
+ to do great deeds, and live,</span> <span class="i0">As some are
+ born to be obscured, and die.</span> <span class="i0">Do thou the
+ deeds I die too young to do,</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page278" id="page278" title="278"></a> <span class="i0">And reap a
+ second glory in thine age;</span> <span class="i0">Thou art my
+ father, and thy gain is mine.</span> <span class="i0">But come!
+ thou seest this great host of men</span> <span class="i0">Which
+ follow me; I pray thee, slay not these!</span> <span class="i0">Let
+ me entreat for them; what have they done?</span> <span class="i0">They
+ followed me, my hope, my fame, my star.</span> <span class="i0">Let
+ them all cross the Oxus back in peace.</span> <span class="i0">But
+ me thou must bear hence, not send with them,</span> <span class="i0">But
+ carry me with thee to Seistan,</span> <span class="i0">And place me
+ on a bed, and mourn for me,</span> <span class="i0">Thou, and the
+ snow-haired Zal, and all thy friends.</span> <span class="i0">And
+ thou must lay me in that lovely earth,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ heap a stately mound above my bones,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ plant a far-seen pillar over all.</span> <span class="i0">That so
+ the passing horseman on the waste</span> <span class="i0">May see
+ my tomb a great way off, and cry;</span> <span class="i0"><i>Sohrab,
+ the mighty Rustum's son, lies here,</i></span> <span class="i0"><i>Whom
+ his great father did in ignorance kill!</i></span> <span class="i0">And
+ I be not forgotten in my grave.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And,
+ with a mournful voice, Rustum replied:</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Fear
+ not! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son,</span> <span class="i0">So
+ shall it be; for I will burn my tents,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ quit the host, and bear thee hence with me,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ carry thee away to Seistan,</span> <span class="i0">And place thee
+ on a bed, and mourn for thee,</span> <span class="i0">With the
+ snow-headed Zal, and all my friends.</span> <span class="i0">And I
+ will lay thee in that lovely earth,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ heap a stately mound above thy bones,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ plant a far-seen pillar over all,</span> <span class="i0">And men
+ shall not forget thee in thy grave.</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page279" id="page279" title="279"></a> <span class="i0">And I will
+ spare thy host; yea, let them go!</span> <span class="i0">Let them
+ all cross the Oxus back in peace!</span> <span class="i0">What
+ should I do with slaying any more?</span> <span class="i0">For
+ would that all whom I have ever slain</span> <span class="i0">Might
+ be once more alive&mdash;my bitterest foes,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ they who were called champions in their time,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And through whose death I won that fame I have&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And I were nothing but a common man,</span> <span
+ class="i0">A poor, mean soldier, and without renown,</span> <span
+ class="i0">So thou mightest live too, my son, my son!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Or rather would that I, even I myself,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Might now be lying on this bloody sand,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Not thou of mine! and I might die, not thou;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And say: <i>O Son, I weep thee not too sore,</i></span>
+ <span class="i0"><i>For willingly, I know, thou met'st thine end!</i></span>
+ <span class="i0">But now in blood and battles was my youth,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And full of blood and battles is my age,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And I shall never end this life of blood.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Then at the point of death, Sohrab replied:</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man!</span>
+ <span class="i0">But thou shalt yet have peace; only not now,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Not yet! but thou shalt have it on that day,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thou and the other peers of Kai Khosroo</span>
+ <span class="i0">Returning home over the salt blue sea,</span>
+ <span class="i0">From laying thy dear master in his grave.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page280" id="page280" title="280"></a>NIGHT
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and
+ said:</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Soon be that day, my son, and
+ deep that sea!</span> <span class="i0">Till then, if fate so wills,
+ let me endure.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He spoke;
+ and Sohrab smiled on him, and took</span> <span class="i0">The
+ spear, and drew it from his side, and eased</span> <span class="i0">His
+ wound's imperious anguish; but the blood</span> <span class="i0">Came
+ welling from the open gash, and life</span> <span class="i0">Flowed
+ with the stream;&mdash;all down his cold white side</span> <span
+ class="i0">The crimson torrent ran, dim now and soiled,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Like the soiled tissue of white violets</span>
+ <span class="i0">Left, freshly gathered, on their native bank,</span>
+ <span class="i0">By children whom their nurses call with haste</span>
+ <span class="i0">Indoors from the sun's eye; his head dropped low,</span>
+ <span class="i0">His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, he lay&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">White, with eyes closed; only when heavy gasps,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Deep heavy gasps quivering through all his frame,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Convulsed him back to life, he opened them,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And fixed them feebly on his father's face;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Till now all strength was ebbed, and from his limbs</span>
+ <span class="i0">Unwillingly the spirit fled away,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Regretting the warm mansion which it left,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world.</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the great Rustum drew his horseman's cloak</span>
+ <span class="i0">Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son.</span>
+ <span class="i0">As those black granite pillars once high-reared</span>
+ <span class="i0">By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear</span> <span
+ class="i0">His house, now 'mid their broken flights of steps</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page281" id="page281" title="281"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side,</span>
+ <span class="i0">So in the sand lay Rustum by his son.</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And night came down over the solemn waste,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And darkened all; and a cold fog, with night,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose,</span>
+ <span class="i0">As of a great assembly loosed, and fires</span>
+ <span class="i0">Began to twinkle through the fog; for now</span>
+ <span class="i0">Both armies moved to camp, and took their meal;</span>
+ <span class="i0">The Persians took it on the open sands</span>
+ <span class="i0">Southward, the Tartars by the river marge;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And Rustum and his son were left alone.</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But the majestic river floated on,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Out of the mist and hum of that low land,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Into the frosty starlight, and there moved,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Rejoicing, through the hushed Chorasmian waste,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Under the solitary moon;&mdash;he flowed</span>
+ <span class="i0">Right for the polar star, past Orgunj&egrave;,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Brimming, and bright, and large; then sands begin</span>
+ <span class="i0">To hem his watery march, and dam his streams,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And split his currents; that for many a league</span>
+ <span class="i0">The shorn and parcelled Oxus strains along</span>
+ <span class="i0">Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had</span>
+ <span class="i0">In his high mountain cradle in Pamere</span> <span
+ class="i0">A foiled circuitous wanderer&mdash;till at last</span>
+ <span class="i0">The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and wide</span>
+ <span class="i0">His luminous home of waters opens, bright</span>
+ <span class="i0">And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars</span>
+ <span class="i0">Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Arnold.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page282" id="page282" title="282"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_cvii">CIX</a></small><br />FLEE FRO' THE PRESS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O born in days when wits were fresh and clear</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames;</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Before this strange disease of
+ modern life,</span> <span class="i0">With its sick hurry, its
+ divided aims,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Its heads
+ o'ertaxed, its palsied hearts, was rife&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fly hence, our contact fear!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Still fly, plunge deeper in the bowering wood!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Averse, as Dido did with gesture stern</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From her false friend's approach in Hades
+ turn,</span> <span class="i0">Wave us away and keep thy solitude!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Still nursing the unconquerable hope,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Still clutching the inviolable shade,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With a free, onward impulse
+ brushing through,</span> <span class="i0">By night, the silvered
+ branches of the glade&mdash;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Far
+ on the forest-skirts, where none pursue,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;On
+ some mild pastoral slope</span> <span class="i0">Emerge, and
+ resting on the moonlit pales</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Freshen
+ thy flowers as in former years</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With
+ dew, or listen with enchanted ears,</span> <span class="i0">From
+ the dark dingles, to the nightingales!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For strong the infection of our mental
+ strife,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Which,
+ though it gives no bliss, yet spoils for rest;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And we should win thee from thy own fair life,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page283" id="page283" title="283"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Like us distracted, and like us unblest.</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Soon, soon thy cheer would die,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thy hopes grow timorous, and unfixed thy powers,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And thy clear aims be cross and shifting
+ made;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And then thy glad
+ perennial youth would fade,</span> <span class="i0">Fade, and grow
+ old at last, and die like ours.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As some grave Tyrian trader, from the sea,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Descried at sunrise an emerging
+ prow</span> <span class="i0">Lifting the cool-haired creepers
+ stealthily,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The fringes of a
+ southward-facing brow</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Among
+ the &AElig;g&aelig;an isles;</span> <span class="i0">And saw the
+ merry Grecian coaster come,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Freighted
+ with amber grapes, and Chian wine,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Green,
+ bursting figs, and tunnies steeped in brine&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And knew the intruders on his ancient home,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The young light-hearted masters of the waves&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And snatched his rudder, and shook out more
+ sail;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And day and
+ night held on indignantly</span> <span class="i0">O'er the blue
+ Midland waters with the gale,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Betwixt
+ the Syrtes and soft Sicily,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ where the Atlantic raves</span> <span class="i0">Outside the
+ western straits; and unbent sails</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;There,
+ where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of foam,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And on the beach undid his corded bales.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Arnold.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page284" id="page284" title="284"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_cx">CX</a></small><br />SCHOOL FENCIBLES
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We come in arms, we stand ten score,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Embattled on the castle green;</span> <span
+ class="i0">We grasp our firelocks tight, for war</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is threatening, and we see our Queen.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And &lsquo;Will the churls last out till we</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Have duly hardened bones and thews</span>
+ <span class="i0">For scouring leagues of swamp and sea</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of braggart mobs and corsair crews?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">We ask; we fear not scoff or smile</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;At meek attire of blue and grey,</span>
+ <span class="i0">For the proud wrath that thrills our isle</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Gives faith and force to this array.</span>
+ <span class="i0">So great a charm is England's right,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That hearts enlarged together flow,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And each man rises up a knight</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To work the evil-thinkers woe.</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, girt with ancient truth and grace,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We do our service and our suit,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And each can be, whate'er his race,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A Chandos or a Montacute.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Thou, Mistress, whom we serve to-day,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Bless the real swords that we shall wield,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Repeat the call we now obey</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ sunset lands, on some fair field.</span> <span class="i0">Thy flag
+ shall make some Huron rock</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As
+ dear to us as Windsor's keep,</span> <span class="i0">And arms thy
+ Thames hath nerved shall mock</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ surgings of th' Ontarian deep.</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page285" id="page285" title="285"></a> <span class="i0">The
+ stately music of thy Guards,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Which
+ times our march beneath thy ken,</span> <span class="i0">Shall
+ sound, with spells of sacred bards,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From
+ heart to heart, when we are men.</span> <span class="i0">And when
+ we bleed on alien earth,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We'll
+ call to mind how cheers of ours</span> <span class="i0">Proclaimed
+ a loud uncourtly mirth</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Amongst
+ thy glowing orange bowers.</span> <span class="i0">And if for
+ England's sake we fall,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;So be
+ it, so thy cross be won,</span> <span class="i0">Fixed by kind
+ hands on silvered pall,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ worn in death, for duty done.</span> <span class="i0">Ah! thus we
+ fondle Death, the soldier's mate,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Blending
+ his image with the hopes of youth</span> <span class="i0">To hallow
+ all; meanwhile the hidden fate</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Chills
+ not our fancies with the iron truth.</span> <span class="i0">Death
+ from afar we call, and Death is here,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ choose out him who wears the loftiest mien;</span> <span class="i0">And
+ Grief, the cruel lord who knows no peer,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Breaks
+ through the shield of love to pierce our Queen.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Cory.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cx">CXI</a></small><br />THE TWO CAPTAINS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When George the Third was reigning a hundred years ago,</span>
+ <span class="i0">He ordered Captain Farmer to chase the foreign foe.</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;You're not afraid of shot,&rsquo; said he,
+ &lsquo;you're not afraid of wreck,</span> <span class="i0">So
+ cruise about the west of France in the frigate called <i>Quebec</i>.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page286" id="page286" title="286"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Quebec was once a Frenchman's town, but twenty years ago</span>
+ <span class="i0">King George the Second sent a man called General Wolfe,
+ you know,</span> <span class="i0">To clamber up a precipice and
+ look into Quebec,</span> <span class="i0">As you'd look down a
+ hatchway when standing on the deck.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">If Wolfe could beat the Frenchmen then so you can beat
+ them now.</span> <span class="i0">Before he got inside the town he
+ died, I must allow.</span> <span class="i0">But since the town was
+ won for us it is a lucky name,</span> <span class="i0">And you'll
+ remember Wolfe's good work, and you shall do the same.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then Farmer said, &lsquo;I'll try, sir,&rsquo; and
+ Farmer bowed so low</span> <span class="i0">That George could see
+ his pigtail tied in a velvet bow.</span> <span class="i0">George
+ gave him his commission, and that it might be safer,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Signed &lsquo;King of Britain, King of France,&rsquo; and
+ sealed it with a wafer.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then proud was Captain Farmer in a frigate of his own,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And grander on his quarter-deck than George upon the
+ throne.</span> <span class="i0">He'd two guns in his cabin, and on
+ the spar-deck ten,</span> <span class="i0">And twenty on the
+ gun-deck, and more than ten score men.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And as a huntsman scours the brakes with sixteen brace
+ of dogs,</span> <span class="i0">With two-and-thirty cannon the
+ ship explored the fogs.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page287"
+ id="page287" title="287"></a> <span class="i0">From Cape la Hogue to
+ Ushant, from Rochefort to Belleisle,</span> <span class="i0">She
+ hunted game till reef and mud were rubbing on her keel.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The fogs are dried, the frigate's side is bright with
+ melting tar,</span> <span class="i0">The lad up in the foretop sees
+ square white sails afar;</span> <span class="i0">The east wind
+ drives three square-sailed masts from out the Breton bay,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And &lsquo;Clear for action!&rsquo; Farmer shouts, and
+ reefers yell &lsquo;Hooray!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Frenchman's captain had a name I wish I could
+ pronounce;</span> <span class="i0">A Breton gentleman was he, and
+ wholly free from bounce,</span> <span class="i0">One like those
+ famous fellows who died by guillotine</span> <span class="i0">For
+ honour and the fleurs-de-lys and Antoinette the Queen.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Catholic for Louis, the Protestant for George,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Each captain drew as bright a sword as saintly smiths
+ could forge;</span> <span class="i0">And both were simple seamen,
+ but both could understand</span> <span class="i0">How each was
+ bound to win or die for flag and native land.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The French ship was <i>la Surveillante</i>, which means
+ the watchful maid;</span> <span class="i0">She folded up her
+ head-dress and began to cannonade.</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page288" id="page288" title="288"></a> <span class="i0">Her hull
+ was clean, and ours was foul; we had to spread more sail.</span>
+ <span class="i0">On canvas, stays, and topsail yards her bullets came
+ like hail.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Sore smitten were both captains, and many lads beside,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And still to cut our rigging the foreign gunners tried.</span>
+ <span class="i0">A sail-clad spar came flapping down athwart a blazing
+ gun;</span> <span class="i0">We could not quench the rushing
+ flames, and so the Frenchman won.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Our quarter-deck was crowded, the waist was all aglow;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Men hung upon the taffrail half scorched, but loth to
+ go;</span> <span class="i0">Our captain sat where once he stood,
+ and would not quit his chair.</span> <span class="i0">He bade his
+ comrades leap for life, and leave him bleeding there.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The guns were hushed on either side, the Frenchmen
+ lowered boats,</span> <span class="i0">They flung us planks and
+ hencoops, and everything that floats.</span> <span class="i0">They
+ risked their lives, good fellows! to bring their rivals aid.</span>
+ <span class="i0">'Twas by the conflagration the peace was strangely
+ made.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0"><i>La Surveillante</i> was like a sieve; the victors
+ had no rest,</span> <span class="i0">They had to dodge the east
+ wind to reach the port of Brest,</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page289" id="page289" title="289"></a> <span class="i0">And where
+ the waves leapt lower, and the riddled ship went slower,</span>
+ <span class="i0">In triumph, yet in funeral guise, came fisher-boats to
+ tow her.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They dealt with us as brethren, they mourned for Farmer
+ dead;</span> <span class="i0">And as the wounded captives passed
+ each Breton bowed the head.</span> <span class="i0">Then spoke the
+ French Lieutenant, &lsquo;'Twas fire that won, not we.</span> <span
+ class="i0">You never struck your flag to us; you'll go to England free.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">'Twas the sixth day of October, seventeen hundred
+ seventy-nine,</span> <span class="i0">A year when nations ventured
+ against us to combine,</span> <span class="i0"><i>Quebec</i> was
+ burnt and Farmer slain, by us remembered not;</span> <span
+ class="i0">But thanks be to the French book wherein they're not forgot.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now you, if you've to fight the French, my youngster,
+ bear in mind</span> <span class="i0">Those seamen of King Louis so
+ chivalrous and kind;</span> <span class="i0">Think of the Breton
+ gentlemen who took our lads to Brest,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ treat some rescued Breton as a comrade and a guest.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Cory.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page290" id="page290" title="290"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_cxii">CXII</a></small><br />THE HEAD OF BRAN
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When the head of Bran</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Was
+ firm on British shoulders,</span> <span class="i0">God made a man!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Cried all beholders.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Steel could not resist</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ weight his arm would rattle;</span> <span class="i0">He with naked
+ fist</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Has brained a knight in
+ battle.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He marched on the foe,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ never counted numbers;</span> <span class="i0">Foreign widows know</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The hosts he sent to slumbers.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">As a street you scan</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That's
+ towered by the steeple,</span> <span class="i0">So the head of Bran</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Rose o'er his people.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Death's my neighbour,&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Quoth Bran the
+ blest;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Christian
+ labour</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Brings
+ Christian rest.</span> <span title="New stanza in original"
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;From the trunk sever</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The head of Bran,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That which never</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Has bent to man!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page291" id="page291" title="291"></a> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That which never</span> <span
+ class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To men has bowed</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall live ever</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To shame the
+ shroud:</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall live
+ ever</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ face the foe;</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sever
+ it, sever,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ with one blow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Be it written,</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That all I wrought</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Was for Britain,</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In deed and
+ thought:</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Be it
+ written,</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That,
+ while I die,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&ldquo;Glory
+ to Britain!&rdquo;</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Is
+ my last cry.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&ldquo;Glory to Britain!&rdquo;</span>
+ <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Death echoes me
+ round.</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Glory to
+ Britain!</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ world shall resound.</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Glory
+ to Britain!</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ ruin and fall,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Glory
+ to Britain!</span> <span class="i3">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Is
+ heard over all.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Burn, Sun, down the sea!</span> <span class="i0">Bran
+ lies low with thee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Burst, Morn, from the main!</span> <span class="i0">Bran
+ so shall rise again.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page292" id="page292" title="292"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Blow, Wind, from the field!</span> <span class="i0">Bran's
+ Head is the Briton's shield.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Beam, Star, in the west!</span> <span class="i0">Bright
+ burns the Head of Bran the Blest.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Crimson-footed like the stork,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From great ruts of slaughter,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Warriors of the Golden Torque</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Cross
+ the lifting water.</span> <span class="i0">Princes seven,
+ enchaining hands,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Bear the live
+ Head homeward.</span> <span class="i0">Lo! it speaks, and still
+ commands;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Gazing far out
+ foamward.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Fiery words of lightning sense</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Down the hollows thunder;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Forest hostels know not whence</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Comes
+ the speech, and wonder.</span> <span class="i0">City-castles, on
+ the steep</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where the faithful
+ Severn</span> <span class="i0">House at midnight, hear in sleep</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Laughter under heaven.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Lilies, swimming on the mere,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In the castle shadow,</span> <span class="i0">Under
+ draw their heads, and Fear</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Walks
+ the misty meadow;</span> <span class="i0">Tremble not, it is not
+ Death</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Pledging dark espousal:</span>
+ <span class="i0">'Tis the Head of endless breath,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Challenging carousal!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page293" id="page293" title="293"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Brim the horn! a health is drunk,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Now,
+ that shall keep going:</span> <span class="i0">Life is but the
+ pebble sunk,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Deeds, the circle
+ growing!</span> <span class="i0">Fill, and pledge the Head of Bran!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;While his lead they follow,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Long shall heads in Britain plan</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Speech Death cannot swallow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>George Meredith.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cxiii">CXIII</a></small><br />THE SLAYING OF THE
+ NIBLUNGS
+ </h2>
+ <h3>
+ HOGNI
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Ye shall know that in Atli's feast-hall on the side
+ that joined the house</span> <span class="i0">Were many carven
+ doorways whose work was glorious</span> <span class="i0">With
+ marble stones and gold-work, and their doors of beaten brass:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Lo now, in the merry morning how the story cometh to
+ pass!</span> <span class="i0">&mdash;While the echoes of the
+ trumpet yet fill the people's ears,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ Hogni casts by the war-horn, and his Dwarf-wrought sword uprears,</span>
+ <span class="i0">All those doors aforesaid open, and in pour the streams
+ of steel,</span> <span class="i0">The best of the Eastland
+ champions, the bold men of Atli's weal:</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page294" id="page294" title="294"></a> <span class="i0">They raise
+ no cry of battle nor cast forth threat of woe,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And their helmed and hidden faces from each other none may
+ know:</span> <span class="i0">Then a light in the hall ariseth, and
+ the fire of battle runs</span> <span class="i0">All adown the front
+ of the Niblungs in the face of the mighty ones;</span> <span
+ class="i0">All eyes are set upon them, hard drawn is every breath,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Ere the foremost points be mingled and death be blent
+ with death.</span> <span class="i0">&mdash;All eyes save the eyes
+ of Hogni; but e'en as the edges meet,</span> <span class="i0">He
+ turneth about for a moment to the gold of the kingly seat,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then aback to the front of battle; there then, as the
+ lightning-flash</span> <span class="i0">Through the dark night
+ showeth the city when the clouds of heaven clash,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the gazer shrinketh backward, yet he seeth from end to
+ end</span> <span class="i0">The street and the merry market, and
+ the windows of his friend,</span> <span class="i0">And the pavement
+ where his footsteps yester'en returning trod,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Now white and changed and dreadful 'neath the threatening
+ voice of God;</span> <span class="i0">So Hogni seeth Gudrun, and
+ the face he used to know,</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page295"
+ id="page295" title="295"></a> <span class="i0">Unspeakable, unchanging,
+ with white unknitted brow</span> <span class="i0">With half-closed
+ lips untrembling, with deedless hands and cold</span> <span
+ class="i0">Laid still on knees that stir not, and the linen's moveless
+ fold.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Turned Hogni unto the spear-wall, and smote from where
+ he stood,</span> <span class="i0">And hewed with his sword
+ two-handed as the axe-man in a wood:</span> <span class="i0">Before
+ his sword was a champion, and the edges clave to the chin,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the first man fell in the feast-hall of those that
+ should fall therein.</span> <span class="i0">Then man with man was
+ dealing, and the Niblung host of war</span> <span class="i0">Was
+ swept by the leaping iron, as the rock anigh the shore</span> <span
+ class="i0">By the ice-cold waves of winter: yet a moment Gunnar stayed</span>
+ <span class="i0">As high in his hand unblooded he shook his awful blade;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And he cried: &lsquo;O Eastland champions, do ye behold
+ it here,</span> <span class="i0">The sword of the ancient Giuki?
+ Fall on and have no fear,</span> <span class="i0">But slay and be
+ slain and be famous, if your master's will it be!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Yet are we the blameless Niblungs, and bidden guests are we:</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page296" id="page296" title="296"></a> <span
+ class="i0">So forbear, if ye wander hood-winked, nor for nothing slay
+ and be slain;</span> <span class="i0">For I know not what to tell
+ you of the dead that live again.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">So he saith in the midst of the foemen with his
+ war-flame reared on high,</span> <span class="i0">But all about and
+ around him goes up a bitter cry</span> <span class="i0">From the
+ iron men of Atli, and the bickering of the steel</span> <span
+ class="i0">Sends a roar up to the roof-ridge, and the Niblung war-ranks
+ reel</span> <span class="i0">Behind the steadfast Gunnar: but lo!
+ have ye seen the corn,</span> <span class="i0">While yet men grind
+ the sickle, by the wind-streak overborne</span> <span class="i0">When
+ the sudden rain sweeps downward, and summer groweth black,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the smitten wood-side roareth 'neath the driving
+ thunder-wrack?</span> <span class="i0">So before the wise-heart
+ Hogni shrank the champions of the East,</span> <span class="i0">As
+ his great voice shook the timbers in the hall of Atli's feast.</span>
+ <span class="i0">There he smote, and beheld not the smitten, and by
+ nought were his edges stopped;</span> <span class="i0">He smote,
+ and the dead were thrust from him; a hand with its shield he lopped;</span>
+ <span title="Original reads 'Alti's'" class="i0">There met him Atli's
+ marshal, and his arm at the shoulder he shred;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Three swords were upreared against him of the best of the kin
+ of the dead;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page297" id="page297"
+ title="297"></a> <span class="i0">And he struck off a head to the
+ rightward, and his sword through a throat he thrust,</span> <span
+ class="i0">But the third stroke fell on his helm-crest, and he stooped
+ to the ruddy dust,</span> <span class="i0">And uprose as the
+ ancient Giant, and both his hands were wet:</span> <span class="i0">Red
+ then was the world to his eyen, as his hand to the labour he set;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Swords shook and fell in his pathway, huge bodies leapt
+ and fell,</span> <span class="i0">Harsh grided shield and war-helm
+ like the tempest-smitten bell,</span> <span class="i0">And the
+ war-cries ran together, and no man his brother knew,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the dead men loaded the living, as he went the war-wood
+ through;</span> <span class="i0">And man 'gainst man was huddled,
+ till no sword rose to smite,</span> <span class="i0">And clear
+ stood the glorious Hogni in an island of the fight,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And there ran a river of death 'twixt the Niblung and his
+ foes,</span> <span class="i0">And therefrom the terror of men and
+ the wrath of the Gods arose.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ GUNNAR
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now fell the sword of Gunnar, and rose up red in the
+ air,</span> <span class="i0">And hearkened the song of the Niblung,
+ as his voice rang glad and clear,</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page298" id="page298" title="298"></a> <span class="i0">And
+ rejoiced and leapt at the Eastmen, and cried as it met the rings</span>
+ <span class="i0">Of a Giant of King Atli and a murder-wolf of kings;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But it quenched its thirst in his entrails, and knew
+ the heart in his breast,</span> <span class="i0">And hearkened the
+ praise of Gunnar, and lingered not to rest,</span> <span class="i0">But
+ fell upon Atli's brother, and stayed not in his brain;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then he fell, and the King leapt over, and clave a neck
+ atwain,</span> <span class="i0">And leapt o'er the sweep of a
+ pole-axe, and thrust a lord in the throat,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ King Atli's banner-bearer through shield and hauberk smote;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then he laughed on the huddled East-folk, and against
+ their war-shields drave</span> <span class="i0">While the white
+ swords tossed about him, and that archer's skull he clave</span>
+ <span class="i0">Whom Atli had bought in the Southlands for many a pound
+ of gold;</span> <span class="i0">And the dark-skinned fell upon
+ Gunnar, and over his war-shield rolled,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ cumbered his sword for a season, and the many blades fell on,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And sheared the cloudy helm-crest and rents in his
+ hauberk won,</span> <span class="i0">And the red blood ran from
+ Gunnar; till that Giuki's sword outburst,</span> <span class="i0">As
+ the fire-tongue from the smoulder that the leafy heap hath nursed,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page299" id="page299" title="299"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And unshielded smote King Gunnar, and sent the Niblung song</span>
+ <span class="i0">Through the quaking stems of battle in the hall of
+ Atli's wrong:</span> <span class="i0">Then he rent the knitted
+ war-hedge till by Hogni's side he stood,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ kissed him amidst of the spear-hail, and their cheeks were wet with
+ blood.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then on came the Niblung bucklers, and they drave the
+ East-folk home,</span> <span class="i0">As the bows of the
+ oar-driven long-ship beat off the waves in foam:</span> <span
+ class="i0">They leave their dead behind them, and they come to the doors
+ and the wall,</span> <span class="i0">And a few last spears from
+ the fleeing amidst their shield-hedge fall:</span> <span class="i0">But
+ the doors clash to in their faces, as the fleeing rout they drive,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And fain would follow after; and none is left alive</span>
+ <span class="i0">In the feast-hall of King Atli, save those fishes of
+ the net,</span> <span class="i0">And the white and silent woman
+ above the slaughter set.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then biddeth the heart-wise Hogni, and men to the
+ windows climb,</span> <span class="i0">And uplift the war-grey
+ corpses, dead drift of the stormy time,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ cast them adown to their people: thence they come aback and say</span>
+ <span class="i0">That scarce shall ye see the houses, and no whit the
+ wheel-worn way</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page300"
+ id="page300" title="300"></a> <span class="i0">For the spears and
+ shields of the Eastlands that the merchant city throng;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And back to the Niblung burg-gate the way seemed
+ weary-long.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet passeth hour on hour, and the doors they watch and
+ ward</span> <span class="i0">But a long while hear no mail-clash,
+ nor the ringing of the sword;</span> <span class="i0">Then droop
+ the Niblung children, and their wounds are waxen chill,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And they think of the burg by the river, and the
+ builded holy hill,</span> <span class="i0">And their eyes are set
+ on Gudrun as of men who would beseech;</span> <span class="i0">But
+ unlearned are they in craving, and know not dastard's speech.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then doth Giuki's first-begotten a deed most fair to be
+ told,</span> <span class="i0">For his fair harp Gunnar taketh, and
+ the warp of silver and gold;</span> <span class="i0">With the hand
+ of a cunning harper he dealeth with the strings,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And his voice in their midst goeth upward, as of ancient days
+ he sings,</span> <span class="i0">Of the days before the Niblungs,
+ and the days that shall be yet;</span> <span class="i0">Till the
+ hour of toil and smiting the warrior hearts forget,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Nor hear the gathering foemen, nor the sound of swords aloof:</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page301" id="page301" title="301"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Then clear the song of Gunnar goes up to the dusky roof,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the coming spear-host tarries, and the bearers of
+ the woe</span> <span class="i0">Through the cloisters of King Atli
+ with lingering footsteps go.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But Hogni looketh on Gudrun, and no change in her face
+ he sees,</span> <span class="i0">And no stir in her folded linen
+ and the deedless hands on her knees:</span> <span class="i0">Then
+ from Gunnar's side he hasteneth; and lo! the open door,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And a foeman treadeth the pavement, and his lips are on
+ Atli's floor,</span> <span class="i0">For Hogni is death in the
+ doorway: then the Niblungs turn on the foe,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ the hosts are mingled together, and blow cries out on blow.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ GUDRUN
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Still the song goeth up from Gunnar, though his harp to
+ earth be laid;</span> <span class="i0">But he fighteth exceeding
+ wisely, and is many a warrior's aid,</span> <span class="i0">And he
+ shieldeth and delivereth, and his eyes search through the hall,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And woe is he for his fellows, as his battle-brethren
+ fall;</span> <span class="i0">For the turmoil hideth little from
+ that glorious folk-king's eyes,</span> <span class="i0">And o'er
+ all he beholdeth Gudrun, and his soul is waxen wise,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page302" id="page302" title="302"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And he saith: &lsquo;We shall look on Sigurd, and Sigmund of
+ old days,</span> <span class="i0">And see the boughs of the
+ Branstock o'er the ancient Volsung's praise.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Woe's me for the wrath of Hogni! From the door he
+ giveth aback</span> <span class="i0">That the Eastland slayers may
+ enter to the murder and the wrack:</span> <span class="i0">Then he
+ rageth and driveth the battle to the golden kingly seat,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the last of the foes he slayeth by Gudrun's very
+ feet,</span> <span class="i0">That the red blood splasheth her
+ raiment; and his own blood therewithal</span> <span class="i0">He
+ casteth aloft before her, and the drops on her white hands fall:</span>
+ <span class="i0">But nought she seeth or heedeth, and again he turns to
+ fight,</span> <span class="i0">Nor heedeth stroke nor wounding so
+ he a foe may smite:</span> <span class="i0">Then the battle opens
+ before him, and the Niblungs draw to his side;</span> <span
+ class="i0">As death in the world first fashioned, through the feast-hall
+ doth he stride.</span> <span class="i0">And so once more do the
+ Niblungs sweep that murder-flood of men</span> <span class="i0">From
+ the hall of toils and treason, and the doors swing to again.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then again is there peace for a little within the
+ fateful fold;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page303"
+ id="page303" title="303"></a> <span class="i0">But the Niblungs look
+ about them, and but few folk they behold</span> <span class="i0">Upright
+ on their feet for the battle: now they climb aloft no more,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Nor cast the dead from the windows; but they raise a
+ rampart of war,</span> <span class="i0">And its stones are the
+ fallen East-folk, and no lowly wall is that.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Therein was Gunnar the mighty: on the shields of men he
+ sat,</span> <span class="i0">And the sons of his people hearkened,
+ for his hand through the harp-strings ran,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ he sang in the hall of his foeman of the Gods and the making of man,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And how season was sundered from season in the days of
+ the fashioning,</span> <span class="i0">And became the Summer and
+ Autumn, and became the Winter and Spring;</span> <span class="i0">He
+ sang of men's hunger and labour, and their love and their breeding of
+ broil.</span> <span class="i0">And their hope that is fostered of
+ famine, and their rest that is fashioned of toil:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Fame then and the sword he sang of, and the hour of the hardy
+ and wise,</span> <span class="i0">When the last of the living shall
+ perish, and the first of the dead shall arise,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the torch shall be lit in the daylight, and God unto man
+ shall pray,</span> <span class="i0">And the heart shall cry out for
+ the hand in the fight of the uttermost day.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page304" id="page304" title="304"></a> <span
+ class="i0">So he sang, and beheld not Gudrun, save as long ago he saw</span>
+ <span class="i0">His sister, the little maiden of the face without a
+ flaw:</span> <span class="i0">But wearily Hogni beheld her, and no
+ change in her face there was,</span> <span class="i0">And long
+ thereon gazed Hogni, and set his brows as the brass,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Though the hands of the King were weary, and weak his knees
+ were grown,</span> <span class="i0">And he felt as a man unholpen
+ in a waste land wending alone.</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ THE SONS OF GIUKI
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now the noon was long passed over when again the rumour
+ arose,</span> <span class="i0">And through the doors cast open
+ flowed in the river of foes:</span> <span class="i0">They flooded
+ the hall of the murder, and surged round that rampart of dead;</span>
+ <span class="i0">No war-duke ran before them, no lord to the onset led,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But the thralls shot spears at adventure, and shot out
+ shafts from afar,</span> <span class="i0">Till the misty hall was
+ blinded with the bitter drift of war:</span> <span class="i0">Few
+ and faint were the Niblung children, and their wounds were waxen acold,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And they saw the Hell-gates open as they stood in their
+ grimly hold:</span> <span class="i0">Yet thrice stormed out King
+ Hogni, thrice stormed out Gunnar the King,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page305" id="page305" title="305"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Thrice fell they aback yet living to the heart of the fated
+ ring;</span> <span class="i0">And they looked and their band was
+ little, and no man but was wounded sore,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ the hall seemed growing greater, such hosts of foes it bore,</span>
+ <span class="i0">So tossed the iron harvest from wall to gilded wall;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And they looked and the white-clad Gudrun sat silent
+ over all.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Then the churls and thralls of the Eastland howled out
+ as wolves accurst,</span> <span class="i0">But oft gaped the
+ Niblungs voiceless, for they choked with anger and thirst;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the hall grew hot as a furnace, and men drank their
+ flowing blood,</span> <span class="i0">Men laughed and gnawed on
+ their shield-rims, men knew not where they stood,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And saw not what was before them; as in the dark men smote,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Men died heart-broken, unsmitten; men wept with the cry
+ in the throat,</span> <span class="i0">Men lived on full of
+ war-shafts, men cast their shields aside</span> <span class="i0">And
+ caught the spears to their bosoms; men rushed with none beside,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And fell unarmed on the foemen, and tore and slew in
+ death:</span> <span class="i0">And still down rained the arrows as
+ the rain across the heath;</span> <span class="i0">Still proud o'er
+ all the turmoil stood the Kings of Giuki born,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page306" id="page306" title="306"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Nor knit were the brows of Gunnar, nor his song-speech
+ overworn;</span> <span class="i0">But Hogni's mouth kept silence,
+ and oft his heart went forth</span> <span class="i0">To the long,
+ long day of the darkness, and the end of worldly worth.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Loud rose the roar of the East-folk, and the end was
+ coming at last:</span> <span class="i0">Now the foremost locked
+ their shield-rims and the hindmost over them cast,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And nigher they drew and nigher, and their fear was fading
+ away,</span> <span class="i0">For every man of the Niblungs on the
+ shaft-strewn pavement lay,</span> <span class="i0">Save Gunnar the
+ King and Hogni: still the glorious King up-bore</span> <span
+ class="i0">The cloudy shield of the Niblungs set full of shafts of war;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But Hogni's hands had fainted, and his shield had sunk
+ adown,</span> <span class="i0">So thick with the Eastland spearwood
+ was that rampart of renown;</span> <span class="i0">And hacked and
+ dull were the edges that had rent the wall of foes:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Yet he stood upright by Gunnar before that shielded close,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Nor looked on the foeman's faces as their wild eyes
+ drew anear,</span> <span class="i0">And their faltering shield-rims
+ clattered with the remnant of their fear;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page307" id="page307" title="307"></a> <span
+ class="i0">But he gazed on the Niblung woman, and the daughter of his
+ folk,</span> <span class="i0">Who sat o'er all unchanging ere the
+ war-cloud over them broke.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now nothing might men hearken in the house of Atli's
+ weal,</span> <span class="i0">Save the feet slow tramping onward,
+ and the rattling of the steel,</span> <span class="i0">And the song
+ of the glorious Gunnar, that rang as clearly now</span> <span
+ class="i0">As the speckled storm-cock singeth from the scant-leaved
+ hawthorn-bough,</span> <span class="i0">When the sun is dusking
+ over and the March snow pelts the land.</span> <span class="i0">There
+ stood the mighty Gunnar with sword and shield in hand,</span> <span
+ class="i0">There stood the shieldless Hogni with set unangry eyes,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And watched the wall of war-shields o'er the dead men's
+ rampart rise,</span> <span class="i0">And the white blades
+ flickering nigher, and the quavering points of war.</span> <span
+ class="i0">Then the heavy air of the feast-hall was rent with a fearful
+ roar,</span> <span class="i0">And the turmoil came and the tangle,
+ as the wall together ran:</span> <span class="i0">But aloft yet
+ towered the Niblungs, and man toppled over man,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And leapt and struggled to tear them; as whiles amidst the
+ sea</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page308" id="page308"
+ title="308"></a> <span class="i0">The doomed ship strives its utmost
+ with mid-ocean's mastery,</span> <span class="i0">And the tall
+ masts whip the cordage, while the welter whirls and leaps,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And they rise and reel and waver, and sink amid the
+ deeps:</span> <span class="i0">So before the little-hearted in King
+ Atli's murder-hall</span> <span class="i0">Did the glorious sons of
+ Giuki 'neath the shielded onrush fall:</span> <span class="i0">Sore
+ wounded, bound and helpless, but living yet, they lie</span> <span
+ class="i0">Till the afternoon and the even in the first of night shall
+ die.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>William Morris.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cxiv">CXIV</a></small><br />IS LIFE WORTH LIVING
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Is life worth living? Yes, so long</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As Spring revives the year,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And hails us with the cuckoo's song,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To show that she is here;</span> <span
+ class="i0">So long as May of April takes,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In
+ smiles and tears, farewell,</span> <span class="i0">And windflowers
+ dapple all the brakes,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ primroses the dell;</span> <span class="i0">While children in the
+ woodlands yet</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Adorn their
+ little laps</span> <span class="i0">With ladysmock and violet,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And daisy-chain their caps;</span>
+ <span class="i0">While over orchard daffodils</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Cloud-shadows float and fleet,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page309" id="page309" title="309"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And ousel pipes and laverock trills,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And young lambs buck and bleat;</span> <span
+ class="i0">So long as that which bursts the bud</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And swells and tunes the rill</span> <span
+ class="i0">Makes springtime in the maiden's blood,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Life is worth living still.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Life not worth living! Come with me,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Now that, through vanishing veil,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Shimmers the dew on lawn and lea,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And milk foams in the pail;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Now that June's sweltering sunlight bathes</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;With sweat the striplings lithe,</span>
+ <span class="i0">As fall the long straight scented swathes</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Over the crescent scythe;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Now that the throstle never stops</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;His
+ self-sufficing strain,</span> <span class="i0">And woodbine-trails
+ festoon the copse,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ eglantine the lane;</span> <span class="i0">Now rustic labour seems
+ as sweet</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As leisure, and blithe
+ herds</span> <span class="i0">Wend homeward with unweary feet,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Carolling like the birds;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Now all, except the lover's vow,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ nightingale, is still;</span> <span class="i0">Here, in the
+ twilight hour, allow,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Life is
+ worth living still.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">When Summer, lingering half-forlorn,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On Autumn loves to lean,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And fields of slowly yellowing corn</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Are girt by woods still green;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page310" id="page310" title="310"></a> <span
+ class="i0">When hazel-nuts wax brown and plump,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And apples rosy-red,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ the owlet hoots from hollow stump,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ the dormouse makes its bed;</span> <span class="i0">When crammed
+ are all the granary floors,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ the Hunter's moon is bright,</span> <span class="i0">And life again
+ is sweet indoors,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And logs
+ again alight;</span> <span class="i0">Ay, even when the houseless
+ wind</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Waileth through cleft and
+ chink,</span> <span class="i0">And in the twilight maids grow kind,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And jugs are filled and clink;</span>
+ <span class="i0">When children clasp their hands and pray</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Be done Thy Heavenly will!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Who doth not lift his voice, and say,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Life is worth living still&rsquo;?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Is life worth living? Yes, so long</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As there is wrong to right,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Wail of the weak against the strong,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or tyranny to fight;</span> <span class="i0">Long
+ as there lingers gloom to chase,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or
+ streaming tear to dry,</span> <span class="i0">One kindred woe, one
+ sorrowing face</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That smiles as
+ we draw nigh;</span> <span class="i0">Long as at tale of anguish
+ swells</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The heart, and lids grow
+ wet,</span> <span class="i0">And at the sound of Christmas bells</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We pardon and forget;</span> <span
+ class="i0">So long as Faith with Freedom reigns,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And loyal Hope survives,</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page311" id="page311" title="311"></a> <span
+ class="i0">And gracious Charity remains</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ leaven lowly lives;</span> <span class="i0">While there is one
+ untrodden tract</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For Intellect
+ or Will,</span> <span class="i0">And men are free to think and act</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Life is worth living still.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Not care to live while English homes</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nestle in English trees,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And England's Trident-Sceptre roams</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Her territorial seas!</span> <span class="i0">Not
+ live while English songs are sung</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Wherever
+ blows the wind,</span> <span class="i0">And England's laws and
+ England's tongue</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Enfranchise
+ half mankind!</span> <span class="i0">So long as in Pacific main,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or on Atlantic strand,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Our kin transmit the parent strain,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And love the Mother-land;</span> <span
+ class="i0">So long as flashes English steel,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And
+ English trumpets shrill,</span> <span class="i0">He is dead already
+ who doth not feel</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Life is worth
+ living still.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Austin.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cxv">CXV</a></small><br />THEOLOGY IN EXTREMIS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Oft in the pleasant summer years,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Reading the tales of days bygone,</span>
+ <span class="i0">I have mused on the story of human tears,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;All that man unto man has done,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page312" id="page312" title="312"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Massacre, torture, and black despair;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Reading it all in my easy-chair.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Passionate prayer for a minute's life;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Tortured crying for death as rest;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Husband pleading for child or wife,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Pitiless stroke upon tender breast.</span>
+ <span class="i0">Was it all real as that I lay there</span> <span
+ class="i0">Lazily stretched on my easy-chair?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Could I believe in those hard old times,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Here in this safe luxurious age?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Were the horrors invented to season rhymes,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or truly is man so fierce in his rage?</span>
+ <span class="i0">What could I suffer, and what could I dare?</span>
+ <span class="i0">I who was bred to that easy-chair.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">They were my fathers, the men of yore,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Little they recked of a cruel death;</span>
+ <span class="i0">They would dip their hands in a heretic's gore,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They stood and burnt for a rule of faith.</span>
+ <span class="i0">What would I burn for, and whom not spare?</span>
+ <span class="i0">I, who had faith in an easy-chair.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now do I see old tales are true,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Here in the clutch of a savage foe;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Now shall I know what my fathers knew,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Bodily anguish and bitter woe,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Naked and bound in the strong sun's glare,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Far from my civilised easy-chair.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now have I tasted and understood</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That old-world feeling of mortal hate;</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page313" id="page313" title="313"></a> <span
+ class="i0">For the eyes all round us are hot with blood;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They will kill us coolly&mdash;they do but
+ wait;</span> <span class="i0">While I, I would sell ten lives, at
+ least,</span> <span class="i0">For one fair stroke at that devilish
+ priest.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Just in return for the kick he gave,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Bidding me call on the prophet's name;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Even a dog by this may save</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Skin
+ from the knife and soul from the flame;</span> <span class="i0">My
+ soul! if he can let the prophet burn it,</span> <span class="i0">But
+ life is sweet if a word may earn it.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">A bullock's death, and at thirty years!</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Just one phrase, and a man gets off it;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Look at that mongrel clerk in his tears</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whining aloud the name of the prophet;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Only a formula easy to patter,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, God Almighty, what <i>can</i> it matter?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Matter enough,&rsquo; will my comrade say</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Praying aloud here close at my side,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Whether you mourn in despair alway,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Cursed for ever by Christ denied;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or whether you suffer a minute's pain</span> <span
+ class="i0">All the reward of Heaven to gain.&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Not for a moment faltereth he,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sure of the promise and pardon of sin;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thus did the martyrs die, I see,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Little to lose and muckle to win;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Death means Heaven, he longs to receive it,</span>
+ <span class="i0">But what shall I do if I don't believe it?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page314" id="page314" title="314"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Life is pleasant, and friends may be nigh,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Fain would I speak one word and be spared;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet I could be silent and cheerfully die,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;If I were only sure God cared;</span>
+ <span class="i0">If I had faith, and were only certain</span> <span
+ class="i0">That light is behind that terrible curtain.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But what if He listeth nothing at all,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of words a poor wretch in his terror may
+ say</span> <span class="i0">That mighty God who created all</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To labour and live their appointed day;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Who stoops not either to bless or ban,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Weaving the woof of an endless plan.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He is the Reaper, and binds the sheaf,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall not the season its order keep?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Can it be changed by a man's belief?</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Millions of harvests still to reap;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Will God reward, if I die for a creed,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Or will He but pity, and sow more seed?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Surely He pities who made the brain,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When breaks that mirror of memories sweet,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When the hard blow falleth, and never again</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nerve shall quiver nor pulse shall beat;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Bitter the vision of vanishing joys;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Surely He pities when man destroys.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Here stand I on the ocean's brink,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who hath brought news of the further shore?</span>
+ <span class="i0">How shall I cross it? Sail or sink,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;One thing is sure, I return no more;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Shall I find haven, or aye shall I be</span> <span
+ class="i0">Tossed in the depths of a shoreless sea?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page315" id="page315" title="315"></a> <span
+ class="i0">They tell fair tales of a far-off land,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of love rekindled, of forms renewed;</span>
+ <span class="i0">There may I only touch one hand</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Here life's ruin will little be rued;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But the hand I have pressed and the voice I have heard,</span>
+ <span class="i0">To lose them for ever, and all for a word!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Now do I feel that my heart must break</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;All for one glimpse of a woman's face;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Swiftly the slumbering memories wake</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Odour and shadow of hour and place;</span>
+ <span class="i0">One bright ray through the darkening past</span>
+ <span class="i0">Leaps from the lamp as it brightens last,</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Showing me summer in western land</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Now, as the cool breeze murmureth</span>
+ <span class="i0">In leaf and flower&mdash;And here I stand</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;In this plain all bare save the shadow of
+ death;</span> <span class="i0">Leaving my life in its full noonday,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And no one to know why I flung it away.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Why? Am I bidding for glory's roll?</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I shall be murdered and clean forgot;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Is it a bargain to save my soul?</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;God, whom I trust in, bargains not;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Yet for the honour of English race,</span> <span
+ class="i0">May I not live or endure disgrace.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Ay, but the word, if I could have said it,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I by no terrors of hell perplext;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Hard to be silent and have no credit</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From man in this world, or reward in the next;</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page316" id="page316" title="316"></a> <span
+ class="i0">None to bear witness and reckon the cost</span> <span
+ class="i0">Of the name that is saved by the life that is lost.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I must be gone to the crowd untold</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Of men by the cause which they served unknown,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Who moulder in myriad graves of old;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Never a story and never a stone</span> <span
+ class="i0">Tells of the martyrs who die like me,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Just for the pride of the old countree.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Lyall.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cxvi">CXVI</a></small><br />THE OBLATION
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Ask nothing more of me, sweet;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;All I can give you I give.</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Heart of my heart, were it more,</span>
+ <span class="i0">More would be laid at your feet:</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Love that should help you to live,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Song that should spur you to
+ soar.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">All things were nothing to give</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Once to have sense of you more,</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Touch you and taste of you, sweet,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Think you and breathe you and live,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Swept of your wings as they soar,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Trodden by chance of your feet.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I that have love and no more</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Give you but love of you, sweet:</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He that hath more, let him
+ give;</span> <span class="i0">He that hath wings, let him soar;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Mine is the heart at your feet</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Here, that must love you to
+ live.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Swinburne.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page317" id="page317" title="317"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_cxvi">CXVII</a></small><br />ENGLAND
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate
+ girdle enrings thee round,</span> <span class="i0">Mother fair as
+ the morning, where is now the place of thy foemen found?</span>
+ <span class="i0">Still the sea that salutes us free proclaims them
+ stricken, acclaims thee crowned.</span> <span class="i0">Time may
+ change, and the skies grow strange with signs of treason, and fraud, and
+ fear:</span> <span class="i0">Foes in union of strange communion
+ may rise against thee from far and near:</span> <span class="i0">Sloth
+ and greed on thy strength may feed as cankers waxing from year to year.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Yet, though treason and fierce unreason should league
+ and lie and defame and smite,</span> <span class="i0">We that know
+ thee, how far below thee the hatred burns of the sons of night,</span>
+ <span class="i0">We that love thee, behold above thee the witness
+ written of life in light.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Life that shines from thee shows forth signs that none
+ may read not by eyeless foes:</span> <span class="i0">Hate, born
+ blind, in his abject mind grows hopeful now but as madness grows:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Love, born wise, with exultant eyes adores thy glory,
+ beholds and glows.</span> <span class="i0">Truth is in thee, and
+ none may win thee to lie, forsaking the face of truth:</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page318" id="page318" title="318"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Freedom lives by the grace she gives thee, born again from
+ thy deathless youth:</span> <span class="i0">Faith should fail, and
+ the world turn pale, wert thou the prey of the serpent's tooth.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Greed and fraud, unabashed, unawed, may strive to sting
+ thee at heel in vain;</span> <span class="i0">Craft and fear and
+ mistrust may leer and mourn and murmur and plead and plain:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Thou art thou: and thy sunbright brow is hers that
+ blasted the strength of Spain.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Mother, mother beloved, none other could claim in place
+ of thee England's place:</span> <span class="i0">Earth bears none
+ that beholds the sun so pure of record, so clothed with grace:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Dear our mother, nor son nor brother is thine, as
+ strong or as fair of face,</span> <span class="i0">How shalt thou
+ be abased? or how shalt fear take hold of thy heart? of thine,</span>
+ <span class="i0">England, maiden immortal, laden with charge of life and
+ with hopes divine?</span> <span class="i0">Earth shall wither, when
+ eyes turned hither behold not light in her darkness shine.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">England, none that is born thy son, and lives by grace
+ of thy glory, free,</span> <span class="i0">Lives and yearns not at
+ heart and burns with hope to serve as he worships thee;</span>
+ <span class="i0">None may sing thee: the sea-wind's wing beats down our
+ songs as it hails the sea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Swinburne.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page319" id="page319" title="319"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_cxvi">CXVIII</a></small><br />A JACOBITE IN EXILE
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The weary day rins down and dies,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The weary night wears through:</span> <span
+ class="i0">And never an hour is fair wi' flower,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And never a flower wi' dew.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I would the day were night for me,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I would the night were day:</span> <span
+ class="i0">For then would I stand in my ain fair land,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As now in dreams I may.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O lordly flow the Loire and Seine,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And loud the dark Durance:</span> <span
+ class="i0">But bonnier shine the braes of Tyne</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Than a' the fields of France;</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the waves of Till that speak sae still</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Gleam goodlier where they glance.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O weel were they that fell fighting</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;On dark Drumossie's day:</span> <span
+ class="i0">They keep their hame ayont the faem</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And we die far away.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O sound they sleep, and saft, and deep,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But night and day wake we;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And ever between the sea banks green</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Sounds loud the sundering sea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And ill we sleep, sae sair we weep</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But sweet and fast sleep they:</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the mool that haps them roun' and laps them</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is e'en their country's clay;</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page320" id="page320" title="320"></a> <span
+ class="i0">But the land we tread that are not dead</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Is strange as night by day.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Strange as night in a strange man's sight,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Though fair as dawn it be:</span>
+ <span class="i0">For what is here that a stranger's cheer</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Should yet wax blithe to see?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The hills stand steep, the dells lie deep,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The fields are green and gold:</span>
+ <span class="i0">The hill-streams sing, and the hill-sides ring,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;As ours at home of old.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But hills and flowers are nane of ours,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And ours are over sea:</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the kind strange land whereon we stand,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;It wotsna what were we</span> <span
+ class="i0">Or ever we came, wi' scathe and shame,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To try what end might be.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Scathe and shame, and a waefu' name,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And a weary time and strange,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Have they that seeing a weird for dreeing</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Can die, and cannot change.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Shame and scorn may we thole that mourn,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Though sair be they to dree:</span>
+ <span class="i0">But ill may we bide the thoughts we hide,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Mair keen than wind and sea.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Ill may we thole the night's watches,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And ill the weary day:</span> <span
+ class="i0">And the dreams that keep the gates of sleep,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;A waefu' gift gie they;</span> <span
+ class="i0">For the songs they sing us, the sights they bring us,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The morn blaws all away.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page321" id="page321" title="321"></a> <span
+ class="i0">On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ burn rins blithe and fain:</span> <span class="i0">There's nought
+ wi' me I wadna gie</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To look
+ thereon again.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide:</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;There sounds nae hunting-horn</span> <span
+ class="i0">That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Round banks where Tyne is born.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The Wansbeck sings with all her springs</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The bents and braes give ear;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But the wood that rings wi' the sang she sings</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I may not see nor hear;</span> <span
+ class="i0">For far and far thae blithe burns are,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And strange is a' thing near.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The light there lightens, the day there brightens,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The loud wind there lives free:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That I wad hear or see.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">But O gin I were there again,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Afar ayont the faem,</span> <span class="i0">Cauld
+ and dead in the sweet saft bed</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ haps my sires at hame!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">We'll see nae mair the sea-banks fair,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the sweet grey gleaming sky,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And the lordly strand of Northumberland,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the goodly towers thereby;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And none shall know but the winds that blow</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The graves wherein we lie.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Swinburne.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page322" id="page322" title="322"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_cxix">CXIX</a></small><br />THE REVEILL&Eacute;
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And of arm&egrave;d men the
+ hum;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Lo! a nation's hosts have
+ gathered</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Round the
+ quick alarming drum,&mdash;</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Saying,
+ &lsquo;Come,</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Freemen,
+ come!</span> <span class="i0">Ere your heritage be wasted,&rsquo;
+ said the quick alarming drum.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Let me of my heart take counsel:</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;War is not of life the sum;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Who shall stay and reap the harvest</span>
+ <span title="Closing quote missing in original" class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;When
+ the autumn days shall come?&rsquo;</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ the drum</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Echoed,
+ &lsquo;Come!</span> <span class="i0">Death shall reap the braver
+ harvest,&rsquo; said the solemn-sounding drum.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;But when won the coming battle,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;What of profit springs
+ therefrom?</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;What if conquest,
+ subjugation,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Even
+ greater ills become?&rsquo;</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ the drum</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Answered,
+ &lsquo;Come!</span> <span class="i0">You must do the sum to prove
+ it,&rsquo; said the Yankee-answering drum.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Whistling shot and bursting
+ bomb,</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page323" id="page323"
+ title="323"></a> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;When my brothers fall
+ around me,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Should
+ my heart grow cold and numb?&rsquo;</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ the drum</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Answered,
+ &lsquo;Come!</span> <span class="i0">Better there in death united,
+ than in life a recreant,&mdash;Come!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Thus they answered,&mdash;hoping, fearing,</span>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Some in faith, and doubting
+ some,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Till a trumpet-voice
+ proclaiming,</span> <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Said,
+ &lsquo;My chosen people, come!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then
+ the drum,</span> <span class="i5">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lo!
+ was dumb,</span> <span class="i0">For the great heart of the
+ nation, throbbing, answered, &lsquo;Lord, we come!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Bret Harte.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cxix">CXX</a></small><br />WHAT THE BULLET SANG
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">O Joy of creation</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To
+ be!</span> <span class="i0">O rapture to fly</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And be free!</span>
+ <span class="i0">Be the battle lost or won</span> <span class="i0">Though
+ its smoke shall hide the sun,</span> <span class="i0">I shall find
+ my love&mdash;the one</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Born
+ for me!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">I shall know him where he stands,</span> <span
+ class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;All alone,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With the power in his hands</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Not
+ o'erthrown;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page324" id="page324"
+ title="324"></a> <span class="i0">I shall know him by his face,</span>
+ <span class="i0">By his god-like front and grace;</span> <span
+ class="i0">I shall hold him for a space</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;All
+ my own!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">It is he&mdash;O my love!</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So
+ bold!</span> <span class="i0">It is I&mdash;All thy love</span>
+ <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Foretold!</span>
+ <span class="i0">It is I. O love! what bliss!</span> <span
+ class="i0">Dost thou answer to my kiss?</span> <span class="i0">O
+ sweetheart! what is this</span> <span class="i4">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lieth
+ there so cold?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Bret Harte.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cxxi">CXXI</a></small><br />A BALLAD OF THE ARMADA
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">King Philip had vaunted his claims;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He had sworn for a year he would sack us;</span>
+ <span class="i0">With an army of heathenish names</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He was coming to fagot and stack us;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Like the thieves of the sea he would track
+ us,</span> <span class="i0">And shatter our ships on the main;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But we had bold Neptune to back us&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">And where are the galleons of Spain?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">His carackes were christened of dames</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To the kirtles whereof he would tack us;</span>
+ <span class="i0">With his saints and his gilded stern-frames</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He had thought like an egg shell to crack
+ us;</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page325" id="page325"
+ title="325"></a> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Now Howard may get to his
+ Flaccus,</span> <span class="i0">And Drake to his Devon again,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">For where are the galleons of Spain?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Let his Majesty hang to St. James</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The axe that he whetted to hack us;</span>
+ <span class="i0">He must play at some lustier games</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Or at sea he can hope to out-thwack us;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To his mines of Peru he would pack us</span>
+ <span class="i0">To tug at his bullet and chain;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Alas! that his Greatness should lack us!&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But where are the galleons of Spain?</span>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ ENVOY
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Gloriana!&mdash;the Don may attack us</span>
+ <span class="i0">Whenever his stomach be fain;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;He must reach us before he can rack us, ...</span>
+ <span class="i0">And where are the galleons of Spain?</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Dobson.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cxxii">CXXII</a></small><br />THE WHITE PACHA
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Vain is the dream! However Hope may rave,</span>
+ <span class="i0">He perished with the folk he could not save,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And though none surely told us he is dead,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And though perchance another in his stead,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Another, not less brave, when all was done,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Had fled unto the southward and the sun,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Had urged a way by force, or won by guile</span>
+ <span class="i0">To streams remotest of the secret Nile,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page326" id="page326" title="326"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Had raised an army of the Desert men,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And, waiting for his hour, had turned again</span> <span
+ class="i0">And fallen on that False Prophet, yet we know</span>
+ <span class="i0"><strong>Gordon</strong> is dead, and these things are
+ not so!</span> <span class="i0">Nay, not for England's cause, nor
+ to restore</span> <span class="i0">Her trampled flag&mdash;for he
+ loved Honour more&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">Nay, not for Life,
+ Revenge, or Victory,</span> <span class="i0">Would he have fled,
+ whose hour had dawned to die.</span> <span class="i0">He will not
+ come again, whate'er our need,</span> <span class="i0">He will not
+ come, who is happy, being freed</span> <span class="i0">From the
+ deathly flesh and perishable things,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ lies of statesmen and rewards of kings.</span> <span class="i0">Nay,
+ somewhere by the sacred River's shore</span> <span class="i0">He
+ sleeps like those who shall return no more,</span> <span class="i0">No
+ more return for all the prayers of men&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Arthur and Charles&mdash;they never come again!</span>
+ <span class="i0">They shall not wake, though fair the vision seem:</span>
+ <span class="i0">Whate'er sick Hope may whisper, vain the dream!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Lang.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cxxiii">CXXIII</a></small><br />MOTHER AND SON
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">It is not yours, O mother, to complain,</span>
+ <span class="i0">Not, mother, yours to weep,</span> <span class="i0">Though
+ nevermore your son again</span> <span class="i0">Shall to your
+ bosom creep,</span> <span class="i0">Though nevermore again you
+ watch your baby sleep.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Though in the greener paths of earth</span> <span
+ class="i0">Mother and child, no more</span> <span class="i0">We
+ wander; and no more the birth</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page327" id="page327" title="327"></a> <span class="i0">Of me whom
+ once you bore,</span> <span class="i0">Seems still the brave reward
+ that once it seemed of yore;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Though as all passes, day and night,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The seasons and the years,</span> <span class="i0">From
+ you, O mother, this delight,</span> <span class="i0">This also
+ disappears&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">Some profit yet survives
+ of all your pangs and tears.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The child, the seed, the grain of corn,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The acorn on the hill,</span> <span class="i0">Each
+ for some separate end is born</span> <span class="i0">In season
+ fit, and still</span> <span class="i0">Each must in strength arise
+ to work the Almighty will.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">So from the hearth the children flee,</span> <span
+ class="i0">By that Almighty hand</span> <span class="i0">Austerely
+ led; so one by sea</span> <span class="i0">Goes forth, and one by
+ land;</span> <span class="i0">Nor aught of all men's sons escapes
+ from that command.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">So from the sally each obeys</span> <span
+ class="i0">The unseen Almighty nod;</span> <span class="i0">So till
+ the ending all their ways</span> <span class="i0">Blind-folded loth
+ have trod:</span> <span class="i0">Nor knew their task at all, but
+ were the tools of God.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And as the fervent smith of yore</span> <span
+ class="i0">Beat out the glowing blade,</span> <span class="i0">Nor
+ wielded in the front of war</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page328" id="page328" title="328"></a> <span class="i0">The
+ weapons that he made,</span> <span class="i0">But in the tower at
+ home still plied his ringing trade;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">So like a sword the son shall roam</span> <span
+ class="i0">On nobler missions sent;</span> <span class="i0">And as
+ the smith remained at home</span> <span class="i0">In peaceful
+ turret pent,</span> <span class="i0">So sits the while at home the
+ mother well content.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Stevenson.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cxxiv">CXXIV</a></small><br />PRAYERS
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">God who created me</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Nimble
+ and light of limb,</span> <span class="i0">In three elements free,</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;To run, to ride, to swim:</span> <span
+ class="i0">Not when the sense is dim,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But
+ now from the heart of joy,</span> <span class="i0">I would remember
+ Him:</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Take the thanks of a boy.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Jesu, King and Lord,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose
+ are my foes to fight,</span> <span class="i0">Gird me with Thy
+ sword</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Swift and sharp and
+ bright.</span> <span class="i0">Thee would I serve if I might;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And conquer if I can,</span> <span
+ class="i0">From day-dawn till night,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Take
+ the strength of a man.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page329" id="page329" title="329"></a> <span
+ class="i0">Spirit of Love and Truth,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Breathing
+ in grosser clay,</span> <span class="i0">The light and flame of
+ youth,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Delight of men in the
+ fray,</span> <span class="i0">Wisdom in strength's decay;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;From pain, strife, wrong to be free</span>
+ <span class="i0">This best gift I pray,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Take
+ my spirit to Thee.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Beeching.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <small><a href="#note_cxxv">CXXV</a></small><br />A BALLAD OF EAST AND
+ WEST
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border side,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the
+ Colonel's pride:</span> <span class="i0">He has lifted her out of
+ the stable-door between the dawn and the day,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far
+ away.</span> <span class="i0">Then up and spoke the Colonel's son
+ that led a troop of the Guides:</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Is
+ there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the
+ Ressaldar,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;If ye know the track of
+ the morning-mist, ye know where his pickets are.</span> <span
+ class="i0">At dusk he harries the Abazai&mdash;at dawn he is into Bonair&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare,</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page330" id="page330" title="330"></a> <span
+ class="i0">So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly,</span>
+ <span class="i0">By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win to
+ the Tongue of Jagai.</span> <span class="i0">But if he be passed
+ the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then,</span> <span
+ class="i0">For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain are sown
+ with Kamal's men.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he,</span>
+ <span class="i0">With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and the
+ head of the gallows-tree.</span> <span class="i0">The Colonel's son
+ to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i0">Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at
+ his meat.</span> <span class="i0">He's up and away from Fort Bukloh
+ as fast as he can fly,</span> <span class="i0">Till he was aware of
+ his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,</span> <span
+ class="i0">Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her
+ back,</span> <span class="i0">And when he could spy the white of
+ her eye, he made the pistol crack.</span> <span class="i0">He has
+ fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Ye shoot like a soldier,&rsquo; Kamal said.
+ &lsquo;Show now if ye can ride.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">It's
+ up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a
+ barren doe.</span> <a class="pagebreak" name="page331" id="page331"
+ title="331"></a> <span class="i0">The dun he leaned against the bit and
+ slugged his head above,</span> <span class="i0">But the red mare
+ played with the snaffle-bars as a lady plays with a glove.</span>
+ <span class="i0">They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their
+ hoofs drum up the dawn,</span> <span class="i0">The dun he went
+ like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.</span>
+ <span class="i0">The dun he fell at a water-course&mdash;in a woful heap
+ fell he,&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">And Kamal has turned the
+ red mare back, and pulled the rider free.</span> <span class="i0">He
+ has knocked the pistol out of his hand&mdash;small room was there to
+ strive&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;'Twas only by favour
+ of mine,&rsquo; quoth he, &lsquo;ye rode so long alive;</span>
+ <span class="i0">There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a
+ clump of tree,</span> <span class="i0">But covered a man of my own
+ men with his rifle cocked on his knee.</span> <span class="i0">If I
+ had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a
+ row;</span> <span class="i0">If I had bowed my head on my breast,
+ as I have held it high,</span> <span class="i0">The kite that
+ whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly.&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Lightly answered the Colonel's son:&mdash;&lsquo;Do
+ good to bird and beast,</span> <span class="i0">But count who come
+ for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page332" id="page332" title="332"></a> <span
+ class="i0">If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones
+ away,</span> <span class="i0">Belike the price of a jackal's meal
+ were more than a thief could pay.</span> <span class="i0">They will
+ feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the garnered grain,</span>
+ <span class="i0">The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all
+ the cattle are slain.</span> <span class="i0">But if thou thinkest
+ the price be fair, and thy brethren wait to sup,</span> <span
+ class="i0">The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn,&mdash;howl, dog, and
+ call them up!</span> <span class="i0">And if thou thinkest the
+ price be high, in steer and gear and stack,</span> <span class="i0">Give
+ me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way back!&rsquo;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his
+ feet.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;No talk shall be of dogs,&rsquo;
+ said he, &lsquo;when wolf and grey wolf meet.</span> <span
+ class="i0">May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath.</span>
+ <span class="i0">What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the
+ dawn with Death?&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">Lightly answered
+ the Colonel's son:&mdash;&lsquo;I hold by the blood of my clan;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Take up the mare for my father's gift&mdash;By God she
+ has carried a man!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">The red mare ran
+ to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled her nose in his breast,</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;We be two strong men,&rsquo; said Kamal then,
+ &lsquo;but she loveth the younger best.</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page333" id="page333" title="333"></a> <span class="i0">So she
+ shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise studded rein,</span>
+ <span class="i0">My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver
+ stirrups twain.&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">The Colonel's son a
+ pistol drew and held it muzzle-end,</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Ye
+ have taken the one from a foe,&rsquo; said he; &lsquo;will ye take the
+ mate from a friend?&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;A gift
+ for a gift,&rsquo; said Kamal straight; &lsquo;a limb for the risk of a
+ limb.</span> <span class="i0">Thy father has sent his son to me,
+ I'll send my son to him!&rsquo;</span> <span class="i0">With that
+ he whistled his only son, who dropped from a mountain-crest&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">He trod the ling like a buck in spring and he looked
+ like a lance in rest.</span> <span class="i0">&lsquo;Now here is
+ thy master,&rsquo; Kamal said, &lsquo;who leads a troop of the Guides,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And thou must ride at his left side as shield to
+ shoulder rides.</span> <span class="i0">Till Death or I cut loose
+ the tie, at camp and board and bed,</span> <span class="i0">Thy
+ life is his&mdash;thy fate it is to guard him with thy head.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all her
+ foes are thine,</span> <span class="i0">And thou must harry thy
+ father's hold for the peace of the Border-line,</span> <span
+ class="i0">And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i0">Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am
+ hanged in Peshawur.&rsquo;</span> <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page334" id="page334" title="334"></a> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They
+ have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no fault,</span>
+ <span class="i0">They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on
+ leavened bread and salt;</span> <span class="i0">They have taken
+ the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod,</span>
+ <span class="i0">On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the
+ Wondrous Names of God.</span> <span class="i0">The Colonel's son he
+ rides the mare and Kamal's boy the dun,</span> <span class="i0">And
+ two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went forth but one.</span>
+ <span class="i0">And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty
+ swords flew clear&mdash;</span> <span class="i0">There was not a
+ man but carried his feud with the blood of the mountaineer.</span>
+ <span class="i0">&lsquo;Ha' done! ha' done!&rsquo; said the Colonel's
+ son. &lsquo;Put up the steel at your sides!</span> <span class="i0">Last
+ night ye had struck at a Border thief&mdash;to-night 'tis a man of the
+ Guides!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Oh, east is east, and west is west, and never the two
+ shall meet</span> <span class="i0">Till earth and sky stand
+ presently at God's great Judgment Seat.</span> <span class="i0">But
+ there is neither east nor west, border or breed or birth,</span>
+ <span class="i0">When two strong men stand face to face, though they
+ come from the ends of the earth.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Kipling.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page335" id="page335" title="335"></a><small><a
+ href="#note_cxxvi">CXXVI</a></small><br />THE FLAG OF ENGLAND
+ </h2>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to
+ and fro&mdash;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And what should
+ they know of England who only England know?&mdash;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The poor little street-bred people that vapour
+ and fume and brag,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They are
+ lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the English Flag.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Must we borrow a clout from the Boer&mdash;to
+ plaster anew with dirt?</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;An
+ Irish liar's bandage, or an English coward's shirt?</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;We may not speak of England; her Flag's to sell
+ or share.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;What is the Flag of
+ England? Winds of the World, declare!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The North Wind blew:&mdash;&lsquo;From Bergen my
+ steel-shod vanguards go;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I
+ chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe;</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;By the great North Lights above me I work the
+ will of God,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And the liner
+ splits on the ice-fields or the Dogger fills with cod.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my
+ doors with flame,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Because to
+ force my ramparts your nutshell navies came;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page336" id="page336" title="336"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I took the sun from their presence, I cut them
+ down with my blast,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And they
+ died, but the Flag of England blew free ere the spirit passed.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The lean white bear hath seen it in the
+ long, long Arctic night,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern Light:</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my
+ bergs to dare,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ye have but my
+ drifts to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The South Wind sighed:&mdash;&lsquo;From the Virgins my
+ mid-sea course was ta'en</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Over a
+ thousand islands lost in an idle main,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where
+ the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long-backed breakers croon</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Their endless ocean legends to the lazy,
+ locked lagoon.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid
+ outer keys,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I waked the palms
+ to laughter&mdash;I tossed the scud in the breeze&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Never was isle so little, never was sea so
+ lone,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But over the scud and the
+ palm trees an English flag was flown.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I have wrenched it free from the halliard
+ to hang for a wisp on the Horn;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I
+ have chased it north to the Lizard&mdash;ribboned and rolled and torn;</span>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page337" id="page337" title="337"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I have spread its fold o'er the dying, adrift in
+ a hopeless sea;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I have hurled
+ it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling
+ albatross,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Where the lone wave
+ fills with fire beneath the Southern Cross.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;What
+ is the Flag of England? Ye have but my reefs to dare,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, for it
+ is there!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The East Wind roared:&mdash;&lsquo;From the Kuriles,
+ the Bitter Seas, I come,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And me
+ men call the Home-Wind, for I bring the English home.</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Look&mdash;look well to your shipping! By the
+ breath of my mad typhoon</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I
+ swept your close-packed Praya and beached your best at Kowloon!</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The reeling junks behind me and the racing
+ seas before,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I raped your
+ richest roadstead&mdash;I plundered Singapore!</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I set my hand on the Hoogli; as a hooded snake
+ she rose,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And I heaved your
+ stoutest steamers to roost with the startled crows.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Never the lotos closes, never the wild-fowl
+ wake.</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But a soul goes out on
+ the East Wind that died for England's sake&mdash;</span> <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page338" id="page338" title="338"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid&mdash;</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Because on the bones of the English the
+ English Flag is stayed.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying
+ wild-ass knows,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The scared
+ white leopard winds it across the taintless snows.</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun
+ to dare,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ye have but my sands
+ to travel. Go forth, for it is there!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">The West Wind called:&mdash;&lsquo;In squadrons the
+ thoughtless galleons fly</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;That
+ bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die.</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They make my might their porter, they make my
+ house their path,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And I loose
+ my neck from their service and whelm them all in my wrath.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is
+ drawn from the hole,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;They
+ bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll:</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;For day is a drifting terror till I raise the
+ shroud with my breath,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;And they
+ see strange bows above them and the two go locked to death.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page339" id="page339" title="339"></a> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by
+ dark or day</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;I heave them whole
+ to the conger or rip their plates away,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;First
+ of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky,</span> <span
+ class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag
+ goes by.</span>
+ </p>
+ <p>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it&mdash;the
+ frozen dews have kissed&mdash;</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;The
+ morning stars have hailed it, a fellow-star in the mist.</span>
+ <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my
+ breath to dare,</span> <span class="i1">&nbsp;&nbsp;Ye have but my
+ waves to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!&rsquo;</span>
+ </p>
+ <p class="poet">
+ <i>Kipling.</i>
+ </p>
+ </div>
+ <div class="notes">
+ <h2>
+ <a name="page340" id="page340"></a><a class="pagebreak" name="page341"
+ id="page341" title="341"></a>NOTES
+ </h2>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_i" id="note_i"></a><a href="#page1">I</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ This descant upon one of the most glorious feats of arms that even
+ England has achieved is selected and pieced together from the
+ magnificent verse assigned to the Chorus&mdash;&lsquo;<i>Enter <strong>Rumour</strong>
+ painted full of tongues</i>&rsquo;&mdash;to <i>King Henry V.</i>, the
+ noble piece of pageantry produced in 1598, and a famous number from the
+ <i>Poems Lyrick and Pastorall</i> (<i>circ.</i> 1605) of Michael
+ Drayton. &lsquo;Look,&rsquo; says Ben Jonson, in his <i>Vision on the
+ Muses of his Friend, Michael Drayton</i>:&mdash;
+ </p>
+ <blockquote class="poetry">
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">Look how we read the Spartans were inflamed</span>
+ <span class="i0">With bold Tyrt&aelig;us' verse; when thou art named</span>
+ <span class="i0">So shall our English youths urge on, and cry</span>
+ <span class="i0">An <strong>Agincourt!</strong> an <strong>Agincourt!</strong>
+ or die.</span>
+ </p>
+ </blockquote>
+ <p>
+ This, it is true, was in respect of another <i>Agincourt</i>, but we
+ need not hesitate to appropriate it to our own: in respect of which&mdash;&lsquo;To
+ the Cambro-Britons and their Harp, His <i>Ballad of Agincourt</i>,&rsquo;
+ is the poet's own description&mdash;it is to note that Drayton had no
+ model for it; that it remains wellnigh unique in English letters for
+ over two hundred years; and that, despite such lapses into doggerel as
+ the third stanza, and some curious infelicities of diction which need
+ not here be specified, it remains, with a certain Sonnet, its author's
+ chief title to fame. Compare the ballads of <i>The Brave Lord Willoughby</i>
+ and <i>The Honour of Bristol</i> in the seventeenth century, the song of
+ <i>The Arethusa</i> in the eighteenth, and in the nineteenth a choice of
+ such Tyrt&aelig;an music as <i>The Battle of the Baltic</i>, Lord
+ Tennyson's <i>Ballad of the Fleet</i>, and <i>The Red Thread of Honour</i>
+ of the late Sir Francis Doyle.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_ii" id="note_ii"></a><a href="#page11">II</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Originally <i>The True Character of a Happy Life</i>: written and
+ printed about 1614, and reprinted by Percy (1765) from the <i>Reliqui&aelig;
+ Wottonian&aelig;</i> of 1651. Says Drummond of Ben Jonson, &lsquo;Sir
+ Edward (<i>sic</i>) Wotton's verses of a Happy Life he hath by heart.&rsquo;
+ Of Wotton himself it was reserved for Cowley to remark that
+ </p>
+ <blockquote class="poetry">
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">He did the utmost bounds of knowledge find,</span>
+ <span class="i0">And found them not so large as was his mind;</span>
+ </p>
+ <hr />
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">And when he saw that he through all had passed</span>
+ <span class="i0">He died&mdash;lest he should idle grow at last.</span>
+ </p>
+ </blockquote>
+ <p>
+ See Izaak Walton, <i>Lives</i>.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page342" id="page342" title="342"></a><a
+ name="note_iii" id="note_iii"></a><a href="#page12">III</a>, <a
+ href="#page13">IV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From <i>Underwoods</i> (1640). The first, <i>An Ode</i>, is addressed to
+ an innominate not yet, I believe, identified. The second is part of that
+ <i>Ode to the Immortal Memory of that Heroic Pair, Sir Lucius Cary and
+ Sir Henry Morrison</i>, which is the first true Pindaric in the
+ language. Gifford ascribes it to 1629, when Sir Henry died, but it seems
+ not to have been printed before 1640. Sir Lucius Cary is the Lord
+ Falkland of Clarendon and Horace Walpole.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_v" id="note_v"></a><a href="#page13">V</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From <i>The Mad Lover</i> (produced about 1618: published in 1640).
+ Compare the wooden imitations of Dryden in <i>Amboyna</i> and elsewhere.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_vi" id="note_vi"></a><a href="#page15">VI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ First printed, Mr. Bullen tells me, in 1640. Compare X. (Shirley, <i>post</i>,
+ p. <a href="#page20">20</a>), and the cry from Raleigh's <i>History of
+ the World</i>: &lsquo;O Eloquent, Just, and Mighty Death! Whom none
+ could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done;
+ and whom all the World hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the
+ World and despised: thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched
+ Greatness, all the Pride, Cruelty, and Ambition of Man, and covered it
+ all over with these two narrow words, &ldquo;<i>Hic Jacet</i>.&rdquo;&rsquo;
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_vii" id="note_vii"></a><a href="#page15">VII</a>, <a
+ href="#page18">VIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ This pair of &lsquo;noble numbers,&rsquo; of brilliant and fervent
+ lyrics, is from <i>Hesperides, or, The Works both Human and Divine of
+ Robert Herrich, Esq.</i> (1648).
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_ix" id="note_ix"></a><a href="#page19">IX</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ No. 61, &lsquo;<i>Vertue</i>,&rsquo; in <i>The Temple: Sacred Poems and
+ Private Ejaculations</i>, 1632&ndash;33. Compare Herbert to Christopher
+ Farrer, as reported by Izaak Walton:&mdash;&lsquo;Tell him that I do not
+ repine, but am pleased with my want of health; and tell him, my heart is
+ fixed on that place where true joy is only to be found, and that I long
+ to be there, and do wait for my appointed change with hope and patience.&rsquo;
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_x" id="note_x"></a><a href="#page20">X</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From <i>The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses</i>, printed 1659. Compare
+ VI. (Beaumont, <i>ante</i>, p. <a href="#page15">15</a>), and Bacon, <i>Essays</i>,
+ &lsquo;On Death&rsquo;: <a class="pagebreak" name="page343" id="page343"
+ title="343"></a> &lsquo;But, above all, believe it, the sweetest
+ canticle is <i>Nunc dimittis</i>, when a man hath attained worthy ends
+ and expectations.&rsquo;
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xi" id="note_xi"></a><a href="#page21">XI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Written in the November of 1637, and printed next year in the <i>Obsequies
+ to the Memorie of Mr. Edward King</i>. &lsquo;In this Monody,&rsquo; the
+ title runs, &lsquo;the Author bewails a Learned Friend unfortunately
+ drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637. And by
+ occasion foretells the ruine of our corrupted Clergie, then in their
+ height.&rsquo; King, who died at five- or six-and-twenty, was a personal
+ friend of Milton's, but the true accents of grief are inaudible in <i>Lycidas</i>,
+ which is, indeed, an example as perfect as exists of Milton's capacity
+ for turning whatever he touched into pure poetry: an arrangement, that
+ is, of &lsquo;the best words in the best order&rsquo;; or, to go still
+ further than Coleridge, the best words in the prescribed or inevitable
+ sequence that makes the arrangement art. For the innumerable allusions
+ see Professor Masson's edition of Milton (Macmillan, 1890), i. 187&ndash;201,
+ and iii. 254&ndash;276.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xii" id="note_xii"></a><a href="#page27">XII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ The Eighth Sonnet (Masson): &lsquo;When the Assault was Intended to the
+ City.&rsquo; Written in 1642, with Rupert and the King at Brentford, and
+ printed in the edition of 1645.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xiii" id="note_xiii"></a><a href="#page28">XIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ The Sixteenth Sonnet (Masson): &lsquo;To the Lord General Cromwell, May,
+ 1652: On the Proposals of Certain Ministers at the Committee for
+ Propagation of the Gospel.&rsquo; Printed by Philips, <i>Life of Milton</i>,
+ 1694. In defence of the principle of Religious Voluntaryism, and against
+ the intolerant Fifteen Proposals of John Owen and the majority of the
+ Committee.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xiv" id="note_xiv"></a><a href="#page28">XIV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ The Eighteenth Sonnet (Masson). &lsquo;Written in 1655,&rsquo; says
+ Masson, and referring &lsquo;to the persecution instituted, in the early
+ part of the year, by Charles Emmanuel <span class="sc">II.</span>, Duke
+ of Savoy and Prince of Piedmont, against his Protestant subjects of the
+ valleys of the Cottian Alps.&rsquo; In January, an edict required them
+ to turn Romanists or quit the country out of hand; it was enforced with
+ such barbarity that Cromwell took the case of the sufferers in hand; and
+ so vigorous was his action that the Edict was withdrawn and a convention
+ was signed (August 1655) by which the Vaudois were permitted to worship
+ as they would. Printed in 1673.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page344" id="page344" title="344"></a><a
+ name="note_xv" id="note_xv"></a><a href="#page29">XV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ The Nineteenth Sonnet (Masson) &lsquo;may have been written any time
+ between 1652 and 1655,&rsquo; the first years of Milton's blindness,
+ &lsquo;but it follows the Sonnet on the Piedmontese Massacre in Milton's
+ own volume of 1673.&rsquo;
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xvi" id="note_xvi"></a><a href="#page30">XVI</a>, <a
+ href="#page31">XVII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From the choric parts of <i>Samson Agonistes</i> (<i>i.e.</i> the
+ Agonist, or Wrestler), first printed in 1671.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xviii" id="note_xviii"></a><a href="#page31">XVIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Of uncertain date; first printed by Watson 1706&ndash;11. The version
+ given here is Emerson's (which is shorter than the original), with the
+ exception of the last stanza, which is Napier's (<i>Montrose</i>, i.
+ Appendices). Napier is at great pains to prove that the ballad is
+ allegorical, and that Montrose's &lsquo;dear and only love&rsquo; was
+ that unhappy King whose Epitaph, the famous <i>Great, Good, and Just</i>,
+ he is said&mdash;falsely&mdash;to have written with his sword. Be this
+ as it may, the verses have a second part, which has dropped into
+ oblivion. For the Great Marquis, who reminded De Retz of the men in
+ Plutarch's <i>Lives</i>, was not averse from the practice of poetry, and
+ wrote, besides these numbers, a prayer (&lsquo;Let them bestow on every
+ airth a limb&rsquo;), a &lsquo;pasquil,&rsquo; a pleasant string of
+ conceits in praise of woman, a set of vehement and fiery memorial
+ stanzas on the King, and one copy of verses more.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xix" id="note_xix"></a><a href="#page32">XIX</a>, <a
+ href="#page33">XX</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>To Lucasta going to the Wars</i> and <i>To Althea from Prison</i> are
+ both, I believe, from Lovelace's <i>Lucasta</i> (1645).
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxi" id="note_xxi"></a><a href="#page34">XXI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ First printed by Captain Thomson, <i>Works</i> (1776), from a copy he
+ held, on what seems excellent authority, to be in Marvell's hand. The
+ true title is <i>A Horatian Ode on Cromwell's Return from Ireland</i>
+ (1650). It is always ascribed to Marvell (whose verse was first
+ collected and printed by his widow in 1681), but there are faint doubts
+ as to the authorship.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxii" id="note_xxii"></a><a href="#page39">XXII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Poems</i> (1681). This elegant and romantic lyric appears to have
+ been inspired by a passage in the life of John Oxenbridge, of whom,
+ &lsquo;religionis causa oberrantem,&rsquo; it is enough to note that,
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page345" id="page345" title="345"></a> after
+ migrating to Bermudas, where he had a church, and being &lsquo;ejected&rsquo;
+ at the Restoration from an English cure, he went to Surinam (1662&ndash;67),
+ to Barbadoes (1667), and to New England (1669), where he was made pastor
+ of &lsquo;the First Church of Boston&rsquo; (1670), and where he died in
+ 1674. These details are from Mr. Grosart's <i>Marvell</i> (1875), i. 82&ndash;85,
+ and ii. 5&ndash;8.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxiii" id="note_xxiii"></a><a href="#page40">XXIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Dryden's second Ode for Saint Cecilia's Day, <i>Alexander's Feast, or
+ the Power of Sound</i>, as it is called, was written and printed in
+ 1697. As it was designed for music (it was set by Jeremiah Clarke), the
+ closing lines of every strophe are repeated by way of chorus. I have
+ removed these repetitions as impertinent to the effect of the poem in
+ print, and as interrupting the rushing vehemency of the narrative. The
+ incident described is the burning of Persepolis.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxiv" id="note_xxiv"></a><a href="#page45">XXIV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Written early in 1782, in memory of Robert Levett: &lsquo;an old and
+ faithful friend,&rsquo; says Johnson, and withal &lsquo;a very useful
+ and very blameless man.&rsquo; Excepting for the perfect odes of Cowper
+ (<i>post</i>, pp. <a href="#page85">85</a>, <a href="#page86">86</a>),
+ in these excellent and affecting verses the &lsquo;classic&rsquo; note
+ is audible for the last time in this book until we reach the <i>Iphigeneia</i>
+ of Walter Savage Landor, who was a lad of seven at the date of their
+ composition. They were written seventeen years after the publication of
+ the <i>Reliques</i> (1765), and a full quarter century after the
+ appearance of <i>The Bard</i> (1757); but in style they proceed from the
+ age of Pope. For the rest, the Augustan Muse was an utter stranger to
+ the fighting inspiration. Her gait was pedestrian, her purpose didactic,
+ her practice neat and formal: and she prosed of England's greatest
+ captain, the victor of Blenheim, as tamely as himself had been &lsquo;a
+ parson in a tye-wig&rsquo;&mdash;himself, and not the amiable man of
+ letters who acted as her amanuensis for the nonce.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxv" id="note_xxv"></a><a href="#page47">XXV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Chevy Chase</i> is here preferred to <i>Otterbourne</i> as appealing
+ more directly to Englishmen. The text is Percy's, and the movement like
+ that of all the English ballads, is jog-trot enough. Sidney's confession&mdash;that
+ he never heard it, even from a blind fiddler, but it stirred him like
+ the sound of a trumpet&mdash;refers, no doubt, to an earlier version
+ than the present, which appears to date from the first quarter of the
+ seventeenth century. Compare <i>The Brave Lord Willoughby</i> and <i>The
+ Honour of Bristol</i> (<i>post</i>, pp. <a href="#page60">60</a>, <a
+ href="#page73">73</a>).
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page346" id="page346" title="346"></a><a
+ name="note_xxvi" id="note_xxvi"></a><a href="#page57">XXVI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ First printed by Percy. The text I give is, with some few variants, that
+ of the vastly better version in <i>The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border</i>
+ (1802&ndash;3). Of the &lsquo;history&rsquo; of the ballad the less said
+ the better. The argument is neatly summarised by Mr. Allingham, p. 376
+ of <i>The Ballad Book</i> (&lsquo;Golden Treasury,&rsquo; 1879).
+ </p>
+ <dl>
+ <dt>
+ skeely
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>skilful</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ white monie
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>silver</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ gane
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>would suffice</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ half-fou
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>the eighth part of a peck</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ gurly
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>rough</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ lap
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>sprang</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ bout
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>bolt</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ twine
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>thread</i>, <i>i.e.</i> canvas
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ wap
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>warp</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ flattered
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ &lsquo;<i>fluttered</i>, or rather, floated&rsquo; (Scott)
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ kaims
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>combs</i>
+ </dd>
+ </dl>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxvii" id="note_xxvii"></a><a href="#page60">XXVII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Printed by Percy, &lsquo;from an old black-letter copy; with some
+ conjectural emendations.&rsquo; At the suggestion of my friend, the Rev.
+ Mr. Hunt, I have restored the original readings, as in truer consonancy
+ with the vainglorious, insolent, and swaggering ballad spirit. As for
+ the hero, Peregrine Bertie, Lord Willoughby of Eresby, described as
+ &lsquo;one of the Queen's best swordsmen&rsquo; and &lsquo;a great
+ master of the art military,&rsquo; he succeeded Leicester in the command
+ in the Low Countries in 1587, distinguished himself repeatedly in fight
+ with the Spaniards, and died in 1601. &lsquo;Both Norris and Turner were
+ famous among the military men of that age&rsquo; (Percy). In the
+ Roxburgh Ballads the full title of the broadside&mdash;which is &lsquo;printed
+ for S. Coles in Vine St., near Hatton Garden,&rsquo;&mdash;is as
+ follows:&mdash;&lsquo;<i>A true relation of a famous and bloudy Battell
+ fought in Flanders by the noble and valiant Lord Willoughby with 1500
+ English against 40,000 Spaniards, wherein the English obtained a notable
+ victory for the glory and renown of our nation.</i> Tune: <i>Lord
+ Willoughby</i>.&rsquo;
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxviii" id="note_xxviii"></a><a href="#page64">XXVIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ First printed by Tom D'Urfey, <i>Wit and Mirth, etc.</i> (1720), vi. 289&ndash;91;
+ revised by Robert Burns for <i>The Scots Musical Magazine</i>, and again
+ by Allan Cunningham for <i>The Songs of Scotland</i>; given with many
+ differences, &lsquo;long current in Selkirkshire,&rsquo; in the <i>Minstrelsy
+ of the Scottish Border</i>. The present version is a <i>rifaccimento</i>
+ from Burns and Scott. It is worth noting that Gr&aelig;me (pronounced
+ &lsquo;Grime&rsquo;), and Graham are both forms of one name, which name
+ was originally Grimm, and that, according to some, the latter
+ orthography is the privilege of the chief of the clan.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxix" id="note_xxix"></a><a href="#page66">XXIX</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ First printed in the <i>Minstrelsy</i>. This time the &lsquo;history&rsquo;
+ is authentic enough. It happened early in 1596, when Salkeld, the <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page347" id="page347" title="347"></a> Deputy
+ Warden of the Western Marches, seized under truce the person of William
+ Armstrong of Kinmont&mdash;elsewhere described as &lsquo;Will Kinmonde
+ the common thieffe&rsquo;&mdash;and haled him to Carlisle Castle, whence
+ he was rescued&mdash;&lsquo;with shouting and crying and sound of
+ trumpet&rsquo;&mdash;by the Laird of Buccleuch, Keeper of Liddesdale,
+ and a troop of two hundred horse. &lsquo;The Queen of England,&rsquo;
+ says Spottiswoode, &lsquo;having notice sent her of what was done,
+ stormed not a little&rsquo;; but see the excellent summary compiled by
+ Scott (who confesses to having touched up the ballad) for the <i>Minstrelsy</i>.
+ </p>
+ <dl>
+ <dt>
+ Haribee
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>the gallows hill at Carlisle</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ reiver
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>a border thief</i>, one of a class which lived sparely, fought
+ stoutly, entertained the strictest sense of honour and justice, went
+ ever on horseback, and carried the art of cattle-lifting to the
+ highest possible point of perfection (<i>National Observer, 30th May,
+ 1891</i>)
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ yett
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>gate</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ lawing
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>reckoning</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ basnet
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>helmet</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ curch
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>coif or cap</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ lightly
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>to scorn</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ in a lowe
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>on fire</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ slocken
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>to slake</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ splent
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>shoulder-piece</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ spauld
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>shoulder</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ broken men
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>outlaws</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ marshal men
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>officers of law</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ rank reiver
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>common thief</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ herry
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>harry</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ corbie
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>crow</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ lear
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>learning</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ row-footed
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>rough-shod</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ spait
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>flood</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ garred
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>made</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ slogan
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>battle-cry</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ stear
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>stir</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ saft
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>light</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ fleyed
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>frightened</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ bairns
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>children</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ spier
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>ask</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ hente
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>lifted</i>, <i>haled</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ maill
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>rent</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ furs
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>furrows</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ trew
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>trust</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ Christentie
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>Christendom</i>
+ </dd>
+ </dl>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxx" id="note_xxx"></a><a href="#page73">XXX</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Communicated by Mr. Hunt,&mdash;who dates it about 1626&mdash;from
+ Seyer's <i>Memoirs, Historical and Topographical, of Bristol and its
+ Neighbourhood</i> (1821&ndash;23). The full title is <i>The Honour of
+ Bristol: shewing how the Angel Gabriel of Bristol fought with three
+ ships, who boarded as many times, wherein we cleared our decks and
+ killed five hundred of their men, and wounded many more, and made them
+ fly into Cales, when we lost but three men, to the Honour of the Angel
+ Gabriel of Bristol</i>. To the tune <i>Our Noble King in his Progress</i>.
+ Cales (13), pronounced as a dissyllable, is of course Cadiz. It is fair
+ to add that this spirited and amusing piece of doggerel has been
+ severely edited.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxxi" id="note_xxxi"></a><a href="#page77">XXXI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From the <i>Minstrelsy</i>, where it is &lsquo;given, without alteration
+ or improvement, from the most accurate copy that could be recovered.&rsquo;
+ The story runs that Helen Irving (or Helen Bell), of <a class="pagebreak"
+ name="page348" id="page348" title="348"></a> Kirkconnell in
+ Dumfriesshire, was beloved by Adam Fleming, and (as some say) Bell of
+ Blacket House; that she favoured the first but her people encouraged the
+ second; that she was thus constrained to tryst with Fleming by night in
+ the churchyard, &lsquo;a romantic spot, almost surrounded by the river
+ Kirtle&rsquo;; that they were here surprised by the rejected suitor, who
+ fired at his rival from the far bank of the stream; that Helen, seeking
+ to shield her lover, was shot in his stead; and that Fleming, either
+ there and then, or afterwards in Spain, avenged her death on the body of
+ her slayer. Wordsworth has told the story in a copy of verses which
+ shows, like so much more of his work, how dreary a poetaster he could
+ be.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxxii" id="note_xxxii"></a><a href="#page79">XXXII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ This epic-in-little, as tremendous an invention as exists in verse, is
+ from the <i>Minstrelsy</i>: &lsquo;as written down from tradition by a
+ lady&rsquo; (C. Kirkpatrick Sharpe).
+ </p>
+ <dl>
+ <dt>
+ corbies
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>crows</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ fail-dyke
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>wall of turf</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ hause-bane
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>breast-bone</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ theek
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>thatch</i>
+ </dd>
+ </dl>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxxiii" id="note_xxxiii"></a><a href="#page80">XXXIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Begun in 1755, and finished and printed (with <i>The Progress of Poetry</i>)
+ in 1757. &lsquo;Founded,&rsquo; says the poet, &lsquo;on a tradition
+ current in Wales, that Edward the First, when he concluded the conquest
+ of that country, ordered all the bards that fell into his hands to be
+ put to death.&rsquo; The &lsquo;agonising king&rsquo; (line 56) is
+ Edward <span class="sc">II.</span>; the &lsquo;she-wolf of France&rsquo;
+ (57), Isabel his queen; the &lsquo;scourge of heaven&rsquo; (60), Edward
+ <span class="sc">III.</span>; the &lsquo;sable warrior&rsquo; (67),
+ Edward the Black Prince. Lines 75&ndash;82 commemorate the rise and fall
+ of Richard <span class="sc">II.</span>; lines 83&ndash;90, the Wars of
+ the Roses, the murders in the Tower, the &lsquo;faith&rsquo; of Margaret
+ of Anjou, the &lsquo;fame&rsquo; of Henry <span class="sc">V.</span>,
+ the &lsquo;holy head&rsquo; of Henry <span class="sc">VI.</span> The
+ &lsquo;bristled boar&rsquo; (93) is symbolical of Richard <span
+ class="sc">III.</span>; &lsquo;half of thy heart&rsquo; (99) of Eleanor
+ of Castile, &lsquo;who died a few years after the conquest of Wales.&rsquo;
+ Line 110 celebrates the accession of the House of Tudor in fulfilment of
+ the prophecies of Merlin and Taliessin; lines 115&ndash;20, Queen
+ Elizabeth; lines 128&ndash;30, Shakespeare; lines 131&ndash;32, Milton;
+ and the &lsquo;distant warblings&rsquo; of line 133, &lsquo;the
+ succession of poets after Milton's time&rsquo; (Gray).
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxxiv" id="note_xxxiv"></a><a href="#page85">XXXIV</a>, <a
+ href="#page86">XXXV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Written, the one in September 1782 (in the August of which year the <i>Royal
+ George</i> (108 guns) was overset in Portsmouth Harbour with the loss of
+ close on a thousand souls), and the other &lsquo;after reading Hume's <i>History</i>
+ in 1780&rsquo; (Benham).
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page349" id="page349" title="349"></a><a
+ name="note_xxxvi" id="note_xxxvi"></a><a href="#page88">XXXVI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ It is worth recalling that at one time Walter Scott attributed this
+ gallant lyric, which he printed in the <i>Minstrelsy</i>, to a &lsquo;greater
+ Graham&rsquo;&mdash;the Marquis of Montrose.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxxvii" id="note_xxxvii"></a><a href="#page89">XXXVII</a>,
+ <a href="#page90">XXXVIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Of these, the first, <i>Blow High, Blow Low</i>, was sung in <i>The
+ Seraglio</i> (1776), a forgotten opera; the second, said to have been
+ inspired by the death of the author's brother, a naval officer, in <i>The
+ Oddities</i> (1778)&mdash;a &lsquo;table-entertainment,&rsquo; where
+ Dibdin was author, actor, singer, musician, accompanist, everything but
+ audience and candle-snuffer. They are among the first in time of his
+ sea-ditties.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xxxix" id="note_xxxix"></a><a href="#page91">XXXIX</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ It is told (<i>Life</i>, W. H. Curran, 1819) that Curran met a deserter,
+ drank a bottle, and talked of his chances, with him, and put his ideas
+ and sentiments into this song.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xl" id="note_xl"></a><a href="#page92">XL</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ The <i>Arethusa</i>, Mr. Hannay tells me, being attached to Keppel's
+ fleet at the mouth of the Channel, was sent to order the <i>Belle Poule</i>,
+ which was cruising with some smaller craft in search of Keppel's ships,
+ to come under his stern. The <i>Belle Poule</i> (commanded by M. Chadeau
+ de la Clocheterie) refusing, the <i>Arethusa</i> (Captain Marshall)
+ opened fire. The ships were fairly matched, and in the action which
+ ensued the <i>Arethusa</i> appears to have got the worst of it. In the
+ end, after about an hour's fighting, Keppel's liners came up, and the <i>Belle
+ Poule</i> made off. She was afterwards driven ashore by a superior
+ English force, and it is an odd coincidence that in 1789 the <i>Arethusa</i>
+ ran ashore off Brest during her action (10th March) with <i>l'Aigrette</i>.
+ As for the French captain, he lived to command <i>l'Hercule</i>, De
+ Grasse's leading ship in the great sea-fight (12th April 1782) with
+ Rodney off Dominica, where he was killed.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xli" id="note_xli"></a><a href="#page94">XLI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From the <i>Songs of Experience</i> (1794).
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xlii" id="note_xlii"></a><a href="#page95">XLII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Scots Musical Museum</i>, 1788. Adapted from, or rather suggested by,
+ the <i>Farewell</i>, which Macpherson, a cateran &lsquo;of great
+ personal strength and musical accomplishment,&rsquo; is said to have
+ played and sung at the gallows foot; thereafter breaking his violin
+ across his knee and submitting his neck to the hangman.
+ </p>
+ <dl>
+ <dt>
+ spring
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>a melody in quick time</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ sturt
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>molestation</i>
+ </dd>
+ </dl>
+ <h3>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page350" id="page350" title="350"></a><a
+ name="note_xliii" id="note_xliii"></a><a href="#page96">XLIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Museum</i>, 1796. Burns told Thomson and Mrs. Dunlop that this noble
+ and most moving song was old; but nobody believed him then, and nobody
+ believes him now.
+ </p>
+ <dl>
+ <dt>
+ pint-stoup
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>pint-mug</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ braes
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>hill-sides</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ gowans
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>daisies</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ paidl't
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>paddled</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ burn
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>brook</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ fiere
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>friend</i>, <i>companion</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ guid-willie
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>well-meant</i>, <i>full of good-will</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ waught
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>draught</i>
+ </dd>
+ </dl>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xliv" id="note_xliv"></a><a href="#page97">XLIV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ The first four lines are old. The rest were written apparently in 1788,
+ when the poet sent this song and <i>Auld Lang Syne</i> to Mrs. Dunlop.
+ It appeared in the <i>Museum</i>, 1790.
+ </p>
+ <dl>
+ <dt>
+ tassie
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>a cup</i>; <i>Fr.</i> &lsquo;tasse&rsquo;
+ </dd>
+ </dl>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xlv" id="note_xlv"></a><a href="#page98">XLV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ About 1777&ndash;80: printed 1801. &lsquo;One of my juvenile works,&rsquo;
+ says Burns. &lsquo;I do not think it very remarkable, either for its
+ merits or demerits.&rsquo; But Hazlitt thought the world of it, and now
+ it passes for one of Burns's masterpieces.
+ </p>
+ <dl>
+ <dt>
+ trysted
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>appointed</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ stoure
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>dust and din</i>
+ </dd>
+ </dl>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xlvi" id="note_xlvi"></a><a href="#page99">XLVI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Museum</i>, 1796. Attributed, in one shape or another, to a certain
+ Captain Ogilvie. Sharpe, too, printed a broadside in which the third
+ stanza (used more than once by Sir Walter) is found as here. But Scott
+ Douglas (<i>Burns</i>, iii. 173) has &lsquo;no doubt that this broadside
+ was printed after 1796,&rsquo; and as it stands the thing is assuredly
+ the work of Burns. The refrain and the metrical structure have been used
+ by Scott (<i>Rokeby</i>, <span class="sc">IV.</span> 28), Carlyle,
+ Charles Kingsley (<i>Dolcino to Margaret</i>), and Mr. Swinburne (<i>A
+ Reiver's Neck Verse</i>) among others.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xlvii" id="note_xlvii"></a><a href="#page100">XLVII&ndash;LII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Of the first four numbers, the high-water mark of Wordsworth's
+ achievement, all four were written in 1802; the second and third were
+ published in 1803; the first and fourth in 1807. The <i>Ode to Duty</i>
+ was written in 1805, and published in 1807, to which year belongs that
+ <i>Song for the Feast of Brougham Castle</i>, from which I have
+ extracted the excellent verses here called <i>Two Victories</i>.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_liii" id="note_liii"></a><a href="#page107">LIII&ndash;LXII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ The first three numbers are from <i>Marmion</i> (1808): <span class="sc">I.</span>
+ Introduction; <span class="sc">V.</span> 12; and <span class="sc">VI.</span>
+ 18&ndash;20, 25&ndash;27, and 33&ndash;34. The next is from <i>The Lady
+ of the Lake</i> (1810), <span class="sc">I.</span> 1&ndash;9: <i>The
+ Outlaw</i> is from <a class="pagebreak" name="page351" id="page351"
+ title="351"></a> <i>Rokeby</i> (1813), <span class="sc">III.</span> 16;
+ the <i>Pibroch</i> was published in 1816; <i>The Omnipotent</i> and <i>The
+ Red Harlaw</i> are from <i>The Antiquary</i> (1816), and the <i>Farewell</i>
+ from <i>The Pirate</i> (1821). As for <i>Bonny Dundee</i>, that
+ incomparable ditty, it was written as late as 1825. &lsquo;The air of
+ Bonny Dundee running in my head to-day,&rsquo; he writes under date of
+ 22d December (<i>Diary</i>, 1890, i. 61), &lsquo;I wrote a few verses to
+ it before dinner, taking the key-note from the story of Clavers leaving
+ the Scottish Convention of Estates in 1688&ndash;9. <i>I wonder if they
+ are good.</i>&rsquo; See <i>The Doom of Devorgoil</i> (1830), Note A,
+ Act <span class="sc">II.</span> sc. 2.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxiii" id="note_lxiii"></a><a href="#page136">LXIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ This unsurpassed piece of art, in which a music the most exquisite is
+ used to body forth a set of suggestions that seem dictated by the very
+ Spirit of Romance, was produced, under the influence of &lsquo;an
+ anodyne,&rsquo; as early as 1797. Coleridge, who calls it <i>Kubla Khan:
+ A Vision within a Dream</i>, avers that, having fallen asleep in his
+ chair over a sentence from Purchas's Pilgrimage&mdash;&lsquo;Here the
+ Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built and a stately garden thereto;
+ and thus ten miles of ground were enclosed with a wall,&rsquo;&mdash;he
+ remained unconscious for about three hours, &lsquo;during which time he
+ had the most vivid confidence that he could not have composed less than
+ three hundred lines&rsquo;; &lsquo;if that,&rsquo; he adds, &lsquo;can
+ be called composition, in which all the images rose up before him as
+ things, with a parallel production of the correspondent expressions,
+ without any sensation or consciousness of effort.&rsquo; On awakening,
+ he proceeded to write out his &lsquo;composition,&rsquo; and had set
+ down as much of it as is printed here, when &lsquo;he was unfortunately
+ called out by a person on business from Porlock,&rsquo; whose departure,
+ an hour after, left him wellnigh oblivious of the rest. This confession,
+ which is dated 1816, has been generally accepted as true; but Coleridge
+ had a trick of dreaming dreams about himself which makes doubt
+ permissible.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxiv" id="note_lxiv"></a><a href="#page138">LXIV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From the <i>Hellenics</i> (written in Latin, 1814&ndash;20, and
+ translated into English at the instance of Lady Blessington), 1846. See
+ Colvin, <i>Landor</i> (&lsquo;English Men of Letters&rsquo;), pp. 189,
+ 190.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxv" id="note_lxv"></a><a href="#page140">LXV&ndash;LXVII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Of the first, &lsquo;Napoleon and the British Sailor&rsquo; (<i>The
+ Pilgrim of Glencoe</i>, 1842), Campbell writes that the &lsquo;anecdote
+ has been published in several public journals, both French and English.&rsquo;
+ &lsquo;My belief,&rsquo; he continues, &lsquo;in its authenticity was
+ confirmed by an Englishman, long resident in Boulogne, lately telling me
+ that he remembered the circumstance to have been generally talked of in
+ the <a class="pagebreak" name="page352" id="page352" title="352"></a>
+ place.&rsquo; Authentic or not, I have preferred the story to <i>Hohenlinden</i>,
+ as less hackneyed, for one thing, and, for another, less pretentious and
+ rhetorical. The second (<i>Gertrude of Wyoming</i>, 1809) is truly one
+ of &lsquo;the glories of our birth and state.&rsquo; The third (<i>idem</i>)
+ I have ventured to shorten by three stanzas: a proceeding which, however
+ culpable it seem, at least gets rid of the chief who gave a country's
+ wounds relief by stopping a battle, eliminates the mermaid and her song
+ (the song that &lsquo;condoles&rsquo;), and ends the lyric on as
+ sonorous and romantic a word as even Shakespeare ever used.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxviii" id="note_lxviii"></a><a href="#page146">LXVIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Corn Law Rhymes</i>, 1831.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxix" id="note_lxix"></a><a href="#page147">LXIX</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From that famous and successful forgery, Cromek's <i>Remains of
+ Nithsdale and Galloway Song</i> (1810), written when Allan was a working
+ mason in Dumfriesshire. I have omitted a stanza as inferior to the rest.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxxi" id="note_lxxi"></a><a href="#page149">LXXI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>English Songs and other Small Poems</i>, 1834.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxxii" id="note_lxxii"></a><a href="#page150">LXXII&ndash;LXXVIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ The first is from the <i>Hebrew Melodies</i> (1815); the next is
+ selected from <i>The Siege of Corinth</i> (1816), 22&ndash;33; <i>Alhama</i>
+ (<i>idem</i>) is a spirited yet faithful rendering of the <i>Romance muy
+ Doloroso del Sitio y Toma de Alhama</i>, which existed both in Spanish
+ and in Arabic, and whose effect was such that &lsquo;it was forbidden to
+ be sung by the Moors on the pain of death in Granada&rsquo; (Byron); No.
+ LXXV., surely one of the bravest songs in the language, was addressed (<i>idem</i>)
+ to Thomas Moore; the tremendous <i>Race with Death</i> is lifted out of
+ the <i>Ode in Venice</i> (1819); for the next number see <i>Don Juan</i>,
+ <span class="sc">III.</span> (1821); the last of all, &lsquo;Stanzas
+ inscribed <i>On this day I completed my Thirty-sixth year</i>&rsquo;
+ (1824), is the last verse that Byron wrote.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxxix" id="note_lxxix"></a><a href="#page172">LXXIX</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ Napier has described the terrific effect of Napoleon's pursuit; but in
+ the operations before Corunna he was distanced, if not out-generalled,
+ by Sir John Moore, and ere the first days of 1809 he gave his command to
+ Soult, who pressed us vainly through the hill-country between Leon and
+ Gallicia, and got beaten at Corunna for his pains. Wolfe, who was an
+ Irish parson and died of consumption, wrote some spirited verses on the
+ flight of Busaco, but this admirable elegy&mdash;&lsquo;I will show you,&rsquo;
+ said <a class="pagebreak" name="page353" id="page353" title="353"></a>
+ Byron to Shelley (Medwin, ii. 154) &lsquo;one you have never seen, that
+ I consider little if at all inferior to the best, the present prolific
+ age has brought forth&rsquo;&mdash;remains his passport to immortality.
+ It was printed, not by the author, in an Irish newspaper; was copied all
+ over Britain; was claimed by liar after liar in succession; and has been
+ reprinted more often, perhaps, than any poem of the century.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxxx" id="note_lxxx"></a><a href="#page174">LXXX</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From <i>Snarleyow, or the Dog Fiend</i> (1837). Compare Nelson to
+ Collingwood: &lsquo;<i>Victory</i>, 25th June, 1805,&mdash;May God bless
+ you and send you alongside the <i>Santissima Trinidad</i>.&rsquo;
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxxxi" id="note_lxxxi"></a><a href="#page175">LXXXI</a>,
+ <a href="#page177">LXXXII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ The story of Casabianca is, I believe, untrue; but the intention of the
+ singer, alike in this number and in the next, is excellent. Each indeed
+ is, in its way, a classic. The <i>Mayflower</i> sailed from Southampton
+ in 1626.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxxxiii" id="note_lxxxiii"></a><a href="#page179">LXXXIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ This magnificent sonnet, <i>On First Reading Chapman's Homer</i>, was
+ printed in 1817. The &lsquo;Cortez&rsquo; of the eleventh verse is a
+ mistake; the discoverer of the Pacific being Nu&ntilde;ez de Balboa.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxxxiv" id="note_lxxxiv"></a><a href="#page179">LXXXIV&ndash;LXXXVII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ The <i>Lays</i> are dated 1824; they have passed through edition after
+ edition; and if Matthew Arnold disliked and contemned them (see Sir F.
+ H. Doyle, <i>Reminiscences and Opinions</i>, pp. 178&ndash;87), the
+ general is wise enough to know them by heart. But a book that is &lsquo;a
+ catechism to fight&rsquo; (in Jonson's phrase) would have sinned against
+ itself had it taken no account of them, and I have given <i>Horatius</i>
+ in its integrity: if only, as Landor puts it,
+ </p>
+ <blockquote class="poetry">
+ <p>
+ <span class="i0">To show the British youth, who ne'er</span>
+ <span class="i0">Will lag behind, what Romans were,</span> <span
+ class="i0">When all the Tuscans and their Lars</span> <span
+ class="i0">Shouted, and shook the towers of Mars.</span>
+ </p>
+ </blockquote>
+ <p>
+ As for <i>The Armada</i>, I have preferred it to <i>The Battle of Naseby</i>,
+ first, because it is neither vicious nor ugly, and the other is both;
+ and, second, because it is so brilliant an outcome of that capacity for
+ dealing with proper names which Macaulay, whether poet or not, possesses
+ in common with none but certain among the greater poets. For <i>The Last
+ Buccaneer</i> (a curious anticipation of some effects of Mr. Rudyard
+ Kipling), and that noble thing, the <i>Jacobite's Epitaph</i>, they are
+ dated 1839 and 1845 respectively.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page354" id="page354" title="354"></a><a
+ name="note_lxxxviii" id="note_lxxxviii"></a><a href="#page207">LXXXVIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>The Poetical Works of Robert Stephen Hawker</i> (Kegan Paul, 1879).
+ By permission of Mrs. R. S. Hawker. &lsquo;With the exception of the
+ choral lines&mdash;
+ </p>
+ <blockquote class="poetry">
+ <p>
+ <span class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And shall Trelawney die?</span>
+ <span class="i0">There's twenty thousand Cornishmen</span> <span
+ class="i2">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Will know the reason why!&mdash;</span>
+ </p>
+ </blockquote>
+ <p>
+ and which have been, ever since the imprisonment by James <span
+ class="sc">II.</span> of the Seven Bishops&mdash;one of them Sir
+ Jonathan Trelawney&mdash;a popular proverb throughout Cornwall, the
+ whole of this song was composed by me in the year 1825. I wrote it under
+ a stag-horned oak in Sir Beville's Walk in Stowe Wood. It was sent by me
+ anonymously to a Plymouth paper, and there it attracted the notice of
+ Mr. Davies Gilbert, who reprinted it at his private press at Eastbourne
+ under the avowed impression that it was the original ballad. It had the
+ good fortune to win the eulogy of Sir Walter Scott, who also deemed it
+ to be the ancient song. It was praised under the same persuasion by Lord
+ Macaulay and Mr. Dickens.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>Author's Note.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_lxxxix" id="note_lxxxix"></a><a href="#page208">LXXXIX&ndash;XCII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From <i>The Sea Side and the Fire Side</i>, 1851; <i>Birds of Passage</i>,
+ <i>Flight the First</i>, and <i>Flight the Second</i>; and <i>Flower de
+ Luce</i>, 1866. Of these four examples of the picturesque and taking art
+ of Longfellow, I need say no more than that all are printed in their
+ integrity, with the exception of the first. This I leave the lighter by
+ a moral and an application, both of which, superfluous or not, are
+ remote from the general purpose of this book: a confession in which I
+ may include the following number, Mr. Whittier's <i>Barbara Frietchie</i>
+ (<i>In War-Time</i>, 1863.)
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xciv" id="note_xciv"></a><a href="#page232">XCIV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Nineteenth Century</i>, March 1878; <i>Ballads and other Poems</i>,
+ 1880. By permission of Messrs. Macmillan, to whom I am indebted for some
+ of my choicest numbers. For the story of Sir Richard Grenville's heroic
+ death, &lsquo;in the last of August,&rsquo; 1591&mdash;after the Revenge
+ had endured the onset of &lsquo;fifteen several armadas,&rsquo; and
+ received some &lsquo;eight hundred shot of great artillerie,&rsquo;&mdash;see
+ Hakluyt (1598&ndash;1600), ii. 169&ndash;176, where you will find it
+ told with singular animation and directness by Sir Walter Raleigh, who
+ held a brief against the Spaniards in Sir Richard's case as always. To
+ Sir Richard's proposal to blow up the ship the master gunner &lsquo;readily
+ condescended,&rsquo; as did &lsquo;divers others&rsquo;; but the captain
+ was of &lsquo;another opinion,&rsquo; and in the end Sir Richard was
+ taken aboard the ship of the Spanish admiral, Don Alfonso de Bazan, who
+ used him well and honourably until he died: leaving to his friends the
+ &lsquo;comfort that being dead he hath not outlived his own honour,&rsquo;
+ and that he had nobly <a class="pagebreak" name="page355" id="page355"
+ title="355"></a> shown how false and vain, and therefore how contrary to
+ God's will, the &lsquo;ambitious and bloudie practices of the Spaniards&rsquo;
+ were.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xcv" id="note_xcv"></a><a href="#page239">XCV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Tiresias and Other Poems</i>, 1885. By permission of Messrs.
+ Macmillan. Included at Lord Tennyson's own suggestion. For the noble
+ feat of arms (25th October 1854) thus nobly commemorated, see Kinglake
+ (v. i. 102&ndash;66). &lsquo;The three hundred of the Heavy Brigade who
+ made this famous charge were the Scots Greys and the second squadron of
+ Enniskillings, the remainder of the &ldquo;Heavy Brigade&rdquo;
+ subsequently dashing up to their support. The &ldquo;three&rdquo; were
+ Scarlett's aide-de-camp, Elliot, and the trumpeter, and Shegog the
+ orderly, who had been close behind him.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>Author's Note.</i>
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xcvi" id="note_xcvi"></a><a href="#page242">XCVI</a>, <a
+ href="#page244">XCVII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>The Return of the Guards, and other Poems</i>, 1866. By permission of
+ Messrs. Macmillan. As to the first, which deals with an incident of the
+ war with China, and is presumably referred to in 1860, &lsquo;Some Seiks
+ and a private of the Buffs (or East Kent Regiment) having remained
+ behind with the grog-carts, fell into the hands of the Chinese. On the
+ next morning they were brought before the authorities and commanded to
+ perform the <i>Ko tou</i>. The Seiks obeyed; but Moyse, the English
+ soldier, declaring that he would not prostrate himself before any
+ Chinaman alive, was immediately knocked upon the head and his body
+ thrown upon a dunghill.&rsquo;&mdash;Quoted by the author from <i>The
+ Times</i>. The Elgin of line 6 is Henry Bruce, eighth Lord Elgin (1811&ndash;1863),
+ then Ambassador to China, and afterwards Governor-General of India.
+ Compare <i>Theology in Extremis</i> (<i>post</i>, p. 309). Of the
+ second, which Mr. Saintsbury describes &lsquo;as one of the most lofty,
+ insolent, and passionate things concerning this matter that our time has
+ produced,&rsquo; Sir Francis notes that the incident&mdash;no doubt a
+ part of the conquest of Sindh&mdash;was told him by Sir Charles Napier,
+ and that &lsquo;Truckee&rsquo; (line 12) = &lsquo;a stronghold in the
+ Desert, supposed to be unassailable and impregnable.&rsquo;
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_xcviii" id="note_xcviii"></a><a href="#page248">XCVIII</a>,
+ <a href="#page248">XCIX</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ By permission of Messrs. Smith, Elder, and Co. <i>Dramatic Lyrics</i>,
+ 1845; <i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, June 1871, and <i>Pacchiarotto</i>,
+ 1876, Works, iv. and xiv. I can find nothing about Herv&eacute; Riel.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_c" id="note_c"></a><a href="#page254">C&ndash;CIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ The two first are from the &lsquo;Song of Myself,&rsquo; <i>Leaves of
+ Grass</i> (1855); the others from <i>Drum Taps</i> (1865). See <i>Leaves
+ of Grass</i> (Philadelphia, 1884), pp. 60, 62&ndash;63, 222, and 246.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page356" id="page356" title="356"></a><a
+ name="note_civ" id="note_civ"></a><a href="#page260">CIV</a>, <a
+ href="#page262">CV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ By permission of Messrs. Macmillan. Dated severally 1857 and 1859.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cvi" id="note_cvi"></a><a href="#page264">CVI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Edinburgh Courant</i>, 1852. Compare <i>The Loss of the &lsquo;Birkenhead&rsquo;</i>
+ in <i>The Return of the Guards, and other Poems</i> (Macmillan, 1883),
+ pp. 256&ndash;58. Of the troopship <i>Birkenhead</i> I note that she
+ sailed from Queenstown on the 7th January 1852, with close on seven
+ hundred souls on board; that the most of these were soldiers&mdash;of
+ the Twelfth Lancers, the Sixtieth Rifles, the Second, Sixth,
+ Forty-third, Forty-fifth, Seventy-third, Seventy-fourth, and
+ Ninety-first Regiments; that she struck on a rock (26th February 1852)
+ off Simon's Bay, South Africa; that the boats would hold no more than a
+ hundred and thirty-eight, and that, the women and children being safe,
+ the men that were left&mdash;four hundred and fifty-four, all told&mdash;were
+ formed on deck by their officers, and went down with the ship, true to
+ colours and discipline till the end.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cvii" id="note_cvii"></a><a href="#page265">CVII&ndash;CIX</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ By permission of Messrs. Macmillan. From <i>Empedocles on Etna</i>
+ (1853). As regards the second number, it may be noted that Sohrab, being
+ in quest of his father Rustum, to whom he is unknown, offers battle as
+ one of the host of the Tartar King Afrasiab, to any champion of the
+ Persian Kai Khosroo. The challenge is accepted by Rustum, who fights as
+ a nameless knight (like Wilfrid of Ivanhoe at the Gentle and Joyous
+ Passage of Ashby), and so becomes the unwitting slayer of his son. For
+ the story of the pair the poet refers his readers to Sir John Malcom's
+ <i>History of Persia</i>. See <i>Poems</i>, by Matthew Arnold
+ (Macmillan), i. 268, 269.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cx" id="note_cx"></a><a href="#page284">CX</a>, <a
+ href="#page285">CXI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Ionica</i> (Allen, 1891). By permission of the Author. <i>School
+ Fencibles</i> (1861) was &lsquo;printed, not published, in 1877.&rsquo;
+ <i>The Ballad for a Boy</i>, Mr. Cory writes, &lsquo;was never printed
+ till this year.&rsquo;
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cxii" id="note_cxii"></a><a href="#page290">CXII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ By permission of the Author. This ballad, which was suggested, Mr.
+ Meredith tells me, by the story of Bendigeid Vran, the son of Llyr, in
+ the <i>Mabinogion</i> (iii. 121&ndash;9), is reprinted from <i>Modern
+ Love</i> (1862), but it originally appeared (<i>circ.</i> 1860) in <i>Once
+ a Week</i>, a forgotten print the source of not a little unforgotten
+ stuff&mdash;as <i>Evan Harrington</i> and the first part of <i>The
+ Cloister and the Hearth</i>.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cxiii" id="note_cxiii"></a><a href="#page293">CXIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From the fourth and last book of <i>Sigurd the Volsung</i>, 1877. By
+ permission of the Author. Hogni and Gunnar, being the <a
+ class="pagebreak" name="page357" id="page357" title="357"></a> guests of
+ King Atli, husband to their sister Gudrun, refused to tell him the
+ whereabouts of the treasure of Fafnir, whom Sigurd slew; and this is the
+ manner of their taking and the beginning of King Atli's vengeance.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cxiv" id="note_cxiv"></a><a href="#page308">CXIV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>English Illustrated Magazine</i>, January 1890, and <i>Lyrical Poems</i>
+ (Macmillan, 1891). By permission of the Author: with whose sanction I
+ have omitted four lines from the last stanza.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cxv" id="note_cxv"></a><a href="#page311">CXV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ By permission of Sir Alfred Lyall. <i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, September
+ 1868, and <i>Verses Written in India</i> (Kegan Paul, 1889). The second
+ title is: <i>A Soliloquy that may have been delivered in India, June
+ 1857</i>; and this is further explained by the following &lsquo;extract
+ from an Indian newspaper&rsquo;:&mdash;&lsquo;They would have spared
+ life to any of their English prisoners who should consent to profess
+ Mahometanism by repeating the usual short formula; but only one
+ half-caste cared to save himself that way.&rsquo; Then comes the
+ description, <i>Moriturus Loquitur</i>, and next the poem.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cxvi" id="note_cxvi"></a><a href="#page316">CXVI&ndash;CXVIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ From <i>Songs before Sunrise</i> (Chatto and Windus, 1877), and the
+ third series of <i>Poems and Ballads</i> (Chatto and Windus, 1889). By
+ permission of the Author.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cxix" id="note_cxix"></a><a href="#page322">CXIX</a>, <a
+ href="#page323">CXX</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>The Complete Poetical Works of Bret Harte</i> (Chatto and Windus,
+ 1886). By permission of Author and Publisher. <i>The Reveill&eacute;</i>
+ was spoken before a Union Meeting at San Francisco at the beginning of
+ the Civil War and appeared in a volume of the Author's poems in 1867. <i>What
+ the Bullet Sang</i> is much later work: dating, thinks Mr. Harte, from
+ '79 or '80.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cxxi" id="note_cxxi"></a><a href="#page324">CXXI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>St. James's Magazine</i>, October 1877, and <i>At the Sign of the
+ Lyre</i> (Kegan Paul, 1889). By permission of the Author.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cxxii" id="note_cxxii"></a><a href="#page325">CXXII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>St. James's Gazette</i>, 20th July 1888, and <i>Grass of Parnassus</i>
+ (Longmans, 1888). By permission of Author and Publisher. Written in
+ memory of Gordon's betrayal and death, but while there were yet hopes
+ and rumours of escape.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cxxiii" id="note_cxxiii"></a><a href="#page326">CXXIII</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Underwoods</i> (Chatto and Windus, 1886). By permission of the
+ Publishers.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page358" id="page358" title="358"></a><a
+ name="note_cxxiv" id="note_cxxiv"></a><a href="#page328">CXXIV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Love's Looking-Glass</i> (Percival, 1891). By permission of the
+ Author.
+ </p>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cxxv" id="note_cxxv"></a><a href="#page329">CXXV</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>Macmillan's Magazine</i>, November 1889. By permission of the Author.
+ Kamal Khan is a Pathan; and the scene of this exploit&mdash;which, I am
+ told, is perfectly consonant with the history and tradition of Guides
+ and Pathans both&mdash;is the North Frontier country in the
+ Peshawar-Kohat region, say, between Abazai and Bonair, behind which is
+ stationed the Punjab Irregular Frontier Force&mdash;&lsquo;the steel
+ head of the lance couched for the defence of India.&rsquo; As for the
+ Queen's Own Corps of Guides, to the general &lsquo;God's Own Guides&rsquo;
+ (from its exclusiveness and gallantry), it comprehends both horse and
+ foot, is recruited from Sikhs, Pathans, Rajputs, Afghans, all the
+ fighting races, is officered both by natives and by Englishmen, and in
+ all respects is worthy of this admirable ballad.
+ </p>
+ <dl>
+ <dt>
+ Ressaldar
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>the native leader of a <em>ressala</em> or troop of horse</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ Tongue
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>a barren and naked strath</i>&mdash;&lsquo;what geologists call a
+ fan&rsquo;
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ Gut of the Tongue
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>the narrowest part of the strath</i>
+ </dd>
+ <dt>
+ dust-devils
+ </dt>
+ <dd>
+ <i>dust-clouds blown by a whirlwind</i>
+ </dd>
+ </dl>
+ <h3>
+ <a name="note_cxxvi" id="note_cxxvi"></a><a href="#page335">CXXVI</a>
+ </h3>
+ <p>
+ <i>National Observer</i>, 4th April 1891. At the burning of the
+ Court-House at Cork, &lsquo;Above the portico a flagstaff bearing the
+ Union Jack remained fluttering in the air for some time, but ultimately
+ when it fell the crowds rent the air with shouts, and seemed to see
+ significance in the incident.&rsquo;&mdash;<strong>Daily Papers.</strong>
+ <i>Author's Note.</i>
+ </p>
+ </div>
+ <h2>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page359" id="page359" title="359"></a>INDEX
+ </h2>
+ <table class="index" summary="">
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <th class="right">
+ PAGE
+ </th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ A good sword and a trusty hand
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page207">207</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ All is finished! and at length
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page217">217</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Alone stood brave Horatius
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page196">196</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Amid the loud ebriety of war
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page264">264</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page280">280</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Arm, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page13">13</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ As I was walking all alane
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page79">79</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Ask nothing more of me, sweet
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page316">316</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ As the spring-tides, with heavy plash
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page153">153</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page227">227</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page232">232</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page200">200</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Attend you, and give ear awhile
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page73">73</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page28">28</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ A wet sheet and a flowing sea
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page148">148</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Beat! beat! drums!&mdash;blow! bugles! blow!
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page257">257</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Bid me to live, and I will live
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page18">18</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page89">89</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Build me straight, O worthy Master
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page208">208</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ But by the yellow Tiber
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page183">183</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ But see! look up&mdash;on Flodden bent
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page116">116</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ By this, though deep the evening fell
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page119">119</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page27">27</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Come, all ye jolly sailors bold
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page92">92</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page360" id="page360" title="360"></a>Condemned
+ to Hope's delusive mine
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page45">45</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page28">28</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Darkly, sternly, and all alone
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page156">156</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Day by day the vessel grew
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page214">214</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page146">146</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Eleven men of England
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page244">244</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle enrings thee
+ round
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page317">317</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page49">49</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Fair stood the wind for France
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page6">6</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Farewell! farewell! the voice you hear
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page133">133</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page95">95</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Get up! get up for shame! The blooming morn
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page15">15</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ God prosper long our noble king
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page47">47</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ God who created me
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page328">328</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Go fetch to me a pint o' wine
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page97">97</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Good Lord Scroope to the hills is gane
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page64">64</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page147">147</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page322">322</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ He has called him forty Marchmen bold
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page69">69</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page90">90</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ He spoke, and as he ceased he wept aloud
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page272">272</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page267">267</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page275">275</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ High-spirited friend
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page12">12</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ How happy is he born or taught
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page11">11</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ I am the mashed fireman with breast-bone broken
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page254">254</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ If doughty deeds my lady please
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page88">88</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ If sadly thinking
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page91">91</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ I love contemplating, apart
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page140">140</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page361" id="page361" title="361"></a>In
+ the ship-yard stood the Master
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page210">210</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page136">136</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page138">138</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ I said, when evil men are strong
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page105">105</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Is life worth living? Yes, so long
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page308">308</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ It is not growing like a tree
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page13">13</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ It is not to be thought of that the Flood
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page101">101</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ It is not yours, O mother, to complain
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page326">326</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ It was a' for our rightfu' King
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page99">99</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ I wish I were where Helen lies
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page77">77</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border side
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page329">329</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ King Philip had vaunted his claims
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page324">324</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Lars Porsena of Clusium
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page179">179</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Last night, among his fellow-roughs
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page242">242</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page102">102</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Mortality, behold and fear
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page15">15</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Much have I travelled in the realms of gold
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page179">179</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ My boat is on the shore
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page164">164</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ My dear and only love, I pray
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page31">31</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Next morn the Baron climbed the tower
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page114">114</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the north-west died away
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page248">248</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page172">172</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Now all the youth of England are on fire
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page2">2</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Now entertain conjecture of a time
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page4">4</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Now fell the sword of Gunnar, and rose up red in the air
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page297">297</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Now the noon was long passed over when again the rumour arose
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page304">304</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Now we bear the king
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page10">10</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Now while the Three were tightening
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page189">189</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Now word is gane to the bold Keeper
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page67">67</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page362" id="page362" title="362"></a>O
+ born in days when wits were fresh and clear
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page282">282</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ O Brignall banks are wild and fair
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page126">126</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ O England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page260">260</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Of Nelson and the North
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page144">144</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page1">1</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Oft in the pleasant summer years
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page311">311</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page66">66</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ O how comely it is, and how reviving
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page31">31</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ O joy of creation
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page323">323</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ O Mary, at thy window be
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page98">98</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page100">100</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred and ninety-two
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page248">248</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Othere, the old sea-captain
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page223">223</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Our English archers bent their bowes
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page51">51</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ O Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page165">165</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page112">112</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Pibroch of Donuil Dhu
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page129">129</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Ruin seize thee, ruthless King
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page80">80</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Should auld acquaintance be forgot
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page96">96</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Simon Danz has come home again
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page228">228</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Stern Daughter of the Voice of God
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page103">103</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Still the song goeth up from Gunnar, though his harp to earth be laid
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page301">301</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page19">19</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page32">32</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page150">150</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The boy stood on the burning deck
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page175">175</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The breaking waves dashed high
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page177">177</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The captain stood on the carronade: &lsquo;First Lieutenant,&rsquo;
+ says he
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page174">174</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page363" id="page363" title="363"></a>The
+ charge of the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page239">239</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The fifteenth day of July
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page60">60</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The forward youth that would appear
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page34">34</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The glories of our birth and state
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page20">20</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The herring loves the merry moonlight
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page131">131</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page167">167</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The King sits in Dunfermline town
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page57">57</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The last sunbeam
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page258">258</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The Moorish King rides up and down
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page160">160</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The newes was brought to Eddenborrow
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page56">56</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The night is past, and shines the sun
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page151">151</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The Sea! the Sea, the open Sea
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page149">149</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The stag at eve had drunk his fill
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page121">121</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The weary day rins down and dies
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page319">319</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ The winds were yelling, the waves were swelling
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page205">205</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Then speedilie to wark we gaed
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page71">71</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Then with a bitter smile, Rustum began
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page269">269</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Then with a heavy groan, Rustum bewailed
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page277">277</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ This, this is he; softly a while
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page30">30</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Through the black, rushing smoke bursts
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page265">265</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page3">3</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Tiger, tiger, burning bright
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page94">94</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page171">171</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Toll for the Brave
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page85">85</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ To mute and to material things
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page107">107</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ To my true king I offered free from stain
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page206">206</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page134">134</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page40">40</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Up from the meadows rich with corn
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page230">230</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Vain is the dream! However Hope may rave
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page325">325</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ We come in arms, we stand ten score
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page284">284</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Welcome, wild north-easter
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page262">262</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ <a class="pagebreak" name="page364" id="page364" title="364"></a>When
+ George the Third was reigning a hundred years ago
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page285">285</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ When I consider how my light is spent
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page29">29</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ When I have borne in memory what has tamed
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page101">101</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ When Love with unconfin&egrave;d wings
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page33">33</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ When the British warrior queen
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page86">86</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ When the head of Bran
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page290">290</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Where the remote Bermudas ride
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page39">39</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Why sitt'st thou by that ruined hall
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page130">130</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page335">335</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page54">54</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page255">255</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="letter">
+ Ye Mariners of England
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page143">143</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Ye shall know that in Atli's feast-hall on the side that joined the
+ house
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page293">293</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>
+ Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
+ </td>
+ <td class="right">
+ <a href="#page21">21</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+ </table>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
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+ </body>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lyra Heroica, 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: Lyra Heroica
+ A Book of Verse for Boys
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: September 19, 2006 [EBook #19316]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYRA HEROICA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Daniel Emerson Griffith and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+LYRA HEROICA
+
+ A BOOK OF VERSE FOR BOYS
+ SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY
+ WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY
+
+ Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
+ To all the sensual world proclaim
+ One crowded hour of glorious life
+ Is worth an age without a name.
+
+ _Sir Walter Scott._
+
+
+ NEW YORK
+ CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+ 1920
+
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY
+ CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+
+
+
+ *** The selections from Walt Whitman are published by permission
+ of Mr. Whitman; and those from Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier,
+ and Bret Harte, through the courtesy of Messrs. Houghton,
+ Mifflin, & Co., the publishers of their works.
+
+
+
+ TO WALTER BLAIKIE
+
+ ARTIST-PRINTER
+
+ MY PART IN THIS BOOK
+
+ W. E. H.
+
+ Edinburgh, July 1891.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+This book of verse for boys is, I believe, the first of its
+kind in English. Plainly, it were labour lost to go gleaning
+where so many experts have gone harvesting; and for what is
+rarest and best in English Poetry the world must turn, as
+heretofore, to the several 'Golden Treasuries' of Professor
+Palgrave and Mr. Coventry Patmore, and to the excellent 'Poets'
+Walk' of Mr. Mowbray Morris. My purpose has been to choose and
+sheave a certain number of those achievements in verse which,
+as expressing the simpler sentiments and the more elemental
+emotions, might fitly be addressed to such boys--and men, for
+that matter--as are privileged to use our noble English tongue.
+
+To set forth, as only art can, the beauty and the joy of living,
+the beauty and the blessedness of death, the glory of battle
+and adventure, the nobility of devotion--to a cause, an ideal,
+a passion even--the dignity of resistance, the sacred quality
+of patriotism, that is my ambition here. Now, to read poetry
+at all is to have an ideal anthology of one's own, and in that
+possession to be incapable of content with the anthologies of all
+the world besides. That is, the personal equation is ever to be
+reckoned withal, and I have had my preferences, as those that
+went before me had theirs. I have omitted much, as Aytoun's
+'Lays,' whose absence many will resent; I have included much,
+as that brilliant piece of doggerel of Frederick Marryat's,
+whose presence some will regard with distress. This without
+reference to enforcements due to the very nature of my work.
+
+I have adopted the birth-day order: for that is the simplest.
+And I have begun with--not Chaucer, nor Spenser, nor the ballads,
+but--Shakespeare and Agincourt; for it seemed to me that a
+book of heroism could have no better starting-point than that
+heroic pair of names. As for the ballads, I have placed them,
+after much considering, in the gap between old and new, between
+classic and romantic, in English verse. The witness of Sidney and
+Drayton's example notwithstanding, it is not until 1765, when
+Percy publishes the 'Reliques,' that the ballad spirit begins
+to be the master influence that Wordsworth confessed it was;
+while as for the history of the matter, there are who hold that
+'Sir Patrick Spens,' for example, is the work of Lady Wardlaw,
+which to others, myself among them, is a thing preposterous
+and distraught.
+
+It remains to add that, addressing myself to boys, I have not
+scrupled to edit my authors where editing seemed desirable, and
+that I have broken up some of the longer pieces for convenience in
+reading. Also, the help I have received while this book of 'Noble
+Numbers' was in course of growth--help in the way of counsel,
+suggestion, remonstrance, permission to use--has been such that
+it taxes gratitude and makes complete acknowledgment impossible.
+
+ W. E. H.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616) and
+ MICHAEL DRAYTON (1563-1631).
+ PAGE
+ I. AGINCOURT
+ Introit 1
+ Interlude 2
+ Harfleur 3
+ The Eve 4
+ The Battle 6
+ After 10
+
+ SIR HENRY WOTTON (1568-1639).
+
+ II. LORD OF HIMSELF 11
+
+ BEN JONSON (1574-1637).
+
+ III. TRUE BALM 12
+
+ IV. HONOUR IN BUD 13
+
+ JOHN FLETCHER (1576-1625).
+
+ V. THE JOY OF BATTLE 13
+
+ FRANCIS BEAUMONT (1586-1616).
+
+ VI. IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 15
+
+ ROBERT HERRICK (1591-1674).
+
+ VII. GOING A-MAYING 15
+
+ VIII. TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING 18
+
+ GEORGE HERBERT (1593-1638).
+
+ IX. MEMENTO MORI 19
+
+ JAMES SHIRLEY (1594-1666).
+
+ X. THE KING OF KINGS 20
+
+ JOHN MILTON (1608-1674).
+
+ XI. LYCIDAS 21
+
+ XII. ARMS AND THE MUSE 27
+
+ XIII. TO THE LORD GENERAL 28
+
+ XIV. THE LATE MASSACRE 28
+
+ XV. ON HIS BLINDNESS 29
+
+ XVI. EYELESS AT GAZA 30
+
+ XVII. OUT OF ADVERSITY 31
+
+ JAMES GRAHAM, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE (1612-1650).
+
+ XVIII. HEROIC LOVE 31
+
+ RICHARD LOVELACE (1618-1658).
+
+ XIX. GOING TO THE WARS 32
+
+ XX. FROM PRISON 33
+
+ ANDREW MARVELL (1620-1678).
+
+ XXI. TWO KINGS 34
+
+ XXII. IN EXILE 39
+
+ JOHN DRYDEN (1631-1701).
+
+ XXIII. ALEXANDER'S FEAST 40
+
+ SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784).
+
+ XXIV. THE QUIET LIFE 45
+
+ BALLADS
+
+ XXV. CHEVY CHASE
+ The Hunting 47
+ The Challenge 49
+ The Battle 51
+ The Slain 54
+ The Tidings 56
+
+ XXVI. SIR PATRICK SPENS 57
+
+ XXVII. BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY 60
+
+ XXVIII. HUGHIE THE GRAEME 64
+
+ XXIX. KINMONT WILLIE
+ The Capture 66
+ The Keeper's Wrath 67
+ The March 69
+ The Rescue 71
+
+ XXX. THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL 73
+
+ XXXI. HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL 77
+
+ XXXII. THE TWA CORBIES 79
+
+ THOMAS GRAY (1716-1771).
+
+ XXXIII. THE BARD 80
+
+ WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800).
+
+ XXXIV. THE ROYAL GEORGE 85
+
+ XXXV. BOADICEA 86
+
+ GRAHAM OF GARTMORE (1735-1797).
+
+ XXXVI. TO HIS LADY 88
+
+ CHARLES DIBDIN (1745-1814).
+
+ XXXVII. CONSTANCY 89
+
+ XXXVIII. THE PERFECT SAILOR 90
+
+ JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN (1750-1817).
+
+ XXXIX. THE DESERTER 91
+
+ PRINCE HOARE (1755-1834).
+
+ XL. THE ARETHUSA 92
+
+ WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1823).
+
+ XLI. THE BEAUTY OF TERROR 94
+
+ ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796).
+
+ XLII. DEFIANCE 95
+
+ XLIII. THE GOAL OF LIFE 96
+
+ XLIV. BEFORE PARTING 97
+
+ XLV. DEVOTION 98
+
+ XLVI. TRUE UNTIL DEATH 99
+
+ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH (1770-1850).
+
+ XLVII. VENICE 100
+
+ XLVIII. DESTINY 101
+
+ XLIX. THE MOTHER LAND 101
+
+ L. IDEAL 102
+
+ LI. TO DUTY 103
+
+ LII. TWO VICTORIES 105
+
+ SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771-1832).
+
+ LIII. IN MEMORIAM 107
+
+ LIV. LOCHINVAR 112
+
+ LV. FLODDEN
+ The March 114
+ The Attack 116
+ The Last Stand 119
+
+ LVI. THE CHASE 121
+
+ LVII. THE OUTLAW 126
+
+ LVIII. PIBROCH 129
+
+ LIX. THE OMNIPOTENT 130
+
+ LX. THE RED HARLAW 131
+
+ LXI. FAREWELL 133
+
+ LXII. BONNY DUNDEE 134
+
+ SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE (1772-1834).
+
+ LXIII. ROMANCE 136
+
+ WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR (1775-1864).
+
+ LXIV. SACRIFICE 138
+
+ THOMAS CAMPBELL (1777-1844).
+
+ LXV. SOLDIER AND SAILOR 140
+
+ LXVI. 'YE MARINERS' 143
+
+ LXVII. THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 144
+
+ EBENEZER ELLIOTT (1781-1846).
+
+ LXVIII. BATTLE SONG 146
+
+ ALLAN CUNNINGHAM (1785-1842).
+
+ LXIX. LOYALTY 147
+
+ LXX. A SEA-SONG 148
+
+ BRYANT WALLER PROCTOR (1787-1874).
+
+ LXXI. A SONG OF THE SEA 149
+
+ GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON (1788-1824).
+
+ LXXII. SENNACHERIB 150
+
+ LXXIII. THE STORMING OF CORINTH
+ The Signal 151
+ The Assault 153
+ The Magazine 156
+
+ LXXIV. ALHAMA 160
+
+ LXXV. FRIENDSHIP 164
+
+ LXXVI. THE RACE WITH DEATH 165
+
+ LXXVII. THE GLORY THAT WAS GREECE 167
+
+ LXXVIII. HAIL AND FAREWELL 171
+
+ CHARLES WOLFE (1791-1823).
+
+ LXXIX. AFTER CORUNNA 172
+
+ FREDERICK MARRYAT (1792-1848).
+
+ LXXX. THE OLD NAVY 174
+
+ FELICIA HEMANS (1793-1825).
+
+ LXXXI. CASABIANCA 175
+
+ LXXXII. THE PILGRIM FATHERS 177
+
+ JOHN KEATS (1796-1821).
+
+ LXXXIII. TO THE ADVENTUROUS 179
+
+ THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY (1800-1859).
+
+ LXXXIV. HORATIUS
+ The Trysting 179
+ The Trouble in Rome 183
+ The Keeping of the Bridge 189
+ Father Tiber 196
+
+ LXXXV. THE ARMADA 200
+
+ LXXXVI. THE LAST BUCCANEER 205
+
+ LXXXVII. A JACOBITE'S EPITAPH 206
+
+ ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER (1803-1875).
+
+ LXXXVIII. THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN 207
+
+ HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (1807-1882).
+
+ LXXXIX. THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP
+ The Model 208
+ The Builders 210
+ In the Ship-Yard 214
+ The Two Bridals 217
+
+ XC. THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE 223
+
+ XCI. THE CUMBERLAND 227
+
+ XCII. A DUTCH PICTURE 228
+
+ JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER (b. 1807).
+
+ XCIII. BARBARA FRIETCHIE 230
+
+ ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON (b. 1809).
+
+ XCIV. A BALLAD OF THE FLEET 232
+
+ XCV. THE HEAVY BRIGADE 239
+
+ SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE (1810-1888).
+
+ XCVI. THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS 242
+
+ XCVII. THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR 244
+
+ ROBERT BROWNING (1812-1890).
+
+ XCVIII. HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA 248
+
+ XCIX. HERVE RIEL 248
+
+ WALT WHITMAN (b. 1819).
+
+ C. THE DYING FIREMAN 254
+
+ CI. A SEA-FIGHT 255
+
+ CII. BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS! 257
+
+ CIII. TWO VETERANS 258
+
+ CHARLES KINGSLEY (1819-1875).
+
+ CIV. THE PLEASANT ISLE OF AVES 260
+
+ CV. A WELCOME 262
+
+ SIR HENRY YULE (1820-1889).
+
+ CVI. THE BIRKENHEAD 264
+
+ MATTHEW ARNOLD (1822-1888).
+
+ CVII. APOLLO 265
+
+ CVIII. THE DEATH OF SOHRAB
+ The Duel 267
+ Sohrab 269
+ The Recognition 272
+ Ruksh the Horse 275
+ Rustum 277
+ Night 280
+
+ CIX. FLEE FRO' THE PRESS 282
+
+ WILLIAM CORY (b. 1823).
+
+ CX. SCHOOL FENCIBLES 284
+
+ CXI. THE TWO CAPTAINS 285
+
+ GEORGE MEREDITH (b. 1828).
+
+ CXII. THE HEAD OF BRAN 290
+
+ WILLIAM MORRIS (b. 1834).
+
+ CXIII. THE SLAYING OF THE NIBLUNGS
+ Hogni 293
+ Gunnar 297
+ Gudrun 301
+ The Sons of Giuki 304
+
+ ALFRED AUSTIN (b. 1835).
+
+ CXIV. IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 308
+
+ SIR ALFRED LYALL (b. 1835).
+
+ CXV. THEOLOGY IN EXTREMIS 311
+
+ ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE (b. 1837).
+
+ CXVI. THE OBLATION 316
+
+ CXVII. ENGLAND 317
+
+ CXVIII. THE JACOBITE IN EXILE 319
+
+ BRET HARTE (b. 1839).
+
+ CXIX. THE REVEILLE 322
+
+ CXX. WHAT THE BULLET SANG 323
+
+ AUSTIN DOBSON (b. 1840).
+
+ CXXI. A BALLAD OF THE ARMADA 324
+
+ ANDREW LANG (b. 1844).
+
+ CXXII. THE WHITE PACHA 325
+
+ ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON (b. 1850).
+
+ CXXIII. MOTHER AND SON 326
+
+ HENRY CHARLES BEECHING (b. 1859).
+
+ CXXIV. PRAYERS 328
+
+ RUDYARD KIPLING (b. 1865).
+
+ CXXV. A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 329
+
+ CXXVI. THE FLAG OF ENGLAND 335
+
+ NOTES 341
+
+ INDEX 359
+
+
+
+
+ For I trust, if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill,
+ And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam,
+ That the smooth-faced snub-nosed rogue would leap from his counter and
+ till,
+ And strike, if he could, were it but with his cheating yard-wand, home.
+
+ _Tennyson._
+
+
+
+
+LYRA HEROICA
+
+
+
+
+ I
+
+ AGINCOURT
+
+
+ INTROIT
+
+ O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
+ The brightest heaven of invention,
+ A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
+ And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
+ Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
+ Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,
+ Leashed in like hounds, should Famine, Sword and Fire
+ Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all,
+ The flat unraised spirits that have dared
+ On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
+ So great an object. Can this cockpit hold
+ The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
+ Within this wooden O the very casques
+ That did affright the air at Agincourt?
+ O pardon! since a crooked figure may
+ Attest in little place a million,
+ And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
+ On your imaginary forces work.
+ Suppose within the girdle of these walls
+ Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
+ Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
+ The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder:
+ Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
+ Into a thousand parts divide one man,
+ And make imaginary puissance;
+ Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them
+ Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;
+ For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
+ Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times,
+ Turning the accomplishment of many years
+ Into an hour-glass.
+
+
+ INTERLUDE
+
+ Now all the youth of England are on fire,
+ And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies:
+ Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought
+ Reigns solely in the breast of every man:
+ They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,
+ Following the mirror of all Christian kings,
+ With winged heels, as English Mercuries:
+ For now sits Expectation in the air,
+ And hides a sword from hilts unto the point
+ With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets,
+ Promised to Harry and his followers.
+ The French, advised by good intelligence
+ Of this most dreadful preparation,
+ Shake in their fear, and with pale policy
+ Seek to divert the English purposes.
+ O England! model to thy inward greatness,
+ Like little body with a mighty heart,
+ What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,
+ Were all thy children kind and natural!
+ But see thy fault: France hath in thee found out
+ A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills
+ With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men,
+ One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second,
+ Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,
+ Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland,
+ Have for the gilt of France--O guilt indeed!--
+ Confirmed conspiracy with fearful France;
+ And by their hands this grace of kings must die,
+ If hell and treason hold their promises,
+ Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton!--
+
+
+ HARFLEUR
+
+ Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies
+ In motion of no less celerity
+ Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen
+ The well-appointed king at Hampton Pier
+ Embark his royalty, and his brave fleet
+ With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning:
+ Play with your fancies, and in them behold
+ Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;
+ Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give
+ To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails,
+ Borne with the invisible and creeping wind
+ Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea
+ Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think
+ You stand upon the rivage and behold
+ A city on the inconstant billows dancing!
+ For so appears this fleet majestical,
+ Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow:
+ Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy,
+ And leave your England, as dead midnight still,
+ Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women,
+ Or passed or not arrived to pith and puissance;
+ For who is he, whose chin is but enriched
+ With one appearing hair, that will not follow
+ These culled and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
+ Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege:
+ Behold the ordnance on their carriages,
+ With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.
+ Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back;
+ Tells Harry that the king doth offer him
+ Katharine his daughter, and with her to dowry
+ Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
+ The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner
+ With linstock now the devilish cannon touches,
+ And down goes all before them!
+
+
+ THE EVE
+
+ Now entertain conjecture of a time
+ When creeping murmur and the poring dark
+ Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
+ From camp to camp through the foul womb of night
+ The hum of either army stilly sounds,
+ That the fixed sentinels almost receive
+ The secret whispers of each other's watch:
+ Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
+ Each battle sees the other's umbered face;
+ Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
+ Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents
+ The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
+ With busy hammers closing rivets up,
+ Give dreadful note of preparation.
+ The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
+ And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
+ Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,
+ The confident and over-lusty French
+ Do the low-rated English play at dice,
+ And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night
+ Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp
+ So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
+ Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
+ Sit patiently and inly ruminate
+ The morning's danger, and their gesture sad,
+ Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,
+ Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
+ So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold
+ The royal captain of this ruined band
+ Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
+ Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!'
+ For forth he goes and visits all his host,
+ Bids them good-morrow with a modest smile,
+ And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.
+ Upon his royal face there is no note
+ How dread an army hath enrounded him;
+ Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
+ Unto the weary and all-watched night,
+ But freshly looks and over-bears attaint
+ With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty,
+ That every wretch, pining and pale before,
+ Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.
+ A largess universal like the sun
+ His liberal eye doth give to every one,
+ Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all,
+ Behold, as may unworthiness define,
+ A little touch of Harry in the night--
+ And so our scene must to the battle fly.
+
+ _Shakespeare._
+
+
+ THE BATTLE
+
+ Fair stood the wind for France,
+ When we our sails advance,
+ Nor now to prove our chance
+ Longer will tarry;
+ But putting to the main,
+ At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
+ With all his martial train,
+ Landed King Harry.
+
+ And taking many a fort,
+ Furnished in warlike sort,
+ Marched towards Agincourt
+ In happy hour,
+ Skirmishing day by day
+ With those that stopped his way,
+ Where the French gen'ral lay
+ With all his power:
+
+ Which, in his height of pride,
+ King Henry to deride,
+ His ransom to provide
+ To the king sending;
+ Which he neglects the while
+ As from a nation vile,
+ Yet with an angry smile
+ Their fall portending.
+
+ And turning to his men,
+ Quoth our brave Henry then,
+ 'Though they to one be ten,
+ Be not amazed.
+ Yet have we well begun,
+ Battles so bravely won
+ Have ever to the sun
+ By fame been raised.
+
+ And for myself, quoth he,
+ This my full rest shall be:
+ England ne'er mourn for me,
+ Nor more esteem me;
+ Victor I will remain
+ Or on this earth lie slain;
+ Never shall she sustain
+ Loss to redeem me.
+
+ Poitiers and Cressy tell,
+ When most their pride did swell,
+ Under our swords they fell;
+ No less our skill is
+ Than when our grandsire great,
+ Claiming the regal seat,
+ By many a warlike feat
+ Lopped the French lilies.'
+
+ The Duke of York so dread
+ The eager vaward led;
+ With the main Henry sped,
+ Amongst his henchmen;
+ Excester had the rear,
+ A braver man not there:
+ O Lord, how hot they were
+ On the false Frenchmen!
+
+ They now to fight are gone,
+ Armour on armour shone,
+ Drum now to drum did groan,
+ To hear was wonder;
+ That with the cries they make
+ The very earth did shake,
+ Trumpet to trumpet spake,
+ Thunder to thunder.
+
+ Well it thine age became,
+ O noble Erpingham,
+ Which did the signal aim
+ To our hid forces!
+ When from the meadow by,
+ Like a storm suddenly,
+ The English archery
+ Struck the French horses.
+
+ With Spanish yew so strong,
+ Arrows a cloth-yard long,
+ That like to serpents stung,
+ Piercing the weather;
+ None from his fellow starts,
+ But playing manly parts,
+ And like true English hearts
+ Stuck close together.
+
+ When down their bows they threw,
+ And forth their bilbos drew,
+ And on the French they flew,
+ Not one was tardy;
+ Arms were from shoulders sent,
+ Scalps to the teeth were rent,
+ Down the French peasants went;
+ Our men were hardy.
+
+ This while our noble king,
+ His broadsword brandishing,
+ Down the French host did ding
+ As to o'erwhelm it,
+ And many a deep wound lent,
+ His arms with blood besprent,
+ And many a cruel dent
+ Bruised his helmet.
+
+ Glo'ster, that duke so good,
+ Next of the royal blood,
+ For famous England stood,
+ With his brave brother;
+ Clarence, in steel so bright,
+ Though but a maiden knight,
+ Yet in that furious fight
+ Scarce such another!
+
+ Warwick in blood did wade,
+ Oxford the foe invade,
+ And cruel slaughter made,
+ Still as they ran up;
+ Suffolk his axe did ply,
+ Beaumont and Willoughby
+ Bare them right doughtily,
+ Ferrers and Fanhope.
+
+ Upon Saint Crispin's Day
+ Fought was this noble fray,
+ Which fame did not delay,
+ To England to carry.
+ O, when shall Englishmen
+ With such acts fill a pen,
+ Or England breed again
+ Such a King Harry?
+
+ _Drayton._
+
+
+ AFTER
+
+ Now we bear the king
+ Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen,
+ Heave him away upon your winged thoughts
+ Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach
+ Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,
+ Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouthed sea,
+ Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king
+ Seems to prepare his way: so let him land,
+ And solemnly see him set on to London.
+ So swift a pace hath thought that even now
+ You may imagine him upon Blackheath;
+ Where that his lords desire him to have borne
+ His bruised helmet and his bended sword
+ Before him through the city: he forbids it,
+ Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride,
+ Giving full trophy, signal and ostent,
+ Quite from himself to God. But now behold,
+ In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
+ How London doth pour out her citizens!
+ The mayor and all his brethren in best sort,
+ Like to the senators of the antique Rome,
+ With the plebeians swarming at their heels,
+ Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in!
+
+ _Shakespeare._
+
+
+
+
+ II
+
+ LORD OF HIMSELF
+
+
+ How happy is he born or taught
+ Who serveth not another's will;
+ Whose armour is his honest thought,
+ And simple truth his highest skill;
+
+ Whose passions not his masters are;
+ Whose soul is still prepared for death--
+ Not tied unto the world with care
+ Of prince's ear or vulgar breath;
+
+ Who hath his ear from rumours freed;
+ Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
+ Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
+ Nor ruin make oppressors great;
+
+ Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
+ Or vice; who never understood
+ How deepest wounds are given with praise,
+ Nor rules of state but rules of good;
+
+ Who God doth late and early pray
+ More of his grace than gifts to lend,
+ And entertains the harmless day
+ With a well-chosen book or friend--
+
+ This man is free from servile bands
+ Of hope to rise or fear to fall:
+ Lord of himself, though not of lands,
+ And, having nothing, yet hath all.
+
+ _Wotton._
+
+
+
+
+ III
+
+ TRUE BALM
+
+
+ High-spirited friend,
+ I send nor balms nor corsives to your wound;
+ Your faith hath found
+ A gentler and more agile hand to tend
+ The cure of that which is but corporal,
+ And doubtful days, which were named critical,
+ Have made their fairest flight
+ And now are out of sight.
+ Yet doth some wholesome physic for the mind,
+ Wrapped in this paper lie,
+ Which in the taking if you misapply
+ You are unkind.
+
+ Your covetous hand,
+ Happy in that fair honour it hath gained,
+ Must now be reined.
+ True valour doth her own renown commend
+ In one full action; nor have you now more
+ To do than be a husband of that store.
+ Think but how dear you bought
+ This same which you have caught--
+ Such thoughts will make you more in love with truth
+ 'Tis wisdom, and that high,
+ For men to use their fortune reverently,
+ Even in youth.
+
+ _Jonson._
+
+
+
+
+ IV
+
+ HONOUR IN BUD
+
+
+ It is not growing like a tree
+ In bulk doth make man better be:
+ 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.
+
+ _Jonson._
+
+
+
+
+ V
+
+ THE JOY OF BATTLE
+
+
+ Arm, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in;
+ Keep your ranks close, and now your honours win.
+ Behold from yonder hill the foe appears;
+ Bows, bills, glaives, arrows, shields, and spears!
+ Like a dark wood he comes, or tempest pouring;
+ O view the wings of horse the meadows scouring!
+ The vanguard marches bravely. Hark, the drums!
+ Dub, dub!
+
+ They meet, they meet, and now the battle comes:
+ See how the arrows fly
+ That darken all the sky!
+ Hark how the trumpets sound!
+ Hark how the hills rebound--
+ Tara, tara, tara, tara, tara!
+
+ Hark how the horses charge! in, boys! boys, in!
+ The battle totters; now the wounds begin:
+ O how they cry!
+ O how they die!
+ Room for the valiant Memnon, armed with thunder!
+ See how he breaks the ranks asunder!
+ They fly! they fly! Eumenes has the chase,
+ And brave Polybius makes good his place:
+ To the plains, to the woods,
+ To the rocks, to the floods,
+ They fly for succour. Follow, follow, follow!
+ Hark how the soldiers hollow!
+ Hey, hey!
+
+ Brave Diocles is dead,
+ And all his soldiers fled;
+ The battle's won, and lost,
+ That many a life hath cost.
+
+ _Fletcher._
+
+
+
+
+ VI
+
+ IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY
+
+
+ Mortality, behold and fear!
+ What a change of flesh is here!
+ Think how many royal bones
+ Sleep beneath this heap of stones!
+ Here they lie had realms and lands,
+ Who now want strength to stir their hands.
+ Here from their pulpits sealed with dust
+ They preach, 'In greatness is no trust.'
+ Here is an acre sown indeed
+ With the richest, royall'st seed
+ That the earth did e'er suck in,
+ Since the first man died for sin.
+ Here the bones of birth have cried,
+ 'Though gods they were, as men they died.'
+ Here are sands, ignoble things,
+ Dropt from the ruined sides of kings.
+ Here's a world of pomp and state,
+ Buried in dust, once dead by fate.
+
+ _Beaumont._
+
+
+
+
+ VII
+
+ GOING A-MAYING
+
+
+ Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn
+ Upon her wings presents the god unshorn:
+ See how Aurora throws her fair
+ Fresh-quilted colours through the air:
+ Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
+ The dew-bespangled herb and tree!
+ Each flower has wept and bowed toward the east,
+ Above an hour since, yet you not drest,
+ Nay, not so much as out of bed?
+ When all the birds have matins said,
+ And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin,
+ Nay, profanation, to keep in,
+ Whenas a thousand virgins on this day
+ Spring sooner than the lark to fetch in May.
+
+ Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen
+ To come forth like the spring-time fresh and green,
+ And sweet as Flora. Take no care
+ For jewels for your gown or hair:
+ Fear not; the leaves will strew
+ Gems in abundance upon you:
+ Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
+ Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.
+ Come, and receive them while the light
+ Hangs on the dew-locks of the night,
+ And Titan on the eastern hill
+ Retires himself, or else stands still
+ Till you come forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying:
+ Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.
+
+ Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark
+ How each field turns a street, each street a park,
+ Made green and trimmed with trees! see how
+ Devotion gives each house a bough
+ Or branch! each porch, each door, ere this,
+ An ark, a tabernacle is,
+ Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove,
+ As if here were those cooler shades of love.
+ Can such delights be in the street
+ And open fields, and we not see 't?
+ Come, we'll abroad: and let's obey
+ The proclamation made for May,
+ And sin no more, as we have done, by staying,
+ But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
+
+ There's not a budding boy or girl this day,
+ But is got up and gone to bring in May.
+ A deal of youth ere this is come
+ Back and with white-thorn laden home.
+ Some have despatched their cakes and cream,
+ Before that we have left to dream:
+ And some have wept and wooed, and plighted troth,
+ And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
+ Many a green-gown has been given,
+ Many a kiss, both odd and even:
+ Many a glance too has been sent
+ From out the eye, love's firmament:
+ Many a jest told of the keys betraying
+ This night, and locks picked: yet we're not a-Maying.
+
+ Come, let us go, while we are in our prime,
+ And take the harmless folly of the time!
+ We shall grow old apace, and die
+ Before we know our liberty.
+ Our life is short, and our days run
+ As fast away as does the sun.
+ And, as a vapour or a drop of rain,
+ Once lost can ne'er be found again,
+ So when or you or I are made
+ A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
+ All love, all liking, all delight,
+ Lies drowned with us in endless night.
+ Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying,
+ Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
+
+ _Herrick._
+
+
+
+
+ VIII
+
+ TO ANTHEA
+
+ WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING
+
+
+ Bid me to live, and I will live
+ Thy Protestant to be;
+ Or bid me love and I will give
+ A loving heart to thee.
+
+ A heart as soft, a heart as kind,
+ A heart as sound and free,
+ As in the whole world thou canst find,
+ That heart I'll give to thee.
+
+ Bid that heart stay, and it will stay
+ To honour thy decree;
+ Or bid it languish quite away,
+ And 't shall do so for thee.
+
+ Bid me to weep, and I will weep
+ While I have eyes to see;
+ And, having none, yet I will keep
+ A heart to weep for thee.
+
+ Bid me despair, and I'll despair
+ Under that cypress-tree;
+ Or bid me die, and I will dare
+ E'en death to die for thee.
+
+ Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
+ The very eyes of me,
+ And hast command of every part,
+ To live and die for thee.
+
+ _Herrick._
+
+
+
+
+ IX
+
+ MEMENTO MORI
+
+
+ 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 turn to coal,
+ Then chiefly lives.
+
+ _Herbert._
+
+
+
+
+ X
+
+ THE KING OF KINGS
+
+
+ The glories of our birth and state
+ Are shadows, not substantial things:
+ There is no armour against fate:
+ Death lays his icy hand on kings:
+ Sceptre and crown
+ Must tumble down,
+ And in the dust be equal made
+ With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
+
+ Some men with swords may reap the field,
+ And plant fresh laurels when they kill,
+ But their strong nerves at last must yield:
+ They tame but one another still.
+ Early or late
+ They stoop to fate,
+ And must give up their murmuring breath
+ When they, pale captives, creep to death.
+
+ The garlands wither on their brow--
+ Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
+ Upon Death's purple altar now
+ See where the victor-victim bleeds!
+ All heads must come
+ To the cold tomb:
+ Only the actions of the just
+ Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.
+
+ _Shirley._
+
+
+
+
+ XI
+
+ LYCIDAS
+
+
+ Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more,
+ Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
+ I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
+ And with forced fingers rude
+ Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
+ Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,
+ Compels me to disturb your season due:
+ For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
+ Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer:
+ Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew
+ Himself to sing and build the lofty rhyme.
+ He must not float upon his watery bier
+ Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
+ Without the meed of some melodious tear.
+ Begin, then, sisters of the sacred well,
+ That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring;
+ Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string;
+ Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse:
+ So may some gentle Muse
+ With lucky words favour my destined urn,
+ And, as he passes, turn
+ And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud!
+ For we were nursed upon the selfsame hill,
+ Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill.
+ Together both, ere the high lawns appeared
+ Under the opening eyelids of the morn,
+ We drove afield, and both together heard
+ What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn
+ Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night,
+ Oft till the star that rose at evening bright
+ Towards heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel.
+ Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute,
+ Tempered to the oaten flute;
+ Rough satyrs danced, and fauns with cloven heel
+ From the glad sound would not be absent long;
+ And old Damoetas loved to hear our song.
+ But O the heavy change, now thou art gone,
+ Now thou art gone, and never must return!
+ Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves
+ With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown,
+ And all their echoes, mourn.
+ The willows and the hazel copses green
+ Shall now no more be seen
+ Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays,
+ As killing as the canker to the rose,
+ Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
+ Or frost to flowers that their gay wardrobe wear
+ When first the white-thorn blows,
+ Such, Lycidas, thy loss to Shepherds' ear.
+ Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep
+ Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas?
+ For neither were ye playing on the steep
+ Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,
+ Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
+ Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream:
+ Ay me! I fondly dream
+ 'Had ye been there,' ... for what could that have done?
+ What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
+ The Muse herself, for her enchanting son
+ Whom universal nature did lament,
+ When by the rout that made the hideous roar
+ His gory visage down the stream was sent,
+ Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
+ Alas! what boots it with incessant care
+ To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade,
+ And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?
+ Were it not better done, as others use,
+ To sport with Amaryllis in the shade
+ Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair?
+ Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
+ (That last infirmity of noble mind)
+ To scorn delights and live laborious days;
+ But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
+ And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
+ Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears,
+ And slits the thin-spun life. 'But not the praise,'
+ Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears:
+ 'Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
+ Nor in the glistering foil
+ Set off to the world nor in broad rumour lies,
+ But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes
+ And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
+ As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
+ Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.'
+ O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood,
+ Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds,
+ That strain I heard was of a higher mood!
+ But now my oat proceeds,
+ And listens to the Herald of the Sea
+ That came in Neptune's plea.
+ He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds,
+ What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain?
+ And questioned every gust of rugged wings
+ That blows from off each beaked promontory:
+ They knew not of his story,
+ And sage Hippotades their answer brings,
+ That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed:
+ The air was calm, and on the level brine
+ Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.
+ It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
+ Built in the eclipse and rigged with curses dark,
+ That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.
+ Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow,
+ His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,
+ Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge
+ Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe.
+ 'Ah! who hath reft,' quoth he, 'my dearest pledge?'
+ Last came, and last did go,
+ The Pilot of the Galilean Lake;
+ Two massy keys he bore of metals twain
+ (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).
+ He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake:
+ 'How well could I have spared for thee, young swain,
+ Enow of such as for their bellies' sake
+ Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold!
+ Of other care they little reckoning make
+ Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast,
+ And shove away the worthy bidden guest;
+ Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold
+ A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the least
+ That to the faithful herdman's art belongs!
+ What recks it them? What need they? They are sped;
+ And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs
+ Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;
+ The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
+ But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw,
+ Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread:
+ Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw
+ Daily devours apace, and nothing said:
+ But that two-handed engine at the door
+ Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.'
+ Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past
+ That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,
+ And call the vales, and bid them hither cast
+ Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues.
+ Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use
+ Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
+ On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks;
+ Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes
+ That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers,
+ And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
+ Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
+ The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine,
+ The white pink and the pansy freaked with jet,
+ The glowing violet,
+ The musk-rose and the well-attired woodbine,
+ With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
+ And every flower that sad embroidery wears:
+ Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed,
+ And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
+ To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
+ For, so to interpose a little ease,
+ Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise;
+ Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas
+ Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled;
+ Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
+ Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
+ Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world;
+ Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,
+ Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,
+ Where the great vision of the guarded mount
+ Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;
+ Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth:
+ And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
+ Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more,
+ For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,
+ Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor.
+ So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
+ And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
+ And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore
+ Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
+ So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,
+ Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves,
+ Where, other groves and other streams along,
+ With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
+ And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
+ In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love
+ There entertain him all the Saints above,
+ In solemn troops and sweet societies
+ That sing, and singing in their glory move,
+ And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
+ Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;
+ Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore
+ In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
+ To all that wander in that perilous flood.
+ Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,
+ While the still morn went out with sandals grey;
+ He touched the tender stops of various quills,
+ With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
+ And now the sun had stretched out all the hills,
+ And now was dropt into the western bay:
+ At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue;
+ To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XII
+
+ ARMS AND THE MUSE
+
+ WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED ON THE CITY
+
+
+ Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,
+ Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,
+ If deed of honour did thee ever please,
+ Guard them, and him within protect from harms.
+ He can requite thee; for he knows the charms
+ That call fame on such gentle acts as these,
+ And he can spread thy name o'er land and seas,
+ Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.
+ Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower:
+ The great Emanthian conqueror bid spare
+ The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
+ Went to the ground; and the repeated air
+ Of sad Electra's poet had the power
+ To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XIII
+
+ TO THE LORD GENERAL
+
+
+ Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud
+ Not of war only, but detractions rude,
+ Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
+ To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,
+ And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
+ Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued,
+ While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued,
+ And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud,
+ And Worcester's laureate wreath: yet much remains
+ To conquer still; peace hath her victories
+ No less renowned than war: new foes arise,
+ Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains.
+ Help us to save free conscience from the paw
+ Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XIV
+
+ THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT
+
+
+ Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
+ Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
+ Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
+ When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,
+ Forget not: in thy book record their groans
+ Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
+ Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that rolled
+ Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
+ The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
+ To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow
+ O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway
+ The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow
+ A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way,
+ Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XV
+
+ ON HIS BLINDNESS
+
+
+ When I consider how my light is spent
+ Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
+ And that one talent which is death to hide
+ Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
+ To serve therewith my Maker, and present
+ My true account, lest He, returning, chide;
+ 'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?'
+ I fondly ask: but patience, to prevent
+ That murmur soon replies: 'God doth not need
+ Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
+ Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
+ Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
+ And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
+ They also serve who only stand and wait.'
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XVI
+
+ EYELESS AT GAZA
+
+
+ This, this is he; softly a while;
+ Let us not break in upon him.
+ O change beyond report, thought, or belief!
+ See how he lies at random, carelessly diffused
+ With languished head unpropt,
+ As one past hope, abandoned,
+ And by himself given over,
+ In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds
+ O'er-worn and soiled.
+ Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he,
+ That heroic, that renowned,
+ Irresistible Samson? whom unarmed
+ No strength of man or fiercest wild beast could withstand;
+ Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid;
+ Ran on embattled armies clad in iron,
+ And, weaponless himself,
+ Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery
+ Of brazen shield and spear, the hammered cuirass,
+ Chalybean-tempered steel, and frock of mail
+ Adamantean proof: But safest he who stood aloof,
+ When insupportably his foot advanced,
+ In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools,
+ Spurned them to death by troops. The bold Ascalonite
+ Fled from his lion ramp; old warriors turned
+ Their plated backs under his heel,
+ Or grovelling soiled their crested helmets in the dust.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XVII
+
+ OUT OF ADVERSITY
+
+
+ O how comely it is, and how reviving
+ To the spirits of just men long oppressed,
+ When God into the hands of their deliverer
+ Puts invincible might
+ To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor,
+ The brute and boisterous force of violent men,
+ Hardy and industrious to support
+ Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue
+ The righteous and all such as honour truth!
+ He all their ammunition
+ And feats of war defeats,
+ With plain heroic magnitude of mind
+ And celestial vigour armed;
+ Their armouries and magazines contemns,
+ Renders them useless, while
+ With winged expedition
+ Swift as the lightning glance he executes
+ His errand on the wicked, who, surprised,
+ Lose their defence, distracted and amazed.
+
+ _Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ XVIII
+
+ HEROIC LOVE
+
+
+ My dear and only love, I pray
+ That little world of thee
+ Be governed by no other sway
+ But purest monarchy;
+ For if confusion have a part,
+ Which virtuous souls abhor,
+ And hold a synod in thy heart,
+ I'll never love thee more.
+
+ Like Alexander I will reign,
+ And I will reign alone:
+ My thoughts did evermore disdain
+ A rival on my throne.
+ He either fears his fate too much,
+ Or his deserts are small,
+ Who dares not put it to the touch,
+ To gain or lose it all.
+
+ But, if thou wilt prove faithful then
+ And constant of thy word,
+ I'll make thee glorious by my pen,
+ And famous by my sword;
+ I'll serve thee in such noble ways
+ Was never heard before;
+ I'll crown and deck thee all with bays
+ And love thee more and more.
+
+ _Montrose._
+
+
+
+
+ XIX
+
+ GOING TO THE WARS
+
+
+ Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
+ That from the nunnery
+ Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
+ To war and arms I fly.
+
+ True, a new mistress now I chase,
+ The first foe in the field,
+ And with a stronger faith embrace
+ A sword, a horse, a shield.
+
+ Yet this inconstancy is such
+ As you too shall adore:
+ I could not love thee, Dear, so much
+ Loved I not Honour more.
+
+ _Lovelace._
+
+
+
+
+ XX
+
+ FROM PRISON
+
+
+ When Love with unconfined wings
+ Hovers within my gates,
+ And my divine Althea brings
+ To whisper at the grates;
+ When I lie tangled in her hair
+ And fettered to her eye,
+ The Gods that wanton in the air
+ Know no such liberty.
+
+ When flowing cups run swiftly round
+ With no allaying Thames,
+ Our careless heads with roses crowned,
+ Our hearts with loyal flames;
+ When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
+ When healths and draughts go free,
+ Fishes that tipple in the deep
+ Know no such liberty.
+
+ When, linnet-like confined, I
+ With shriller throat shall sing
+ The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
+ And glories of my King;
+ When I shall voice aloud how good
+ He is, how great should be,
+ Enlarged winds that curl the flood
+ Know no such liberty.
+
+ Stone walls do not a prison make,
+ Nor iron bars a cage;
+ Minds innocent and quiet take
+ That for an hermitage:
+ If I have freedom in my love
+ And in my soul am free,
+ Angels alone that soar above
+ Enjoy such liberty.
+
+ _Lovelace._
+
+
+
+
+ XXI
+
+ TWO KINGS
+
+
+ The forward youth that would appear
+ Must now forsake his Muses dear,
+ Nor in the shadows sing
+ His numbers languishing.
+
+ 'Tis time to leave the books in dust,
+ And oil the unused armour's rust,
+ Removing from the wall
+ The corselet of the hall.
+
+ So restless Cromwell could not cease
+ In the inglorious arts of peace,
+ But through adventurous war
+ Urged his active star;
+
+ And, like the three-forked lightning, first
+ Breaking the clouds where it was nurst,
+ Did thorough his own side
+ His fiery way divide;
+
+ For 'tis all one to courage high,
+ The emulous or enemy,
+ And with such to inclose
+ Is more than to oppose;
+
+ Then burning through the air he went,
+ And palaces and temples rent;
+ And Caesar's head at last
+ Did through his laurels blast.
+
+ 'Tis madness to resist or blame
+ The face of angry Heaven's flame;
+ And if we would speak true,
+ Much to the man is due,
+
+ Who from his private gardens, where
+ He lived reserved and austere,
+ As if his highest plot
+ To plant the bergamot,
+
+ Could by industrious valour climb
+ To ruin the great work of Time,
+ And cast the kingdoms old
+ Into another mould.
+
+ Though Justice against Fate complain,
+ And plead the ancient rights in vain
+ (But those do hold or break,
+ As men are strong or weak),
+
+ Nature, that hated emptiness,
+ Allows of penetration less,
+ And therefore must make room
+ Where greater spirits come.
+
+ What field of all the civil war,
+ Where his were not the deepest scar?
+ And Hampton shows what part
+ He had of wiser art,
+
+ Where, twining subtile fears with hope,
+ He wove a net of such a scope
+ That Charles himself might chase
+ To Carisbrook's narrow case,
+
+ That thence the royal actor borne
+ The tragic scaffold might adorn:
+ While round the armed bands,
+ Did clap their bloody hands.
+
+ He nothing common did or mean
+ Upon that memorable scene,
+ But with his keener eye
+ The axe's edge did try;
+
+ Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
+ To vindicate his helpless right,
+ But bowed his comely head
+ Down, as upon a bed.
+
+ This was that memorable hour
+ Which first assured the forced power:
+ So, when they did design
+ The Capitol's first line,
+
+ A bleeding head, where they begun,
+ Did fright the architects to run;
+ And yet in that the State
+ Foresaw its happy fate!
+
+ And now the Irish are ashamed
+ To see themselves in one year tamed:
+ So much one man can do
+ That doth both act and know.
+
+ They can affirm his praises best,
+ And have, though overcome, confessed
+ How good he is, how just,
+ And fit for highest trust;
+
+ Nor yet grown stiffer with command,
+ But still in the Republic's hand
+ (How fit he is to sway,
+ That can so well obey!),
+
+ He to the Commons' feet presents
+ A kingdom for his first year's rents,
+ And (what he may) forbears
+ His fame to make it theirs:
+
+ And has his sword and spoils ungirt
+ To lay them at the public's skirt.
+ So when the falcon high
+ Falls heavy from the sky,
+
+ She, having killed, no more doth search
+ But on the next green bough to perch,
+ Where, when he first does lure,
+ The falconer has her sure.
+
+ What may not then our isle presume
+ While victory his crest does plume?
+ What may not others fear
+ If thus he crowns each year?
+
+ As Caesar he, ere long, to Gaul,
+ To Italy an Hannibal,
+ And to all states not free
+ Shall climacteric be.
+
+ The Pict no shelter now shall find
+ Within his party-coloured mind,
+ But from this valour sad
+ Shrink underneath the plaid;
+
+ Happy if in the tufted brake
+ The English hunter him mistake,
+ Nor lay his hounds in near
+ The Caledonian deer.
+
+ But thou, the war's and fortune's son,
+ March indefatigably on,
+ And for the last effect,
+ Still keep the sword erect:
+
+ Besides the force it has to fright
+ The spirits of the shady night,
+ The same arts that did gain,
+ A power must it maintain.
+
+ _Marvell._
+
+
+
+
+ XXII
+
+ IN EXILE
+
+
+ Where the remote Bermudas ride
+ In the Ocean's bosom unespied,
+ From a small boat that rowed along
+ The listening winds received this song.
+ 'What should we do but sing his praise
+ That led us through the watery maze,
+ Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks
+ That lift the deep upon their backs,
+ Unto an isle so long unknown,
+ And yet far kinder than our own?
+ He lands us on a grassy stage,
+ Safe from the storms and prelates' rage:
+ He gave us this eternal spring
+ Which here enamels everything,
+ And sends the fowls to us in care
+ On daily visits through the air.
+ He hangs in shades the orange bright
+ Like golden lamps in a green night,
+ And does in the pomegranates close
+ Jewels more rich than Ormus shows:
+ He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
+ And throws the melons at our feet;
+ But apples plants of such a price,
+ No tree could ever bear them twice.
+ With cedars chosen by his hand
+ From Lebanon he stores the land,
+ And makes the hollow seas that roar
+ Proclaim the ambergrease on shore.
+ He cast (of which we rather boast)
+ The Gospel's pearl upon our coast,
+ And in these rocks for us did frame
+ A temple where to sound his name.
+ O let our voice his praise exalt
+ 'Till it arrive at heaven's vault,
+ Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may
+ Echo beyond the Mexique Bay!'
+ Thus sang they in the English boat
+ A holy and a cheerful note:
+ And all the way, to guide their chime,
+ With falling oars they kept the time.
+
+ _Marvell._
+
+
+
+
+ XXIII
+
+ ALEXANDER'S FEAST
+
+
+ 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won
+ By Philip's warlike son:
+ Aloft in awful state
+ The godlike hero sate
+ On his imperial throne;
+ His valiant peers were placed around,
+ Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound
+ (So should desert in arms be crowned);
+ The lovely Thais by his side
+ Sate like a blooming Eastern bride
+ In flower of youth and beauty's pride.
+ Happy, happy, happy pair!
+ None but the brave,
+ None but the brave,
+ None but the brave deserves the fair!
+ Timotheus, placed on high
+ Amid the tuneful quire,
+ With flying fingers touched the lyre:
+ The trembling notes ascend the sky
+ And heavenly joys inspire.
+ The song began from Jove
+ Who left his blissful seats above,
+ Such is the power of mighty love!
+ A dragon's fiery form belied the god;
+ Sublime on radiant spires he rode
+ When he to fair Olympia pressed,
+ And while he sought her snowy breast,
+ Then round her slender waist he curled,
+ And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world.
+ The listening crowd admire the lofty sound;
+ A present deity! they shout around:
+ A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound:
+ With ravished ears
+ The monarch hears,
+ Assumes the god;
+ Affects to nod
+ And seems to shake the spheres.
+
+ The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung,
+ Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:
+ The jolly god in triumph comes;
+ Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!
+ Flushed with a purple grace
+ He shows his honest face:
+ Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes!
+ Bacchus, ever fair and young,
+ Drinking joys did first ordain;
+ Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
+ Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:
+ Rich the treasure,
+ Sweet the pleasure,
+ Sweet is pleasure after pain.
+
+ Soothed with the sound the king grew vain;
+ Fought all his battles o'er again,
+ And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain!
+ The master saw the madness rise,
+ His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
+ And while he heaven and earth defied
+ Changed his hand, and checked his pride.
+ He chose a mournful Muse
+ Soft pity to infuse:
+ He sung Darius great and good,
+ By too severe a fate
+ Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
+ Fallen from his high estate,
+ And weltering in his blood;
+ Deserted at his utmost need
+ By those his former bounty fed,
+ On the bare earth exposed he lies
+ With not a friend to close his eyes.
+ With downcast looks the joyless victor sate,
+ Revolving in his altered soul
+ The various turns of Chance below
+ And now and then a sigh he stole,
+ And tears began to flow.
+
+ The mighty master smiled to see
+ That love was in the next degree;
+ 'Twas but a kindred-sound to move,
+ For pity melts the mind to love.
+ Softly sweet, in Lydian measures
+ Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures.
+ War, he sang, is toil and trouble,
+ Honour but an empty bubble;
+ Never ending, still beginning,
+ Fighting still, and still destroying;
+ If the world be worth thy winning,
+ Think, O think, it worth enjoying:
+ Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
+ Take the good the gods provide thee.
+ The many rend the skies with loud applause;
+ So love was crowned, but Music won the cause.
+ The prince, unable to conceal his pain,
+ Gazed on the fair
+ Who caused his care,
+ And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,
+ Sighed and looked, and sighed again:
+ At length, with love and wine at once oppressed,
+ The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.
+
+ Now strike the golden lyre again:
+ A louder yet, and yet a louder strain!
+ Break his bands of sleep asunder
+ And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder.
+ Hark, hark! the horrid sound
+ Has raised up his head;
+ As awaked from the dead,
+ And amazed he stares around.
+ Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
+ See the Furies arise!
+ See the snakes that they rear,
+ How they hiss in their hair,
+ And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
+ Behold a ghastly band,
+ Each a torch in his hand!
+ Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain
+ And unburied remain
+ Inglorious on the plain:
+ Give the vengeance due
+ To the valiant crew!
+ Behold how they toss their torches on high,
+ How they point to the Persian abodes
+ And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
+ The princes applaud with a furious joy:
+ And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy;
+ Thais led the way
+ To light him to his prey,
+ And like another Helen fired another Troy!
+
+ Thus long ago,
+ Ere heaving bellows learned to blow,
+ While organs yet were mute,
+ Timotheus, to his breathing flute
+ And sounding lyre,
+ Could swell the soul to rage or kindle soft desire.
+ At last divine Cecilia came,
+ Inventress of the vocal frame;
+ The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store
+ Enlarged the former narrow bounds,
+ And added length to solemn sounds,
+ With Nature's mother-wit and arts unknown before
+ Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
+ Or both divide the crown:
+ He raised a mortal to the skies;
+ She drew an angel down.
+
+ _Dryden._
+
+
+
+
+ XXIV
+
+ THE QUIET LIFE
+
+
+ Condemned to Hope's delusive mine,
+ As on we toil from day to day,
+ By sudden blast or slow decline
+ Our social comforts drop away.
+
+ Well tried through many a varying year,
+ See Levett to the grave descend:
+ Officious, innocent, sincere,
+ Of every friendless name the friend.
+
+ Yet still he fills affection's eye,
+ Obscurely wise and coarsely kind;
+ Nor, lettered arrogance, deny
+ Thy praise to merit unrefined.
+
+ When fainting Nature called for aid,
+ And hovering death prepared the blow,
+ His vigorous remedy displayed
+ The power of art without the show.
+
+ In misery's darkest caverns known,
+ His ready help was ever nigh,
+ Where hopeless anguish poured his groan,
+ And lonely want retired to die.
+
+ No summons mocked by chill delay,
+ No petty gains disdained by pride:
+ The modest wants of every day
+ The toil of every day supplied.
+
+ His virtues walked their narrow round,
+ Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
+ And sure the eternal Master found
+ His single talent well employed.
+
+ The busy day, the peaceful night,
+ Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;
+ His frame was firm, his powers were bright,
+ Though now his eightieth year was nigh.
+
+ Then, with no throbs of fiery pain,
+ No cold gradations of decay,
+ Death broke at once the vital chain,
+ And freed his soul the nearest way.
+
+ _Johnson._
+
+
+
+
+ XXV
+
+ CHEVY CHACE
+
+
+ THE HUNTING
+
+ God prosper long our noble king,
+ Our lives and safeties all;
+ A woeful hunting once there did
+ In Chevy-Chace befall;
+
+ To drive the deer with hound and horn
+ Erle Percy took his way;
+ The child may rue that is unborn,
+ The hunting of that day.
+
+ The stout Erle of Northumberland
+ A vow to God did make,
+ His pleasure in the Scottish woods
+ Three summer's days to take,
+
+ The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chace
+ To kill and bear away.
+ These tydings to Erle Douglas came,
+ In Scotland where he lay:
+
+ Who sent Erle Percy present word,
+ He wold prevent his sport.
+ The English Erle, not fearing that,
+ Did to the woods resort
+
+ With fifteen hundred bow-men bold,
+ All chosen men of might,
+ Who knew full well in time of neede
+ To ayme their shafts aright.
+
+ The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
+ To chase the fallow deere:
+ On Monday they began to hunt,
+ Ere daylight did appeare;
+
+ And long before high noone they had
+ An hundred fat buckes slaine;
+ Then having dined, the drovyers went
+ To rouse the deere againe.
+
+ The bow-men mustered on the hills,
+ Well able to endure;
+ Their backsides all, with special care
+ That day were guarded sure.
+
+ The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,
+ The nimble deere to take,
+ And with their cryes the hills and dales
+ An echo shrill did make.
+
+ Lord Percy to the quarry went,
+ To view the slaughtered deere:
+ Quoth he, 'Erle Douglas promised
+ This day to meet me here,
+
+ But if I thought he wold not come,
+ No longer wold I stay.'
+ With that, a brave younge gentleman
+ Thus to the Erle did say:
+
+ 'Lo, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,
+ His men in armour bright;
+ Full twenty hundred Scottish speares
+ All marching in our sight;
+
+ All men of pleasant Tivydale,
+ Fast by the river Tweede':
+ 'O, cease your sports,' Erle Percy said,
+ 'And take your bowes with speede;
+
+ And now with me, my countrymen,
+ Your courage forth advance,
+ For there was never champion yet,
+ In Scotland or in France,
+
+ That ever did on horsebacke come,
+ But if my hap it were,
+ I durst encounter man for man,
+ And with him break a speare.'
+
+
+ THE CHALLENGE
+
+ Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede,
+ Most like a baron bold,
+ Rode foremost of his company,
+ Whose armour shone like gold.
+
+ 'Show me,' said he, 'whose men ye be,
+ That hunt so boldly here,
+ That, without my consent, do chase
+ And kill my fallow-deere.'
+
+ The first man that did answer make,
+ Was noble Percy he;
+ Who sayd, 'We list not to declare,
+ Nor shew whose men we be,
+
+ Yet we will spend our dearest blood,
+ Thy chiefest harts to slay.'
+ Then Douglas swore a solemn oath,
+ And thus in rage did say:
+
+ 'Ere thus I will out-braved be,
+ One of us two shall dye:
+ I know thee well, an erle thou art;
+ Lord Percy, so am I.
+
+ But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,
+ And great offence to kill
+ Any of these our guiltlesse men,
+ For they have done no ill.
+
+ Let thou and I the battell trye,
+ And set our men aside.'
+ 'Accurst be he,' Erle Percy said,
+ 'By whom this is denied.'
+
+ Then stept a gallant squier forth,
+ Witherington was his name,
+ Who said, 'I wold not have it told
+ To Henry our king for shame,
+
+ That ere my captaine fought on foote,
+ And I stood looking on.
+ Ye be two erles,' said Witherington,
+ 'And I a squier alone:
+
+ Ile do the best that do I may,
+ While I have power to stand:
+ While I have power to wield my sword,
+ Ile fight with heart and hand.'
+
+
+ THE BATTLE
+
+ Our English archers bent their bowes,
+ Their hearts were good and trew,
+ At the first flight of arrowes sent,
+ Full fourscore Scots they slew.
+
+ Yet bides Erle Douglas on the bent,
+ As Chieftain stout and good.
+ As valiant Captain, all unmoved
+ The shock he firmly stood.
+
+ His host he parted had in three,
+ As leader ware and try'd,
+ And soon his spearmen on their foes
+ Bare down on every side.
+
+ Throughout the English archery
+ They dealt full many a wound;
+ But still our valiant Englishmen
+ All firmly kept their ground,
+
+ And, throwing strait their bowes away,
+ They grasped their swords so bright,
+ And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
+ On shields and helmets light.
+
+ They closed full fast on every side,
+ No slackness there was found;
+ And many a gallant gentleman
+ Lay gasping on the ground.
+
+ O Christ! it was a griefe to see,
+ And likewise for to heare,
+ The cries of men lying in their gore,
+ And scattered here and there!
+
+ At last these two stout erles did meet,
+ Like captaines of great might:
+ Like lions wode, they laid on lode,
+ And made a cruel fight:
+
+ They fought untill they both did sweat
+ With swords of tempered steele;
+ Until the blood like drops of rain
+ They trickling downe did feele.
+
+ 'Yield thee, Lord Percy,' Douglas said;
+ 'In faith I will thee bringe,
+ Where thou shalt high advanced be
+ By James our Scottish king:
+
+ Thy ransome I will freely give,
+ And this report of thee,
+ Thou art the most courageous knight,
+ That ever I did see.'
+
+ 'No, Douglas,' quoth Erle Percy then,
+ 'Thy proffer I do scorne;
+ I will not yield to any Scot,
+ That ever yet was borne.'
+
+ With that, there came an arrow keene
+ Out of an English bow,
+ Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,
+ A deep and deadly blow:
+
+ Who never spake more words than these,
+ 'Fight on, my merry men all;
+ For why, my life is at an end;
+ Lord Percy sees my fall.'
+
+ Then leaving life, Erle Percy tooke
+ The dead man by the hand;
+ And said, 'Erle Douglas, for thy life
+ Wold I had lost my land!
+
+ O Christ! my very heart doth bleed
+ With sorrow for thy sake,
+ For sure, a more redoubted knight
+ Mischance could never take.'
+
+ A knight amongst the Scots there was,
+ Which saw Erle Douglas dye,
+ Who straight in wrath did vow revenge
+ Upon the Lord Percye.
+
+ Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he called
+ Who, with a speare most bright,
+ Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
+ Ran fiercely through the fight,
+
+ And past the English archers all,
+ Without or dread or feare,
+ And through Erle Percy's body then
+ He thrust his hateful speare.
+
+ With such a vehement force and might
+ He did his body gore,
+ The staff ran through the other side
+ A large cloth-yard, and more.
+
+ So thus did both these nobles dye,
+ Whose courage none could staine!
+ An English archer then perceived
+ The noble Erle was slaine:
+
+ He had a bow bent in his hand,
+ Made of a trusty tree;
+ An arrow of a cloth-yard long
+ Up to the head drew he;
+
+ Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye
+ So right the shaft he set,
+ The grey goose-winge that was thereon
+ In his heart's bloode was wet.
+
+ This fight did last from breake of day
+ Till setting of the sun;
+ For when they rung the evening-bell,
+ The battle scarce was done.
+
+
+ THE SLAIN
+
+ With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine
+ Sir John of Egerton,
+ Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,
+ Sir James, that bold baron;
+
+ And with Sir George and stout Sir James,
+ Both knights of good account,
+ Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine,
+ Whose prowesse did surmount.
+
+ For Witherington needs must I wayle,
+ As one in doleful dumpes;
+ For when his legs were smitten off,
+ He fought upon his stumpes.
+
+ And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine
+ Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
+ Sir Charles Murray, that from the field
+ One foote would never flee;
+
+ Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too,
+ His sister's sonne was he;
+ Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed,
+ Yet saved he could not be;
+
+ And the Lord Maxwell in like case
+ Did with Erle Douglas dye:
+ Of twenty hundred Scottish speares,
+ Scarce fifty-five did flye.
+
+ Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,
+ Went home but fifty-three:
+ The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chace,
+ Under the greene woode tree.
+
+ Next day did many widdowes come,
+ Their husbands to bewayle;
+ They washt their wounds in brinish teares,
+ But all wold not prevayle;
+
+ Their bodyes, bathed in purple gore,
+ They bore with them away;
+ They kist them dead a thousand times,
+ Ere they were clad in clay.
+
+
+ THE TIDINGS
+
+ The newes was brought to Eddenborrow,
+ Where Scotland's king did raigne,
+ That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye
+ Was with an arrow slaine:
+
+ 'O heavy newes,' King James did say,
+ 'Scotland may witnesse be,
+ I have not any captaine more
+ Of such account as he.'
+
+ Like tydings to King Henry came,
+ Within as short a space,
+ That Percy of Northumberland
+ Was slaine in Chevy-Chace:
+
+ 'Now God be with him,' said our king,
+ 'Sith it will no better be;
+ I trust I have, within my realme,
+ Five hundred as good as he:
+
+ Yet shall not Scots nor Scotland say,
+ But I will vengeance take:
+ I'll be revenged on them all,
+ For brave Erle Percy's sake.'
+
+ This vow full well the king performed
+ After, at Humbledowne;
+ In one day, fifty knights were slayne,
+ With lords of great renowne,
+
+ And of the rest, of small account,
+ Did many thousands dye.
+ Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace,
+ Made by the Erle Percye.
+
+ God save our king, and bless this land
+ With plentye, joy, and peace,
+ And grant henceforth that foule debate
+ 'Twixt noblemen may cease!
+
+
+
+
+ XXVI
+
+ SIR PATRICK SPENS
+
+
+ The King sits in Dunfermline town,
+ Drinking the blude-red wine:
+ 'O whaur will I get a skeely skipper
+ To sail this new ship o' mine?'
+
+ O up and spake an eldern knight,
+ Sat at the King's right knee:
+ 'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
+ That ever sailed the sea.'
+
+ Our King has written a braid letter
+ And sealed it wi' his hand,
+ And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
+ Was walking on the strand.
+
+ 'To Noroway, to Noroway,
+ To Noroway o'er the faem;
+ The King's daughter to Noroway,
+ 'Tis thou maun bring her hame.'
+
+ The first word that Sir Patrick read,
+ Sae loud, loud lauched he;
+ The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
+ The tear blinded his ee.
+
+ 'O wha is this has done this deed,
+ And tauld the King of me,
+ To send us out at this time o' year
+ To sail upon the sea?
+
+ Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,
+ Our ship must sail the faem;
+ The King's daughter to Noroway,
+ 'Tis we must bring her hame.'
+
+ They hoysed their sails on Monday morn
+ Wi' a' the speed they may;
+ They hae landed in Noroway
+ Upon a Wodensday.
+
+ They hadna been a week, a week,
+ In Noroway but twae,
+ When that the lords o' Noroway
+ Began aloud to say:
+
+ 'Ye Scottishmen spend a' our King's goud
+ And a' our Queenis fee.'
+ 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud,
+ Fu' loud I hear ye lie!
+
+ For I brought as mickle white monie
+ As gane my men and me,
+ And I brought a half-fou o' gude red goud
+ Out-o'er the sea wi' me.
+
+ Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a'!
+ Our gude ship sails the morn.'
+ 'Now, ever alake, my master dear,
+ I fear a deadly storm.
+
+ I saw the new moon late yestreen
+ Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
+ And, if we gang to sea, master,
+ I fear we'll come to harm.'
+
+ They hadna sailed a league, a league,
+ A league but barely three,
+ When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
+ And gurly grew the sea.
+
+ 'O where will I get a gude sailor
+ To tak' my helm in hand,
+ Till I gae up to the tall topmast
+ To see if I can spy land?'
+
+ 'O here am I, a sailor gude,
+ To tak' the helm in hand,
+ Till you gae up to the tall topmast;
+ But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.'
+
+ He hadna gane a step, a step,
+ A step but barely ane,
+ When a bolt flew out o' our goodly ship,
+ And the salt sea it came in.
+
+ 'Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith,
+ Anither o' the twine,
+ And wap them into our ship's side,
+ And letna the sea come in.'
+
+ They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
+ Anither o' the twine,
+ And they wapped them round that gude ship's side,
+ But still the sea cam' in.
+
+ O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
+ To weet their milk-white hands;
+ But lang ere a' the play was ower
+ They wat their gowden bands.
+
+ O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
+ To weet their cork-heeled shoon;
+ But lang ere a' the play was played
+ They wat their hats aboon.
+
+ O lang, lang may the ladies sit
+ Wi' their fans intill their hand,
+ Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
+ Come sailing to the strand!
+
+ And lang, lang may the maidens sit
+ Wi' their goud kaims in their hair,
+ A' waiting for their ain dear loves!
+ For them they'll see nae mair.
+
+ Half ower, half ower to Aberdour,
+ It's fifty fathoms deep,
+ And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens
+ Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
+
+
+
+
+ XXVII
+
+ BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY
+
+
+ The fifteenth day of July,
+ With glistering spear and shield,
+ A famous fight in Flanders
+ Was foughten in the field:
+ The most conspicuous officers
+ Were English captains three,
+ But the bravest man in battel
+ Was brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+ The next was Captain Norris,
+ A valiant man was he:
+ The other, Captain Turner,
+ From field would never flee.
+ With fifteen hundred fighting men,
+ Alas! there were no more,
+ They fought with forty thousand then
+ Upon the bloody shore.
+
+ 'Stand to it, noble pikeman,
+ And look you round about:
+ And shoot you right, you bow-men,
+ And we will keep them out:
+ You musquet and cailiver men,
+ Do you prove true to me,
+ I'll be the bravest man in fight,'
+ Says brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+ And then the bloody enemy
+ They fiercely did assail,
+ And fought it out most furiously,
+ Not doubting to prevail:
+ The wounded men on both sides fell
+ Most piteous for to see,
+ But nothing could the courage quell
+ Of brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+ For seven hours to all men's view
+ This fight endured sore,
+ Until our men so feeble grew
+ That they could fight no more;
+ And then upon dead horses
+ Full savourly they eat,
+ And drank the puddle water,
+ That could no better get.
+
+ When they had fed so freely,
+ They kneeled on the ground,
+ And praised God devoutly
+ For the favour they had found;
+ And bearing up their colours,
+ The fight they did renew,
+ And cutting tow'rds the Spaniard,
+ Five thousand more they slew.
+
+ The sharp steel-pointed arrows
+ And bullets thick did fly;
+ Then did our valiant soldiers
+ Charge on most furiously:
+ Which made the Spaniards waver,
+ They thought it best to flee:
+ They feared the stout behaviour
+ Of brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+ Then quoth the Spanish general,
+ 'Come, let us march away,
+ I fear we shall be spoiled all
+ If that we longer stay:
+ For yonder comes Lord Willoughby
+ With courage fierce and fell,
+ He will not give one inch of ground
+ For all the devils in hell.'
+
+ And when the fearful enemy
+ Was quickly put to flight,
+ Our men pursued courageously
+ To rout his forces quite;
+ And at last they gave a shout
+ Which echoed through the sky:
+ 'God, and St. George for England!'
+ The conquerors did cry.
+
+ This news was brought to England
+ With all the speed might be,
+ And soon our gracious Queen was told
+ Of this same victory.
+ 'O! this is brave Lord Willoughby,
+ My love that ever won:
+ Of all the lords of honour
+ 'Tis he great deeds hath done!'
+
+ To the soldiers that were maimed,
+ And wounded in the fray,
+ The queen allowed a pension
+ Of fifteen pence a day,
+ And from all costs and charges
+ She quit and set them free:
+ And this she did all for the sake
+ Of brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+ Then courage, noble Englishmen,
+ And never be dismayed!
+ If that we be but one to ten,
+ We will not be afraid
+ To fight with foreign enemies,
+ And set our country free.
+ And thus I end the bloody bout
+ Of brave Lord Willoughby.
+
+
+
+
+ XXVIII
+
+ HUGHIE THE GRAEME
+
+
+ Good Lord Scroope to the hills is gane,
+ Hunting of the fallow deer;
+ And he has grippit Hughie the Graeme
+ For stealing of the Bishop's mare.
+
+ 'Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be!
+ Here hangs a broadsword by my side;
+ And if that thou canst conquer me,
+ The matter it may soon be tried.'
+
+ 'I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief;
+ Although thy name be Hughie the Graeme,
+ I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,
+ If God but grant me life and time.'
+
+ But as they were dealing their blows so free,
+ And both so bloody at the time,
+ Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,
+ All for to take bold Hughie the Graeme.
+
+ O then they grippit Hughie the Graeme,
+ And brought him up through Carlisle town:
+ The lads and lasses stood on the walls,
+ Crying, 'Hughie the Graeme, thou'se ne'er gae down!'
+
+ 'O loose my right hand free,' he says,
+ 'And gie me my sword o' the metal sae fine,
+ He's no in Carlisle town this day
+ Daur tell the tale to Hughie the Graeme.'
+
+ Up then and spake the brave Whitefoord,
+ As he sat by the Bishop's knee,
+ 'Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,
+ If ye'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me.'
+
+ 'O haud your tongue,' the Bishop says,
+ 'And wi' your pleading let me be;
+ For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat,
+ They suld be hangit a' for me.'
+
+ Up then and spake the fair Whitefoord,
+ As she sat by the Bishop's knee,
+ 'A peck o' white pennies, my good lord,
+ If ye'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me.'
+
+ 'O haud your tongue now, lady fair,
+ Forsooth, and so it sall na be;
+ Were he but the one Graham of the name,
+ He suld be hangit high for me.'
+
+ They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe,
+ He looked to the gallows tree,
+ Yet never colour left his cheek,
+ Nor ever did he blink his e'e.
+
+ He looked over his left shoulder
+ To try whatever he could see,
+ And he was aware of his auld father,
+ Tearing his hair most piteouslie.
+
+ 'O haud your tongue, my father dear,
+ And see that ye dinna weep for me!
+ For they may ravish me o' my life,
+ But they canna banish me fro' Heaven hie.
+
+ And ye may gie my brither John
+ My sword that's bent in the middle clear,
+ And let him come at twelve o'clock,
+ And see me pay the Bishop's mare.
+
+ And ye may gie my brither James
+ My sword that's bent in the middle brown,
+ And bid him come at four o'clock,
+ And see his brither Hugh cut down.
+
+ And ye may tell my kith and kin
+ I never did disgrace their blood;
+ And when they meet the Bishop's cloak,
+ To mak' it shorter by the hood.'
+
+
+
+
+ XXIX
+
+ KINMONT WILLIE
+
+
+ THE CAPTURE
+
+ O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde?
+ O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scroope?
+ How they hae ta'en bold Kinmont Willie,
+ On Haribee to hang him up?
+
+ Had Willie had but twenty men,
+ But twenty men as stout as he,
+ Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en,
+ Wi' eight score in his cumpanie.
+
+ They band his legs beneath the steed,
+ They tied his hands behind his back;
+ They guarded him fivesome on each side,
+ And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.
+
+ They led him thro' the Liddel-rack,
+ And also thro' the Carlisle sands;
+ They brought him on to Carlisle castle
+ To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.
+
+ 'My hands are tied, but my tongue is free,
+ And wha will dare this deed avow?
+ Or answer by the Border law?
+ Or answer to the bold Buccleuch?'
+
+ 'Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!
+ There's never a Scot shall set thee free:
+ Before ye cross my castle yett,
+ I trow ye shall take farewell o' me.'
+
+ 'Fear na ye that, my lord,' quo' Willie:
+ 'By the faith o' my body, Lord Scroope,' he said,
+ 'I never yet lodged in a hostelrie
+ But I paid my lawing before I gaed.'
+
+
+ THE KEEPER'S WRATH
+
+ Now word is gane to the bold Keeper,
+ In Branksome Ha' where that he lay,
+ That Lord Scroope has ta'en the Kinmont Willie,
+ Between the hours of night and day.
+
+ He has ta'en the table wi' his hand,
+ He garred the red wine spring on hie:
+ 'Now a curse upon my head,' he said,
+ 'But avenged of Lord Scroope I'll be!
+
+ O is my basnet a widow's curch?
+ Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?
+ Or my arm a lady's lily hand,
+ That an English lord should lightly me!
+
+ And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,
+ Against the truce of Border tide?
+ And forgotten that the bold Buccleuch
+ Is keeper here on the Scottish side?
+
+ And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,
+ Withouten either dread or fear?
+ And forgotten that the bold Buccleuch
+ Can back a steed or shake a spear?
+
+ O were there war between the lands,
+ As well I wot that there is none,
+ I would slight Carlisle castle high,
+ Though it were builded of marble stone.
+
+ I would set that castle in a lowe,
+ And slocken it with English blood!
+ There's never a man in Cumberland
+ Should ken where Carlisle castle stood.
+
+ But since nae war's between the lands,
+ And there is peace, and peace should be,
+ I'll neither harm English lad or lass,
+ And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!'
+
+
+ THE MARCH
+
+ He has called him forty Marchmen bold,
+ I trow they were of his ain name,
+ Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, called
+ The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.
+
+ He has called him forty Marchmen bold,
+ Were kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch;
+ With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,
+ And gluves of green, and feathers blue.
+
+ There were five and five before them a',
+ Wi' hunting-horns and bugles bright:
+ And five and five cam' wi' Buccleuch,
+ Like warden's men, arrayed for fight.
+
+ And five and five like a mason gang
+ That carried the ladders lang and hie;
+ And five and five like broken men;
+ And so they reached the Woodhouselee.
+
+ And as we crossed the 'Bateable Land,
+ When to the English side we held,
+ The first o' men that we met wi',
+ Whae suld it be but fause Sakelde?
+
+ 'Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?'
+ Quo' fause Sakelde; 'come tell to me!'
+ 'We go to hunt an English stag
+ Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.'
+
+ 'Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?'
+ Quo' fause Sakelde; 'come tell me true!'
+ 'We go to catch a rank reiver
+ Has broken faith wi' the bold Buccleuch.'
+
+ 'Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads,
+ Wi' a' your ladders lang and hie?'
+ 'We gang to herry a corbie's nest
+ That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.'
+
+ 'Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?'
+ Quo' fause Sakelde; 'come tell to me!'
+ Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,
+ And the never a word of lear had he.
+
+ 'Why trespass ye on the English side?
+ Row-footed outlaws, stand!' quo' he;
+ The never a word had Dickie to say,
+ Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.
+
+ Then on we held for Carlisle toun,
+ And at Staneshaw-Bank the Eden we crossed;
+ The water was great and meikle of spait,
+ But the never a horse nor man we lost.
+
+ And when we reached the Staneshaw-Bank,
+ The wind was rising loud and hie;
+ And there the Laird garred leave our steeds,
+ For fear that they should stamp and neigh.
+
+ And when we left the Staneshaw-Bank,
+ The wind began full loud to blaw;
+ But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,
+ When we came beneath the castle wa'.
+
+ We crept on knees, and held our breath,
+ Till we placed the ladders against the wa';
+ And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell
+ To mount the first before us a'.
+
+ He has ta'en the watchman by the throat,
+ He flung him down upon the lead:
+ 'Had there not been peace between our lands,
+ Upon the other side thou'dst gaed!
+
+ Now sound out, trumpets!' quo' Buccleuch;
+ 'Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!'
+ Then loud the warden's trumpet blew
+ _O wha dare meddle wi' me?_
+
+
+ THE RESCUE
+
+ Then speedilie to wark we gaed,
+ And raised the slogan ane and a',
+ And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,
+ And so we wan to the castle ha'.
+
+ They thought King James and a' his men
+ Had won the house wi' bow and spear;
+ It was but twenty Scots and ten
+ That put a thousand in sic a stear!
+
+ Wi' coulters and wi' forehammers
+ We garred the bars bang merrilie,
+ Until we came to the inner prison,
+ Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie.
+
+ And when we cam' to the lower prison,
+ Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie:
+ 'O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,
+ Upon the morn that thou's to die?'
+
+ 'O I sleep saft, and I wake aft;
+ It's lang since sleeping was fleyed frae me!
+ Gie my service back to my wife and bairns,
+ And a' gude fellows that spier for me.'
+
+ Then Red Rowan has hente him up,
+ The starkest man in Teviotdale:
+ 'Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
+ Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.
+
+ Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!
+ My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!' he cried;
+ 'I'll pay you for my lodging maill,
+ When first we meet on the Border side.'
+
+ Then shoulder high with shout and cry
+ We bore him down the ladder lang;
+ At every stride Red Rowan made,
+ I wot the Kinmont's airns played clang.
+
+ 'O mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie,
+ 'I have ridden horse baith wild and wood;
+ But a rougher beast than Red Rowan
+ I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode.
+
+ And mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie,
+ 'I've pricked a horse out oure the furs;
+ But since the day I backed a steed,
+ I never wore sic cumbrous spurs!'
+
+ We scarce had won the Staneshaw-Bank
+ When a' the Carlisle bells were rung,
+ And a thousand men on horse and foot
+ Cam' wi' the keen Lord Scroope along.
+
+ Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water,
+ Even where it flowed frae bank to brim,
+ And he has plunged in wi' a' his band,
+ And safely swam them through the stream.
+
+ He turned him on the other side,
+ And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he:
+ 'If ye like na my visit in merrie England,
+ In fair Scotland come visit me!'
+
+ All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,
+ He stood as still as rock of stane;
+ He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,
+ When through the water they had gane.
+
+ 'He is either himsell a devil frae hell,
+ Or else his mother a witch maun be;
+ I wadna have ridden that wan water
+ For a' the gowd in Christentie.'
+
+
+
+
+ XXX
+
+ THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL
+
+
+ Attend you, and give ear awhile,
+ And you shall understand
+ Of a battle fought upon the seas
+ By a ship of brave command.
+ The fight it was so glorious
+ Men's hearts it did ful-fill,
+ And it made them cry, 'To sea, to sea,
+ With the Angel Gabriel!'
+
+ This lusty ship of Bristol
+ Sailed out adventurously
+ Against the foes of England,
+ Her strength with them to try;
+ Well victualled, rigged, and manned she was,
+ With good provision still,
+ Which made men cry, 'To sea, to sea,
+ With the Angel Gabriel!'
+
+ The Captain, famous Netherway
+ (That was his noble name):
+ The Master--he was called John Mines--
+ A mariner of fame:
+ The Gunner, Thomas Watson,
+ A man of perfect skill:
+ With many another valiant heart
+ In the Angel Gabriel.
+
+ They waving up and down the seas
+ Upon the ocean main,
+ 'It is not long ago,' quoth they,
+ 'That England fought with Spain:
+ O would the Spaniard we might meet
+ Our stomachs to fulfil!
+ We would play him fair a noble bout
+ With our Angel Gabriel!'
+
+ They had no sooner spoken
+ But straight appeared in sight
+ Three lusty Spanish vessels
+ Of warlike trim and might;
+ With bloody resolution
+ They thought our men to spill,
+ And they vowed that they would make a prize
+ Of our Angel Gabriel.
+
+ Our gallant ship had in her
+ Full forty fighting men:
+ With twenty piece of ordnance
+ We played about them then,
+ With powder, shot, and bullets
+ Right well we worked our will,
+ And hot and bloody grew the fight
+ With our Angel Gabriel.
+
+ Our Captain to our Master said,
+ 'Take courage, Master bold!'
+ Our Master to the seamen said,
+ 'Stand fast, my hearts of gold!'
+ Our Gunner unto all the rest,
+ 'Brave hearts, be valiant still!
+ Fight on, fight on in the defence
+ Of our Angel Gabriel!'
+
+ We gave them such a broadside,
+ It smote their mast asunder,
+ And tore the bowsprit off their ship,
+ Which made the Spaniards wonder,
+ And caused them in fear to cry,
+ With voices loud and shrill,
+ 'Help, help, or sunken we shall be
+ By the Angel Gabriel!'
+
+ So desperately they boarded us
+ For all our valiant shot,
+ Threescore of their best fighting men
+ Upon our decks were got;
+ And lo! at their first entrances
+ Full thirty did we kill,
+ And thus we cleared with speed the deck
+ Of our Angel Gabriel.
+
+ With that their three ships boarded us
+ Again with might and main,
+ But still our noble Englishmen
+ Cried out, 'A fig for Spain!'
+ Though seven times they boarded us
+ At last we showed our skill,
+ And made them feel what men we were
+ On the Angel Gabriel.
+
+ Seven hours this fight continued:
+ So many men lay dead,
+ With Spanish blood for fathoms round
+ The sea was coloured red.
+ Five hundred of their fighting men
+ We there outright did kill,
+ And many more were hurt and maimed
+ By our Angel Gabriel.
+
+ Then, seeing of these bloody spoils,
+ The rest made haste away:
+ For why, they said, it was no boot
+ The longer there to stay.
+ Then they fled into Cales,
+ Where lie they must and will
+ For fear lest they should meet again
+ With our Angel Gabriel.
+
+ We had within our English ship
+ But only three men slain,
+ And five men hurt, the which I hope
+ Will soon be well again.
+ At Bristol we were landed,
+ And let us praise God still,
+ That thus hath blest our lusty hearts
+ And our Angel Gabriel.
+
+
+
+
+ XXXI
+
+ HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL
+
+
+ I wish I were where Helen lies,
+ Night and day on me she cries;
+ O that I were where Helen lies,
+ On fair Kirkconnell lea!
+
+ Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
+ And curst the hand that fired the shot,
+ When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
+ And died to succour me!
+
+ O thinkna ye my heart was sair
+ When my love dropt down, and spak' nae mair?
+ There did she swoon wi' meikle care,
+ On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+ As I went down the water side,
+ None but my foe to be my guide,
+ None but my foe to be my guide
+ On fair Kirkconnell lea;
+
+ I lighted down my sword to draw,
+ I hacked him in pieces sma',
+ I hacked him in pieces sma'
+ For her sake that died for me.
+
+ O Helen fair beyond compare!
+ I'll mak' a garland o' thy hair,
+ Shall bind my heart for evermair,
+ Until the day I dee!
+
+ O that I were where Helen lies!
+ Night and day on me she cries;
+ Out of my bed she bids me rise,
+ Says, 'Haste, and come to me!'
+
+ O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
+ If I were with thee I were blest,
+ Where thou lies low and takes thy rest,
+ On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+ I wish my grave were growing green,
+ A winding-sheet drawn ower my e'en,
+ And I in Helen's arms lying
+ On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+ I wish I were where Helen lies!
+ Night and day on me she cries,
+ And I am weary of the skies
+ For her sake that died for me.
+
+
+
+
+ XXXII
+
+ THE TWA CORBIES
+
+
+ As I was walking all alane,
+ I heard twa corbies making a mane:
+ The tane unto the tither say,
+ 'Where sall we gang and dine the day?'
+
+ 'In behint yon auld fail dyke
+ I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
+ And naebody kens that he lies there
+ But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.
+
+ His hound is to the hunting gane,
+ His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
+ His lady's ta'en another mate,
+ Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet.
+
+ Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
+ And I'll pike out his bonny blue e'en:
+ Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair
+ We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.
+
+ Mony a one for him makes mane,
+ But nane sall ken where he is gane:
+ O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
+ The wind sall blaw for evermair.'
+
+
+
+
+ XXXIII
+
+ THE BARD
+
+
+ 'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!
+ Confusion on thy banners wait!
+ Though fanned by Conquest's crimson wing
+ They mock the air with idle state.
+ Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,
+ Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail
+ To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
+ From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!'
+ Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
+ Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay,
+ As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
+ He wound with toilsome march his long array:
+ Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance;
+ 'To arms!' cried Mortimer, and couched his quivering lance.
+
+ On a rock, whose haughty brow
+ Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
+ Robed in the sable garb of woe
+ With haggard eyes the Poet stood
+ (Loose his beard and hoary hair
+ Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air),
+ And with a master's hand and prophet's fire
+ Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre:
+ 'Hark, how each giant oak and desert-cave
+ Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath!
+ O'er thee, O King! their hundred arms they wave,
+ Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;
+ Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,
+ To high-born Hoel's harp or soft Llewellyn's lay.
+
+ 'Cold is Cadwallo's tongue
+ That hushed the stormy main:
+ Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed:
+ Mountains, ye mourn in vain
+ Modred, whose magic song
+ Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head.
+ On dreary Arvon's shore they lie
+ Smeared with gore and ghastly pale:
+ Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail;
+ The famished eagle screams, and passes by.
+ Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,
+ Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes,
+ Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
+ Ye died amidst your dying country's cries!--
+ No more I weep. They do not sleep.
+ On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,
+ I see them sit; they linger yet,
+ Avengers of their native land:
+ With me in dreadful harmony they join,
+ And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
+
+ 'Weave the warp and weave the woof
+ The winding-sheet of Edward's race:
+ Give ample room and verge enough
+ The characters of hell to trace.
+ Mark the year and mark the night
+ When Severn shall re-echo with affright
+ The shrieks of death through Berkeley's roof that ring,
+ Shrieks of an agonising king!
+ She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
+ That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate,
+ From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs
+ The scourge of Heaven! What terrors round him wait!
+ Amazement in his van, with Flight combined,
+ And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
+
+ 'Mighty victor, mighty lord,
+ Low on his funeral couch he lies!
+ No pitying heart, no eye, afford
+ A tear to grace his obsequies.
+ Is the sable warrior fled?
+ Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.
+ The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born?
+ Gone to salute the rising morn.
+ Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows,
+ While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
+ In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes:
+ Youth on the prow and Pleasure at the helm:
+ Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway,
+ That hushed in grim repose expects his evening prey.
+
+ 'Fill high the sparkling bowl.
+ The rich repast prepare;
+ Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast:
+ Close by the regal chair
+ Fell Thirst and Famine scowl
+ A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.
+ Heard ye the din of battle bray,
+ Lance to lance and horse to horse?
+ Long years of havoc urge their destined course,
+ And through the kindred squadrons mow their way.
+ Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,
+ With many a foul and midnight murder fed,
+ Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame,
+ And spare the meek usurper's holy head!
+ Above, below, the rose of snow,
+ Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:
+ The bristled boar in infant-gore
+ Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
+ Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom,
+ Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.
+
+ 'Edward, lo! to sudden fate
+ (Weave we the woof; the thread is spun;)
+ Half of thy heart we consecrate.
+ (The web is wove; the work is done.)
+ Stay, O stay! nor thus forlorn
+ Leave me unblessed, unpitied, here to mourn:
+ In yon bright track that fires the western skies
+ They melt, they vanish from my eyes.
+ But O! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height
+ Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll?
+ Visions of glory, spare my aching sight,
+ Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
+ No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail:
+ All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia's issue, hail!
+
+ 'Girt with many a baron bold
+ Sublime their starry fronts they rear;
+ And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old
+ In bearded majesty, appear.
+ In the midst a form divine!
+ Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line:
+ Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face
+ Attempered sweet to virgin grace.
+ What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
+ What strains of vocal transport round her play?
+ Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;
+ They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
+ Bright Rapture calls and, soaring as she sings,
+ Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-coloured wings.
+
+ 'The verse adorn again
+ Fierce War and faithful Love
+ And Truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
+ In buskined measures move
+ Pale Grief and pleasing Pain,
+ With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
+ A voice as of the cherub-choir
+ Gales from blooming Eden bear,
+ And distant warblings lessen on my ear
+ That lost in long futurity expire.
+ Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud,
+ Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day?
+ To-morrow he repairs the golden flood
+ And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
+ Enough for me: with joy I see
+ The different doom our fates assign:
+ Be thine Despair and sceptred Care,
+ To triumph and to die are mine.'
+ He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
+ Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.
+
+ _Gray._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXIV
+
+ 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 plough the distant main:
+
+ But Kempenfelt is gone,
+ His victories are o'er;
+ And he and his eight hundred
+ Shall plough the wave no more.
+
+ _Cowper._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXV
+
+ BOADICEA
+
+
+ When the British warrior queen,
+ Bleeding from the Roman rods,
+ Sought with an indignant mien
+ Counsel of her country's gods,
+
+ Sage beneath the spreading oak
+ Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
+ Every burning word he spoke
+ Full of rage, and full of grief:
+
+ 'Princess! if our aged eyes
+ Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
+ 'Tis because resentment ties
+ All the terrors of our tongues.
+
+ Rome shall perish,--write that word
+ In the blood that she has spilt;
+ Perish hopeless and abhorred,
+ Deep in ruin as in guilt.
+
+ Rome, for empire far renowned,
+ Tramples on a thousand states;
+ Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,
+ Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!
+
+ Other Romans shall arise
+ Heedless of a soldier's name;
+ Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
+ Harmony the path to fame.
+
+ Then the progeny that springs
+ From the forests of our land,
+ Armed with thunder, clad with wings,
+ Shall a wider world command.
+
+ Regions Caesar never knew
+ Thy posterity shall sway;
+ Where his eagles never flew,
+ None invincible as they.'
+
+ Such the bard's prophetic words,
+ Pregnant with celestial fire,
+ Bending as he swept the chords
+ Of his sweet but awful lyre.
+
+ She with all a monarch's pride
+ Felt them in her bosom glow,
+ Rushed to battle, fought, and died,
+ Dying, hurled them at the foe:
+
+ 'Ruffians, pitiless as proud,
+ Heaven awards the vengeance due;
+ Empire is on us bestowed,
+ Shame and ruin wait for you.'
+
+ _Cowper._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXVI
+
+ TO HIS LADY
+
+
+ If doughty deeds my lady please
+ Right soon I'll mount my steed;
+ And strong his arm, and fast his seat
+ That bears frae me the meed.
+ I'll wear thy colours in my cap
+ Thy picture at my heart;
+ And he that bends not to thine eye
+ Shall rue it to his smart!
+ Then tell me how to woo thee, Love;
+ O tell me how to woo thee!
+ For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,
+ Tho' ne'er another trow me.
+
+ If gay attire delight thine eye
+ I'll dight me in array;
+ I'll tend thy chamber door all night,
+ And squire thee all the day.
+ If sweetest sounds can win thine ear
+ These sounds I'll strive to catch;
+ Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell,
+ That voice that nane can match.
+
+ But if fond love thy heart can gain,
+ I never broke a vow;
+ Nae maiden lays her skaith to me,
+ I never loved but you.
+ For you alone I ride the ring,
+ For you I wear the blue;
+ For you alone I strive to sing,
+ O tell me how to woo!
+ Then tell me how to woo thee, Love;
+ O tell me how to woo thee!
+ For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,
+ Tho' ne'er another trow me.
+
+ _Graham of Gartmore._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXVII
+
+ CONSTANCY
+
+
+ Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear
+ The mainmast by the board;
+ My heart, with thoughts of thee, my dear,
+ And love well stored,
+ Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear,
+ The roaring winds, the raging sea,
+ In hopes on shore to be once more
+ Safe moored with thee!
+
+ Aloft while mountains high we go,
+ The whistling winds that scud along,
+ And surges roaring from below,
+ Shall my signal be to think on thee,
+ And this shall be my song:
+ Blow high, blow low--
+
+ And on that night, when all the crew,
+ The memory of their former lives
+ O'er flowing cans of flip renew,
+ And drink their sweethearts and their wives,
+ I'll heave a sigh and think on thee,
+ And, as the ship rolls through the sea,
+ The burden of my song shall be:
+ Blow high, blow low--
+
+ _Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXVIII
+
+ THE PERFECT SAILOR
+
+
+ Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
+ The darling of our crew;
+ No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
+ For death has broached him to.
+ His form was of the manliest beauty,
+ His heart was kind and soft,
+ Faithful, below, he did his duty,
+ But now he's gone aloft.
+
+ Tom never from his word departed,
+ His virtues were so rare,
+ His friends were many and true-hearted,
+ His Poll was kind and fair;
+ And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,
+ Ah, many's the time and oft!
+ But mirth is turned to melancholy,
+ For Tom is gone aloft.
+
+ Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
+ When He, who all commands,
+ Shall give, to call life's crew together,
+ The word to pipe all hands.
+ Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches,
+ In vain Tom's life has doffed,
+ For, though his body's under hatches
+ His soul has gone aloft.
+
+ _Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+ XXXIX
+
+ THE DESERTER
+
+
+ If sadly thinking,
+ With spirits sinking,
+ Could more than drinking
+ My cares compose,
+ A cure for sorrow
+ From sighs I'd borrow,
+ And hope to-morrow
+ Would end my woes.
+ But as in wailing
+ There's nought availing,
+ And Death unfailing
+ Will strike the blow,
+ Then for that reason,
+ And for a season,
+ Let us be merry
+ Before we go.
+
+ To joy a stranger,
+ A way-worn ranger,
+ In every danger
+ My course I've run;
+ Now hope all ending,
+ And Death befriending,
+ His last aid lending,
+ My cares are done:
+ No more a rover,
+ Or hapless lover,
+ My griefs are over,
+ My glass runs low;
+ Then for that reason,
+ And for a season,
+ Let us be merry
+ Before we go!
+
+ _Curran._
+
+
+
+
+ XL
+
+ THE ARETHUSA
+
+
+ Come, all ye jolly sailors bold,
+ Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
+ While English glory I unfold,
+ Huzza for the Arethusa!
+ She is a frigate tight and brave,
+ As ever stemmed the dashing wave;
+ Her men are staunch
+ To their fav'rite launch,
+ And when the foe shall meet our fire,
+ Sooner than strike, we'll all expire
+ On board of the Arethusa.
+
+ 'Twas with the spring fleet she went out
+ The English Channel to cruise about,
+ When four French sail, in show so stout
+ Bore down on the Arethusa.
+ The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie,
+ The Arethusa seemed to fly,
+ Not a sheet, or a tack,
+ Or a brace, did she slack;
+ Though the Frenchman laughed and thought it stuff,
+ But they knew not the handful of men, how tough,
+ On board of the Arethusa.
+
+ On deck five hundred men did dance,
+ The stoutest they could find in France;
+ We with two hundred did advance
+ On board of the Arethusa.
+ Our captain hailed the Frenchman, 'Ho!'
+ The Frenchman then cried out 'Hallo!'
+ 'Bear down, d'ye see,
+ To our Admiral's lee!'
+ 'No, no,' says the Frenchman, 'that can't be!'
+ 'Then I must lug you along with me,'
+ Says the saucy Arethusa.
+
+ The fight was off the Frenchman's land,
+ We forced them back upon their strand,
+ For we fought till not a stick could stand
+ Of the gallant Arethusa.
+ And now we've driven the foe ashore
+ Never to fight with Britons more,
+ Let each fill his glass
+ To his fav'rite lass;
+ A health to our captain and officers true,
+ And all that belong to the jovial crew
+ On board of the Arethusa.
+
+ _Prince Hoare._
+
+
+
+
+ XLI
+
+ THE BEAUTY OF TERROR
+
+
+ Tiger, tiger, burning bright
+ In the forests of the night,
+ What immortal hand or eye
+ Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
+
+ In what distant deeps or skies
+ Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
+ On what wings dare he aspire?
+ What the hand dare seize the fire?
+
+ And what shoulder, and what art,
+ Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
+ And when thy heart began to beat,
+ What dread hand? and what dread feet?
+
+ What the hammer? what the chain?
+ In what furnace was thy brain?
+ What the anvil? what dread grasp
+ Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
+
+ When the stars threw down their spears,
+ And watered heaven with their tears,
+ Did He smile His work to see?
+ Did He who made the lamb make thee?
+
+ Tiger, tiger, burning bright
+ In the forests of the night,
+ What immortal hand or eye
+ Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
+
+ _Blake._
+
+
+
+
+ XLII
+
+ DEFIANCE
+
+
+ Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong,
+ The wretch's destinie:
+ M'Pherson's time will not be long
+ On yonder gallows tree.
+
+ Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
+ Sae dauntingly gaed he;
+ He played a spring and danced it round,
+ Below the gallows tree.
+
+ Oh, what is death but parting breath?--
+ On monie a bloody plain
+ I've dared his face, and in this place
+ I scorn him yet again!
+
+ Untie these bands from off my hands,
+ And bring to me my sword!
+ And there's no a man in all Scotland,
+ But I'll brave him at a word.
+
+ I've lived a life of sturt and strife;
+ I die by treacherie:
+ It burns my heart I must depart
+ And not avenged be.
+
+ Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,
+ And all beneath the sky!
+ May coward shame distain his name,
+ The wretch that dares not die!
+
+ Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
+ Sae dauntingly gaed he;
+ He played a spring and danced it round,
+ Below the gallows tree.
+
+ _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ XLIII
+
+ THE GOAL OF LIFE
+
+
+ Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
+ And never brought to min'?
+ Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
+ And days o' lang syne?
+
+ For auld lang syne, my dear,
+ For auld lang syne,
+ We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
+ For auld lang syne.
+
+ And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
+ And surely I'll be mine;
+ And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
+ For auld lang syne.
+
+ We twa hae run about the braes,
+ And pu'd the gowans fine;
+ But we've wandered mony a weary foot
+ Sin' auld lang syne.
+
+ We twa hae paidled i' the burn
+ From mornin' sun till dine;
+ But seas between us braid hae roared
+ Sin' auld lang syne.
+
+ And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,
+ And gie's a hand o' thine;
+ And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught
+ For auld lang syne.
+
+ For auld lang syne, my dear,
+ For auld lang syne,
+ We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
+ For auld lang syne.
+
+ _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ XLIV
+
+ BEFORE PARTING
+
+
+ Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,
+ An' fill it in a silver tassie;
+ That I may drink before I go
+ A service to my bonnie lassie.
+ The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,
+ Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry,
+ The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
+ And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.
+
+ The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
+ The glittering spears are ranked ready,
+ The shouts o' war are heard afar,
+ The battle closes thick and bloody;
+ But it's no the roar o' sea or shore
+ Wad mak me langer wish to tarry,
+ Nor shout o' war that's heard afar,
+ It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.
+
+ _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ XLV
+
+ DEVOTION
+
+
+ O Mary, at thy window be,
+ It is the wished, the trysted hour!
+ Those smiles and glances let me see,
+ That mak the miser's treasure poor.
+ How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
+ A weary slave frae sun to sun,
+ Could I the rich reward secure,
+ The lovely Mary Morison!
+
+ Yestreen, when to the trembling string
+ The dance gaed through the lighted ha',
+ To thee my fancy took its wing,
+ I sat, but neither heard or saw;
+ Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
+ And yon the toast of a' the toun,
+ I sighed, and said amang them a',
+ 'Ye are na Mary Morison.'
+
+ O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
+ Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
+ Or canst thou break that heart of his
+ Whase only faut is loving thee?
+ If love for love thou wilt na gie,
+ At least be pity to me shown!
+ A thought ungentle canna be
+ The thought o' Mary Morison.
+
+ _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ XLVI
+
+ TRUE UNTIL DEATH
+
+
+ It was a' for our rightfu' King,
+ We left fair Scotland's strand;
+ It was a' for our rightfu' King
+ We e'er saw Irish land,
+ My dear,
+ We e'er saw Irish land.
+
+ Now a' is done that men can do,
+ And a' is done in vain;
+ My love and native land farewell,
+ For I maun cross the main,
+ My dear,
+ For I maun cross the main.
+
+ He turned him right and round about
+ Upon the Irish shore;
+ And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
+ With adieu for evermore,
+ My dear,
+ Adieu for evermore.
+
+ The sodger from the wars returns,
+ The sailor frae the main;
+ But I hae parted frae my love,
+ Never to meet again,
+ My dear,
+ Never to meet again.
+
+ When day is gane, and night is come,
+ And a' folk bound to sleep;
+ I think on him that's far awa,
+ The lee-lang night, and weep,
+ My dear,
+ The lee-lang night, and weep.
+
+ _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ XLVII
+
+ VENICE
+
+
+ Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee
+ And was the safeguard of the West: the worth
+ Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
+ Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.
+ She was a maiden City, bright and free;
+ No guile seduced, no force could violate;
+ And, when she took unto herself a Mate,
+ She must espouse the everlasting Sea.
+ And what if she had seen those glories fade,
+ Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
+ Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
+ When her long life hath reached its final day:
+ Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade
+ Of that which once was great is passed away.
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ XLVIII
+
+ DESTINY
+
+
+ It is not to be thought of that the Flood
+ Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
+ Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
+ Hath flowed, 'with pomp of waters, unwithstood,'
+ Roused though it be full often to a mood
+ Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
+ That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
+ Should perish; and to evil and to good
+ Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
+ Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
+ We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
+ That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
+ Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung
+ Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ XLIX
+
+ THE MOTHERLAND
+
+
+ When I have borne in memory what has tamed
+ Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart
+ When men change swords for ledgers, and desert
+ The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed
+ I had, my Country!--am I to be blamed?
+ But when I think of thee, and what thou art,
+ Verily, in the bottom of my heart,
+ Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.
+ But dearly must we prize thee; we who find
+ In thee a bulwark for the cause of men;
+ And I by my affection was beguiled.
+ What wonder if a Poet now and then,
+ Among the many movements of his mind,
+ Felt for thee as a lover or a child!
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ L
+
+ IDEAL
+
+
+ Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:
+ England hath need of thee; she is a fen
+ Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
+ Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
+ Have forfeited their ancient English dower
+ Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
+ Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
+ And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
+ Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:
+ Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:
+ Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
+ So didst thou travel on life's common way,
+ In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
+ The lowliest duties on itself did lay.
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ LI
+
+ TO DUTY
+
+
+ Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
+ O Duty! if that name thou love
+ Who art a light to guide, a rod
+ To check the erring, and reprove;
+ Thou, who art victory and law
+ When empty terrors overawe;
+ From vain temptations dost set free;
+ And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!
+
+ There are who ask not if thine eye
+ Be on them; who, in love and truth,
+ Where no misgiving is, rely
+ Upon the genial sense of youth:
+ Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
+ Who do thy work, and know it not:
+ May joy be theirs while life shall last!
+ And Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!
+
+ Serene will be our days and bright,
+ And happy will our nature be,
+ When love is an unerring light,
+ And joy its own security.
+ And they a blissful course may hold
+ Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
+ Live in the spirit of this creed;
+ Yet find that other strength, according to their need.
+
+ I, loving freedom, and untried;
+ No sport of every random gust,
+ Yet being to myself a guide,
+ Too blindly have reposed my trust:
+ And oft, when in my heart was heard
+ Thy timely mandate, I deferred
+ The task, in smoother walks to stray;
+ But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
+
+ Through no disturbance of my soul
+ Or strong compunction in me wrought,
+ I supplicate for thy control;
+ But in the quietness of thought:
+ Me this unchartered freedom tires;
+ I feel the weight of chance-desires:
+ My hopes no more must change their name,
+ I long for a repose that ever is the same.
+
+ Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
+ The Godhead's most benignant grace;
+ Nor know we anything so fair
+ As is the smile upon thy face:
+ Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
+ And fragrance in thy footing treads;
+ Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
+ And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong.
+
+ To humbler functions, awful Power!
+ I call thee: I myself commend
+ Unto thy guidance from this hour;
+ O let my weakness have an end!
+ Give unto me, made lowly wise,
+ The spirit of self-sacrifice;
+ The confidence of reason give;
+ And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ LII
+
+ TWO VICTORIES
+
+
+ I said, when evil men are strong,
+ No life is good, no pleasure long,
+ A weak and cowardly untruth!
+ Our Clifford was a happy Youth,
+ And thankful through a weary time
+ That brought him up to manhood's prime.
+ Again, he wanders forth at will,
+ And tends a flock from hill to hill:
+ His garb is humble; ne'er was seen
+ Such garb with such a noble mien;
+ Among the shepherd grooms no mate
+ Hath he, a Child of strength and state!
+ Yet lacks not friends for simple glee,
+ Nor yet for higher sympathy.
+ To his side the fallow-deer
+ Came, and rested without fear;
+ The eagle, lord of land and sea,
+ Stooped down to pay him fealty;
+ And both the undying fish that swim
+ Through Bowscale-Tarn did wait on him;
+ The pair were servants of his eye
+ In their immortality;
+ And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright,
+ Moved to and fro, for his delight.
+ He knew the rocks which Angels haunt
+ Upon the mountains visitant;
+ He hath kenned them taking wing:
+ And into caves where Faeries sing
+ He hath entered; and been told
+ By Voices how men lived of old.
+ Among the heavens his eye can see
+ The face of thing that is to be;
+ And, if that men report him right,
+ His tongue could whisper words of might.
+ Now another day is come,
+ Fitter hope, and nobler doom;
+ He hath thrown aside his crook,
+ And hath buried deep his book;
+ Armour rusting in his halls
+ On the blood of Clifford calls:
+ 'Quell the Scot!' exclaims the Lance;
+ 'Bear me to the heart of France,'
+ Is the longing of the Shield;
+ Tell thy name, thou trembling field;
+ Field of death, where'er thou be,
+ Groan thou with our victory!
+ Happy day, and mighty hour,
+ When our Shepherd in his power,
+ Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword,
+ To his ancestors restored
+ Like a reappearing Star,
+ Like a glory from afar,
+ First shall head the flock of war!
+
+ _Wordsworth._
+
+
+
+
+ LIII
+
+ IN MEMORIAM
+
+ NELSON: PITT: FOX
+
+
+ To mute and to material things
+ New life revolving summer brings;
+ The genial call dead Nature hears,
+ And in her glory reappears.
+ But O my Country's wintry state
+ What second spring shall renovate?
+ What powerful call shall bid arise
+ The buried warlike and the wise;
+ The mind that thought for Britain's weal,
+ The hand that grasped the victor steel?
+ The vernal sun new life bestows
+ Even on the meanest flower that blows;
+ But vainly, vainly may he shine,
+ Where glory weeps o'er NELSON's shrine;
+ And vainly pierce the solemn gloom,
+ That shrouds, O PITT, thy hallowed tomb!
+
+ Deep graved in every British heart,
+ O never let those names depart!
+ Say to your sons,--Lo, here his grave,
+ Who victor died on Gadite wave;
+ To him, as to the burning levin,
+ Short, bright, resistless course was given.
+ Where'er his country's foes were found
+ Was heard the fated thunder's sound,
+ Till burst the bolt on yonder shore,
+ Rolled, blazed, destroyed,--and was no more.
+
+ Nor mourn ye less his perished worth,
+ Who bade the conqueror go forth,
+ And launched that thunderbolt of war
+ On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar;
+ Who, born to guide such high emprise,
+ For Britain's weal was early wise;
+ Alas! to whom the Almighty gave,
+ For Britain's sins, an early grave!
+ His worth, who in his mightiest hour
+ A bauble held the pride of power,
+ Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf,
+ And served his Albion for herself;
+ Who, when the frantic crowd amain
+ Strained at subjection's bursting rein,
+ O'er their wild mood full conquest gained,
+ The pride he would not crush restrained,
+ Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause,
+ And brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's laws.
+
+ Hadst thou but lived, though stripped of power,
+ A watchman on the lonely tower,
+ Thy thrilling trump had roused the land,
+ When fraud or danger were at hand;
+ By thee, as by the beacon-light,
+ Our pilots had kept course aright;
+ As some proud column, though alone,
+ Thy strength had propped the tottering throne
+ Now is the stately column broke,
+ The beacon-light is quenched in smoke,
+ The trumpet's silver sound is still,
+ The warder silent on the hill!
+
+ O think, how to his latest day,
+ When death, just hovering, claimed his prey,
+ With Palinure's unaltered mood
+ Firm at his dangerous post he stood;
+ Each call for needful rest repelled,
+ With dying hand the rudder held,
+ Till in his fall with fateful sway,
+ The steerage of the realm gave way!
+ Then, while on Britain's thousand plains
+ One unpolluted church remains,
+ Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around
+ The bloody tocsin's maddening sound,
+ But still, upon the hallowed day,
+ Convoke the swains to praise and pray;
+ While faith and civil peace are dear,
+ Grace this cold marble with a tear,--
+ He, who preserved them, PITT, lies here!
+
+ Nor yet suppress the generous sigh,
+ Because his rival slumbers nigh;
+ Nor be thy _requiescat_ dumb,
+ Lest it be said o'er FOX's tomb.
+ For talents mourn, untimely lost,
+ When best employed, and wanted most;
+ Mourn genius high, and lore profound,
+ And wit that loved to play, not wound;
+ And all the reasoning powers divine,
+ To penetrate, resolve, combine;
+ And feelings keen, and fancy's glow,--
+ They sleep with him who sleeps below:
+ And, if thou mourn'st they could not save
+ From error him who owns this grave,
+ Be every harsher thought suppressed,
+ And sacred be the last long rest.
+ _Here_, where the end of earthly things
+ Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings;
+ Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue,
+ Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung;
+ _Here_, where the fretted aisles prolong
+ The distant notes of holy song,
+ As if some angel spoke agen,
+ 'All peace on earth, good-will to men';
+ If ever from an English heart
+ O, _here_ let prejudice depart,
+ And, partial feeling cast aside,
+ Record, that FOX a Briton died!
+ When Europe crouched to France's yoke,
+ And Austria bent, and Prussia broke,
+ And the firm Russian's purpose brave
+ Was bartered by a timorous slave,
+ Even then dishonour's peace he spurned,
+ The sullied olive-branch returned,
+ Stood for his country's glory fast,
+ And nailed her colours to the mast!
+ Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave
+ A portion in this honoured grave,
+ And ne'er held marble in its trust
+ Of two such wondrous men the dust.
+
+ With more than mortal powers endowed,
+ How high they soared above the crowd!
+ Theirs was no common party race,
+ Jostling by dark intrigue for place;
+ Like fabled Gods, their mighty war
+ Shook realms and nations in its jar;
+ Beneath each banner proud to stand,
+ Looked up the noblest of the land,
+ Till through the British world were known
+ The names of PITT and FOX alone.
+ Spells of such force no wizard grave
+ E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave,
+ Though his could drain the ocean dry,
+ And force the planets from the sky.
+ These spells are spent, and, spent with these
+ The wine of life is on the lees.
+ Genius, and taste, and talent gone,
+ For ever tombed beneath the stone,
+ Where--taming thought to human pride!--
+ The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.
+ Drop upon FOX's grave the tear,
+ 'Twill trickle to his rival's bier;
+ O'er PITT's the mournful requiem sound,
+ And FOX's shall the notes rebound.
+ The solemn echo seems to cry,--
+ 'Here let their discord with them die.
+ Speak not for those a separate doom
+ Whom fate made Brothers in the tomb;
+ But search the land of living men,
+ Where wilt thou find their like agen?'
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LIV
+
+ LOCHINVAR
+
+
+ O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
+ Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
+ And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,
+ He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
+ So faithful in love and so dauntless in war,
+ There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
+
+ He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
+ He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
+ But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
+ The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
+ For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
+ Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
+
+ So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
+ Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:
+ Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
+ (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
+ 'O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
+ Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?'
+
+ 'I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;
+ Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
+ And now am I come with this lost love of mine
+ To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
+ There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far
+ That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.'
+
+ The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up,
+ He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
+ She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
+ With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
+ He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,
+ 'Now tread we a measure!' said young Lochinvar.
+
+ So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
+ That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
+ While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
+ And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
+ And the bride-maidens whispered, ''Twere better by far,
+ To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.'
+
+ One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
+ When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
+ So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
+ So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
+ 'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
+ They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar.
+
+ There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
+ Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
+ There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
+ But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
+ So daring in love and so dauntless in war,
+ Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LV
+
+ FLODDEN
+
+
+ THE MARCH
+
+ Next morn the Baron climbed the tower,
+ To view afar the Scottish power
+ Encamped on Flodden edge:
+ The white pavilions made a show,
+ Like remnants of the winter snow,
+ Along the dusky ridge.
+ Long Marmion looked: at length his eye
+ Unusual movement might descry
+ Amid the shifting lines:
+ The Scottish host drawn out appears,
+ For flashing on the hedge of spears
+ The eastern sunbeam shines.
+ Their front now deepening, now extending;
+ Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending,
+ Now drawing back, and now descending,
+ The skilful Marmion well could know,
+ They watched the motions of some foe
+ Who traversed on the plain below.
+
+ Even so it was. From Flodden ridge
+ The Scots beheld the English host
+ Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post,
+ And heedful watched them as they crossed
+ The Till by Twisel bridge.
+ High sight it is and haughty, while
+ They dive into the deep defile;
+ Beneath the caverned cliff they fall,
+ Beneath the castle's airy wall.
+ By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree,
+ Troop after troop are disappearing;
+ Troop after troop their banners rearing
+ Upon the eastern bank you see.
+ Still pouring down the rocky den,
+ Where flows the sullen Till,
+ And rising from the dim-wood glen,
+ Standards on standards, men on men,
+ In slow succession still,
+ And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch,
+ And pressing on in ceaseless march,
+ To gain the opposing hill.
+ That morn to many a trumpet clang,
+ Twisel! thy rocks deep echo rang;
+ And many a chief of birth and rank,
+ Saint Helen! at thy fountain drank.
+ Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see
+ In spring-tide bloom so lavishly,
+ Had then from many an axe its doom,
+ To give the marching columns room.
+
+ And why stands Scotland idly now,
+ Dark Flodden! on thy airy brow,
+ Since England gains the pass the while,
+ And struggles through the deep defile?
+ What checks the fiery soul of James?
+ Why sits that champion of the dames
+ Inactive on his steed,
+ And sees between him and his land,
+ Between him and Tweed's southern strand,
+ His host Lord Surrey lead?
+ What 'vails the vain knight-errant's brand?
+ O, Douglas, for thy leading wand!
+ Fierce Randolph, for thy speed!
+ O for one hour of Wallace wight,
+ Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight,
+ And cry 'Saint Andrew and our right!'
+ Another sight had seen that morn,
+ From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn,
+ And Flodden had been Bannockburn!
+ The precious hour has passed in vain,
+ And England's host has gained the plain;
+ Wheeling their march, and circling still,
+ Around the base of Flodden hill.
+
+
+ THE ATTACK
+
+ 'But see! look up--on Flodden bent
+ The Scottish foe has fired his tent.'
+ And sudden, as he spoke,
+ From the sharp ridges of the hill,
+ All downward to the banks of Till
+ Was wreathed in sable smoke.
+ Volumed and fast, and rolling far,
+ The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,
+ As down the hill they broke;
+ Nor martial shout nor minstrel tone
+ Announced their march; their tread alone,
+ At times one warning trumpet blown,
+ At times a stifled hum,
+ Told England, from his mountain-throne
+ King James did rushing come.
+ Scarce could they hear, or see their foes,
+ Until at weapon-point they close.
+ They close in clouds of smoke and dust,
+ With sword-sway and with lance's thrust;
+ And such a yell was there
+ Of sudden and portentous birth,
+ As if men fought upon the earth
+ And fiends in upper air;
+ O life and death were in the shout,
+ Recoil and rally, charge and rout,
+ And triumph and despair.
+ Long looked the anxious squires; their eye
+ Could in the darkness nought descry.
+
+ At length the freshening western blast
+ Aside the shroud of battle cast;
+ And first the ridge of mingled spears
+ Above the brightening cloud appears;
+ And in the smoke the pennons flew,
+ As in the storm the white sea-mew.
+ Then marked they, dashing broad and far,
+ The broken billows of the war,
+ And plumed crests of chieftains brave
+ Floating like foam upon the wave;
+ But nought distinct they see:
+ Wide raged the battle on the plain;
+ Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain;
+ Fell England's arrow-flight like rain;
+ Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,
+ Wild and disorderly.
+ Amid the scene of tumult, high
+ They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly:
+ And stainless Tunstall's banner white
+ And Edmund Howard's lion bright
+ Still bear them bravely in the fight:
+ Although against them come
+ Of gallant Gordons many a one,
+ And many a stubborn Badenoch-man,
+ And many a rugged Border clan,
+ With Huntly and with Home.
+
+ Far on the left, unseen the while,
+ Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;
+ Though there the western mountaineer
+ Rushed with bare bosom on the spear,
+ And flung the feeble targe aside,
+ And with both hands the broadsword plied.
+ 'Twas vain: but Fortune, on the right,
+ With fickle smile cheered Scotland's fight.
+ Then fell that spotless banner white,
+ The Howard's lion fell;
+ Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew
+ With wavering flight, while fiercer grew
+ Around the battle-yell.
+ The Border slogan rent the sky!
+ A Home! a Gordon! was the cry:
+ Loud were the clanging blows;
+ Advanced, forced back, now low, now high,
+ The pennon sank and rose;
+ As bends the bark's mast in the gale,
+ When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail,
+ It wavered 'mid the foes.
+
+
+ THE LAST STAND
+
+ By this, though deep the evening fell,
+ Still rose the battle's deadly swell,
+ For still the Scots, around their King,
+ Unbroken, fought in desperate ring.
+ Where's now their victor vaward wing,
+ Where Huntly, and where Home?
+ O for a blast of that dread horn,
+ On Fontarabian echoes borne,
+ That to King Charles did come,
+ When Roland brave, and Olivier,
+ And every paladin and peer,
+ On Roncesvalles died!
+ Such blast might warn them, not in vain,
+ To quit the plunder of the slain,
+ And turn the doubtful day again,
+ While yet on Flodden side
+ Afar the Royal Standard flies,
+ And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies
+ Our Caledonian pride!
+
+ But as they left the dark'ning heath,
+ More desperate grew the strife of death.
+ The English shafts in volleys hailed,
+ In headlong charge their horse assailed;
+ Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep
+ To break the Scottish circle deep
+ That fought around their King.
+ But yet, though thick the shafts as snow,
+ Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,
+ Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow,
+ Unbroken was the ring;
+ The stubborn spear-men still made good
+ Their dark impenetrable wood,
+ Each stepping where his comrade stood,
+ The instant that he fell.
+ No thought was there of dastard flight;
+ Linked in the serried phalanx tight,
+ Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,
+ As fearlessly and well;
+ Till utter darkness closed her wing
+ O'er their thin host and wounded King.
+ Then skilful Surrey's sage commands
+ Led back from strife his shattered bands;
+ And from the charge they drew,
+ As mountain waves from wasted lands
+ Sweep back to ocean blue.
+ Then did their loss his foemen know;
+ Their King, their Lords, their mightiest low,
+ They melted from the field, as snow,
+ When streams are swoln and south winds blow,
+ Dissolves in silent dew.
+ Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash,
+ While many a broken band
+ Disordered through her currents dash,
+ To gain the Scottish land;
+ To town and tower, to town and dale,
+ To tell red Flodden's dismal tale,
+ And raise the universal wail.
+ Tradition, legend, tune, and song
+ Shall many an age that wail prolong:
+ Still from the sire the son shall hear
+ Of the stern strife and carnage drear
+ Of Flodden's fatal field,
+ Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear,
+ And broken was her shield!
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LVI
+
+ THE CHASE
+
+
+ The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
+ Where danced the moon on Monan's rill,
+ And deep his midnight lair had made
+ In lone Glenartney's hazel shade;
+ But, when the sun his beacon red
+ Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head,
+ The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay
+ Resounded up the rocky way,
+ And faint from farther distance borne
+ Were heard the clanging hoof and horn.
+
+ As Chief, who hears his warder call,
+ 'To arms! the foemen storm the wall,'
+ The antlered monarch of the waste
+ Sprang from his heathery couch in haste.
+ But, ere his fleet career he took,
+ The dew-drops from his flanks he shook;
+ Like crested leader proud and high,
+ Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky;
+ A moment gazed adown the dale,
+ A moment snuffed the tainted gale,
+ A moment listened to the cry
+ That thickened as the chase drew nigh;
+ Then, as the headmost foes appeared,
+ With one brave bound the copse he cleared,
+ And, stretching forward free and far,
+ Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.
+
+ Yelled on the view the opening pack;
+ Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back:
+ To many a mingled sound at once
+ The awakened mountain gave response.
+ A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong,
+ Clattered a hundred steeds along,
+ Their peal the merry horns rang out,
+ A hundred voices joined the shout;
+ With hark and whoop and wild halloo
+ No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew.
+ Far from the tumult fled the roe,
+ Close in her covert cowered the doe,
+ The falcon from her cairn on high
+ Cast on the rout a wondering eye,
+ Till far beyond her piercing ken
+ The hurricane had swept the glen.
+ Faint and more faint, its failing din
+ Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn,
+ And silence settled wide and still
+ On the lone wood and mighty hill.
+
+ Less loud the sounds of silvan war
+ Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var,
+ And roused the cavern where, 'tis told,
+ A giant made his den of old;
+ For ere that steep ascent was won,
+ High in his pathway hung the sun,
+ And many a gallant, stayed perforce,
+ Was fain to breathe his faltering horse,
+ And of the trackers of the deer
+ Scarce half the lessening pack was near;
+ So shrewdly on the mountain-side
+ Had the bold burst their mettle tried.
+
+ The noble stag was pausing now
+ Upon the mountain's southern brow,
+ Where broad extended, far beneath,
+ The varied realms of fair Menteith.
+ With anxious eye he wandered o'er
+ Mountain and meadow, moss and moor,
+ And pondered refuge from his toil
+ By far Lochard or Aberfoyle.
+ But nearer was the copsewood grey
+ That waved and wept on Loch-Achray,
+ And mingled with the pine-trees blue
+ On the bold cliffs of Benvenue.
+ Fresh vigour with the hope returned,
+ With flying foot the heath he spurned,
+ Held westward with unwearied race,
+ And left behind the panting chase.
+
+ 'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er,
+ As swept the hunt through Cambus-more;
+ What reins were tightened in despair,
+ When rose Benledi's ridge in air;
+ Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath,
+ Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith,
+ For twice that day from shore to shore
+ The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er.
+ Few were the stragglers, following far,
+ That reached the lake of Vennachar;
+ And when the Brigg of Turk was won,
+ The headmost horseman rode alone.
+
+ Alone, but with unbated zeal,
+ That horseman plied the scourge and steel;
+ For jaded now and spent with toil,
+ Embossed with foam and dark with soil,
+ While every gasp with sobs he drew,
+ The labouring stag strained full in view.
+ Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed,
+ Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed,
+ Fast on his flying traces came
+ And all but won that desperate game;
+ For scarce a spear's length from his haunch
+ Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds staunch;
+ Nor nearer might the dogs attain,
+ Nor farther might the quarry strain.
+ Thus up the margin of the lake,
+ Between the precipice and brake,
+ O'er stock and rock their race they take.
+
+ The Hunter marked that mountain high,
+ The lone lake's western boundary,
+ And deemed the stag must turn to bay
+ Where that huge rampart barred the way;
+ Already glorying in the prize,
+ Measured his antlers with his eyes;
+ For the death-wound and death-halloo
+ Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew;
+ But thundering as he came prepared,
+ With ready arm and weapon bared,
+ The wily quarry shunned the shock,
+ And turned him from the opposing rock;
+ Then, dashing down a darksome glen,
+ Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,
+ In the deep Trosach's wildest nook
+ His solitary refuge took.
+ There, while close couched, the thicket shed
+ Cold dews and wild-flowers on his head,
+ He heard the baffled dogs in vain
+ Rave through the hollow pass amain,
+ Chiding the rocks that yelled again.
+
+ Close on the hounds the hunter came,
+ To cheer them on the vanished game;
+ But, stumbling in the rugged dell,
+ The gallant horse exhausted fell.
+ The impatient rider strove in vain
+ To rouse him with the spur and rein,
+ For the good steed, his labours o'er,
+ Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more;
+ Then touched with pity and remorse
+ He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse.
+ 'I little thought, when first thy rein
+ I slacked upon the banks of Seine,
+ That Highland eagle e'er should feed
+ On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed!
+ Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day,
+ That costs thy life, my gallant grey!'
+
+ Then through the dell his horn resounds,
+ From vain pursuit to call the hounds.
+ Back limped with slow and crippled pace
+ The sulky leaders of the chase;
+ Close to their master's side they pressed,
+ With drooping tail and humbled crest;
+ But still the dingle's hollow throat
+ Prolonged the swelling bugle-note.
+ The owlets started from their dream,
+ The eagles answered with their scream,
+ Round and around the sounds were cast,
+ Till echoes seemed an answering blast;
+ And on the hunter hied his way,
+ To join some comrades of the day.
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LVII
+
+ THE OUTLAW
+
+
+ O, Brignall banks are wild and fair,
+ And Greta woods are green,
+ And you may gather garlands there
+ Would grace a summer queen.
+ And as I rode by Dalton-hall,
+ Beneath the turrets high,
+ A Maiden on the castle wall
+ Was singing merrily:
+
+ 'O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
+ And Greta woods are green;
+ I'd rather rove with Edmund there
+ Than reign our English queen.'
+
+ 'If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me,
+ To leave both tower and town,
+ Thou first must guess what life lead we
+ That dwell by dale and down.
+ And if thou canst that riddle read,
+ As read full well you may,
+ Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed,
+ As blythe as Queen of May.'
+
+ Yet sang she, 'Brignall banks are fair,
+ And Greta woods are green;
+ I'd rather rove with Edmund there
+ Than reign our English queen.
+
+ I read you, by your bugle-horn
+ And by your palfrey good,
+ I read you for a Ranger sworn
+ To keep the king's greenwood.'
+ 'A Ranger, lady, winds his horn,
+ And 'tis at peep of light;
+ His blast is heard at merry morn,
+ And mine at dead of night.'
+
+ Yet sang she 'Brignall banks are fair,
+ And Greta woods are gay;
+ I would I were with Edmund there,
+ To reign his Queen of May!
+
+ With burnished brand and musketoon
+ So gallantly you come,
+ I read you for a bold Dragoon
+ That lists the tuck of drum.'
+ 'I list no more the tuck of drum,
+ No more the trumpet hear;
+ But when the beetle sounds his hum,
+ My comrades take the spear.
+
+ And O! though Brignall banks be fair,
+ And Greta woods be gay,
+ Yet mickle must the maiden dare
+ Would reign my Queen of May!
+
+ Maiden! a nameless life I lead,
+ A nameless death I'll die!
+ The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead,
+ Were better mate than I!
+ And when I'm with my comrades met,
+ Beneath the Greenwood bough,
+ What once we were we all forget,
+ Nor think what we are now.
+
+ Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
+ And Greta woods are green,
+ And you may gather garlands there
+ Would grace a summer queen.'
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LVIII
+
+ PIBROCH
+
+
+ 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!
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LIX
+
+ THE OMNIPOTENT
+
+
+ 'Why sitt'st thou by that ruined hall,
+ Thou aged carle so stern and grey?
+ Dost thou its former pride recall,
+ Or ponder how it passed away?'
+
+ 'Know'st thou not me?' the Deep Voice cried;
+ 'So long enjoyed, so often misused,
+ Alternate, in thy fickle pride,
+ Desired, neglected, and accused!
+
+ Before my breath, like blazing flax,
+ Man and his marvels pass away!
+ And changing empires wane and wax,
+ Are founded, flourish, and decay.
+
+ Redeem mine hours--the space is brief--
+ While in my glass the sand-grains shiver,
+ And measureless thy joy or grief,
+ When TIME and thou shalt part for ever!'
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LX
+
+ THE RED HARLAW
+
+
+ The herring loves the merry moonlight,
+ The mackerel loves the wind,
+ But the oyster loves the dredging sang,
+ For they come of a gentle kind.
+
+ Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle,
+ And listen, great and sma',
+ And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl
+ That fought on the red Harlaw.
+
+ The cronach's cried on Bennachie,
+ And doun the Don and a',
+ And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be
+ For the sair field of Harlaw.
+
+ They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,
+ They hae bridled a hundred black,
+ With a chafron of steel on each horse's head
+ And a good knight upon his back.
+
+ They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
+ A mile, but barely ten,
+ When Donald came branking down the brae
+ Wi' twenty thousand men.
+
+ Their tartans they were waving wide,
+ Their glaives were glancing clear,
+ The pibrochs rang frae side to side,
+ Would deafen ye to hear.
+
+ The great Earl in his stirrups stood,
+ That Highland host to see:
+ 'Now here a knight that's stout and good
+ May prove a jeopardie:
+
+ What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay,
+ That rides beside my reyne,
+ Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,
+ And I were Roland Cheyne?
+
+ To turn the rein were sin and shame,
+ To fight were wondrous peril:
+ What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,
+ Were ye Glenallan's Earl?'
+
+ 'Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,
+ And ye were Roland Cheyne,
+ The spur should be in my horse's side,
+ And the bridle upon his mane.
+
+ If they hae twenty thousand blades,
+ And we twice ten times ten,
+ Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,
+ And we are mail-clad men.
+
+ My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude,
+ As through the moorland fern,
+ Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude
+ Grow cauld for Highland kerne.'
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LXI
+
+ FAREWELL
+
+
+ Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear
+ Has left its last soft tone with you;
+ Its next must join the seaward cheer,
+ And shout among the shouting crew.
+
+ The accents which I scarce could form
+ Beneath your frown's controlling check,
+ Must give the word, above the storm,
+ To cut the mast and clear the wreck.
+
+ The timid eye I dared not raise,
+ The hand that shook when pressed to thine,
+ Must point the guns upon the chase,
+ Must bid the deadly cutlass shine.
+
+ To all I love, or hope, or fear,
+ Honour or own, a long adieu!
+ To all that life has soft and dear,
+ Farewell! save memory of you!
+
+ _Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LXII
+
+ BONNY DUNDEE
+
+
+ To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke,
+ 'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;
+ So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,
+ Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
+ Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;
+ Come open the West Port, and let me gang free,
+ And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!'
+
+ Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,
+ The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;
+ But the Provost, douce man, said, 'Just e'en let him be,
+ The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee.'
+
+ As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,
+ Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow;
+ But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee,
+ Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee!
+
+ With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was crammed,
+ As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged;
+ There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e,
+ As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,
+ And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers;
+ But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free,
+ At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock,
+ And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke;
+ 'Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three
+ For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.'
+
+ The Gordon demands of him which way he goes:
+ 'Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!
+ Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,
+ Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth,
+ If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North;
+ There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three,
+ Will cry _hoigh!_ for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ There's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide;
+ There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside;
+ The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free
+ At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks,
+ Ere I owe an usurper, I'll couch with the fox;
+ And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee,
+ You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!'
+
+ He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown,
+ The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on,
+ Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee
+ Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee.
+
+ Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
+ Come saddle the horses and call up the men,
+ Come open your gates, and let me gae free,
+ For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!
+
+ _Sir Walter Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ LXIII
+
+ ROMANCE
+
+
+ In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
+ A stately pleasure-dome decree:
+ Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
+ Through caverns measureless to man
+ Down to a sunless sea.
+ So twice five miles of fertile ground
+ With walls and towers were girdled round:
+ And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills
+ Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
+ And here were forests ancient as the hills,
+ Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
+
+ But O! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
+ Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
+ A savage place! as holy and enchanted
+ As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
+ By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
+ And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
+ As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
+ A mighty fountain momently was forced:
+ Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
+ Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
+ Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
+ And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
+ It flung up momently the sacred river.
+ Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
+ Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
+ Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
+ And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
+ And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
+ Ancestral voices prophesying war!
+
+ The shadow of the dome of pleasure
+ Floated midway on the waves;
+ Where was heard the mingled measure
+ From the fountain and the caves.
+ It was a miracle of rare device,
+ A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
+ A damsel with a dulcimer
+ In a vision once I saw:
+ It was an Abyssinian maid,
+ And on her dulcimer she played,
+ Singing of Mount Abora.
+ Could I revive within me
+ Her symphony and song,
+ To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
+ That with music loud and long,
+ I would build that dome in air,
+ That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
+ And all who heard should see them there,
+ And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
+ His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
+ Weave a circle round him thrice,
+ And close your eyes with holy dread,
+ For he on honey-dew hath fed,
+ And drunk the milk of Paradise.
+
+ _Coleridge._
+
+
+
+
+ LXIV
+
+ SACRIFICE
+
+
+ Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom
+ At Aulis, and when all beside the King
+ Had gone away, took his right hand, and said,
+ 'O father! I am young and very happy.
+ I do not think the pious Calchas heard
+ Distinctly what the Goddess spake. Old-age
+ Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew
+ My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood
+ While I was resting on her knee both arms
+ And hitting it to make her mind my words,
+ And looking in her face, and she in mine,
+ Might he not also hear one word amiss,
+ Spoken from so far off, even from Olympus?'
+ The father placed his cheek upon her head,
+ And tears dropt down it, but the king of men
+ Replied not. Then the maiden spake once more.
+ 'O father! say'st thou nothing? Hear'st thou not
+ Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour,
+ Listened to fondly, and awakened me
+ To hear my voice amid the voice of birds,
+ When it was inarticulate as theirs,
+ And the down deadened it within the nest?'
+ He moved her gently from him, silent still,
+ And this, and this alone, brought tears from her,
+ Although she saw fate nearer: then with sighs,
+ 'I thought to have laid down my hair before
+ Benignant Artemis, and not have dimmed
+ Her polisht altar with my virgin blood;
+ I thought to have selected the white flowers
+ To please the Nymphs, and to have asked of each
+ By name, and with no sorrowful regret,
+ Whether, since both my parents willed the change,
+ I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipt brow;
+ And (after those who mind us girls the most)
+ Adore our own Athena, that she would
+ Regard me mildly with her azure eyes.
+ But, father! to see you no more, and see
+ Your love, O father! go ere I am gone.' ...
+ Gently he moved her off, and drew her back,
+ Bending his lofty head far over hers,
+ And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst.
+ He turned away; not far, but silent still.
+ She now first shuddered; for in him, so nigh,
+ So long a silence seemed the approach of death,
+ And like it. Once again she raised her voice.
+ 'O father! if the ships are now detained,
+ And all your vows move not the Gods above,
+ When the knife strikes me there will be one prayer
+ The less to them: and purer can there be
+ Any, or more fervent than the daughter's prayer
+ For her dear father's safety and success?'
+ A groan that shook him shook not his resolve.
+ An aged man now entered, and without
+ One word, stept slowly on, and took the wrist
+ Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw
+ The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes.
+ Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried,
+ 'O father! grieve no more: the ships can sail.'
+
+ _Landor._
+
+
+
+
+ LXV
+
+ 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 half-way 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 live-long 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 ploughing 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 favour 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.
+
+ _Campbell._
+
+
+
+
+ LXVI
+
+ 'YE MARINERS'
+
+
+ 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.
+
+ _Campbell._
+
+
+
+
+ LXVII
+
+ 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!
+
+ _Campbell._
+
+
+
+
+ LXVIII
+
+ BATTLE SONG
+
+
+ Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark;
+ What then? 'Tis day!
+ We sleep no more; the cock crows--hark!
+ To arms! away!
+ They come! they come! the knell is rung
+ Of us or them;
+ Wide o'er their march the pomp is flung
+ Of gold and gem.
+ What collared hound of lawless sway,
+ To famine dear,
+ What pensioned slave of Attila,
+ Leads in the rear?
+ Come they from Scythian wilds afar
+ Our blood to spill?
+ Wear they the livery of the Czar?
+ They do his will.
+ Nor tasselled silk, nor epaulette,
+ Nor plume, nor torse--
+ No splendour gilds, all sternly met,
+ Our foot and horse.
+ But, dark and still, we inly glow,
+ Condensed in ire!
+ Strike, tawdry slaves, and ye shall know
+ Our gloom is fire.
+ In vain your pomp, ye evil powers,
+ Insults the land;
+ Wrongs, vengeance, and _the cause_ are ours,
+ And God's right hand!
+ Madmen! they trample into snakes
+ The wormy clod!
+ Like fire, beneath their feet awakes
+ The sword of God!
+ Behind, before, above, below,
+ They rouse the brave;
+ Where'er they go, they make a foe,
+ Or find a grave.
+
+ _Elliott._
+
+
+
+
+ LXIX
+
+ LOYALTY
+
+
+ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
+ O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
+ When the flower is i' the bud and the leaf is on the tree,
+ The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie;
+ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
+ O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
+
+ The green leaf o' loyaltie's begun for to fa',
+ The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a';
+ But I'll water 't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie,
+ An' green it will grow in my ain countrie.
+ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
+ O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
+
+ The great are now gane, a' wha ventured to save;
+ The new grass is springing on the tap o' their grave:
+ But the sun thro' the mirk blinks blythe in my e'e,
+ 'I'll shine on ye yet in yere ain countrie.'
+ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
+ Hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
+
+ _Cunningham._
+
+
+
+
+ LXX
+
+ A SEA-SONG
+
+
+ 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.
+
+ O 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.
+
+ _Cunningham._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXI
+
+ 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 south-west 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!
+
+ _Procter._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXII
+
+ 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 for ever 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!
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXIII
+
+ THE STORMING OF CORINTH
+
+
+ THE SIGNAL
+
+ The night is past, and shines the sun
+ As if that morn were a jocund one.
+ Lightly and brightly breaks away
+ The Morning from her mantle grey,
+ And the noon will look on a sultry day.
+ Hark to the trump, and the drum,
+ And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,
+ And the flap of the banners that flit as they're borne,
+ And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum,
+ And the clash, and the shout, 'They come! they come!'
+ The horsetails are plucked from the ground, and the sword
+ From its sheath; and they form, and but wait for the word.
+ Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman,
+ Strike your tents, and throng to the van;
+ Mount ye, spur ye, skirr the plain,
+ That the fugitive may flee in vain,
+ When he breaks from the town; and none escape,
+ Aged or young, in the Christian shape;
+ While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,
+ Bloodstain the breach through which they pass.
+ The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein;
+ Curved is each neck, and flowing each mane;
+ White is the foam of their champ on the bit:
+ The spears are uplifted; the matches are lit;
+ The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar,
+ And crush the wall they have crumbled before:
+ Forms in his phalanx each janizar;
+ Alp at their head; his right arm is bare,
+ So is the blade of his scimitar;
+ The khan and the pachas are all at their post;
+ The vizier himself at the head of the host.
+ When the culverin's signal is fired, then on;
+ Leave not in Corinth a living one--
+ A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls,
+ A hearth in her mansions, a stone on her walls.
+ God and the prophet--Alla Hu!
+ Up to the skies with that wild halloo!
+ 'There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale;
+ And your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail?
+ He who first downs with the red cross may crave
+ His heart's dearest wish; let him ask it, and have!'
+ Thus uttered Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier;
+ The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear,
+ And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire:--
+ Silence--hark to the signal--fire!
+
+
+ THE ASSAULT
+
+ As the spring-tides, with heavy plash,
+ From the cliffs invading dash
+ Huge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow,
+ Till white and thundering down they go,
+ Like the avalanche's snow
+ On the Alpine vales below;
+ Thus at length, outbreathed and worn,
+ Corinth's sons were downward borne
+ By the long and oft renewed
+ Charge of the Moslem multitude.
+ In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell,
+ Heaped by the host of the infidel,
+ Hand to hand, and foot to foot:
+ Nothing there, save death, was mute:
+ Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry
+ For quarter or for victory,
+ Mingle there with the volleying thunder,
+ Which makes the distant cities wonder
+ How the sounding battle goes,
+ If with them, or for their foes;
+ If they must mourn, or may rejoice
+ In that annihilating voice,
+ Which pierces the deep hills through and through
+ With an echo dread and new:
+ You might have heard it, on that day,
+ O'er Salamis and Megara;
+ (We have heard the hearers say,)
+ Even unto Piraeus' bay.
+
+ From the point of encountering blades to the hilt,
+ Sabres and swords with blood were gilt;
+ But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun,
+ And all but the after carnage done,
+ Shriller shrieks now mingling come
+ From within the plundered dome:
+ Hark to the haste of flying feet
+ That splash in the blood of the slippery street;
+ But here and there, where 'vantage ground
+ Against the foe may still be found,
+ Desperate groups, of twelve or ten,
+ Make a pause, and turn again--
+ With banded backs against the wall,
+ Fiercely stand, or fighting fall.
+
+ There stood an old man--his hairs were white,
+ But his veteran arm was full of might:
+ So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray,
+ The dead before him, on that day,
+ In a semicircle lay;
+ Still he combated unwounded,
+ Though retreating, unsurrounded.
+ Many a scar of former fight
+ Lurked beneath his corselet bright;
+ But of every wound his body bore,
+ Each and all had been ta'en before:
+ Though aged, he was so iron of limb,
+ Few of our youth could cope with him,
+ And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay,
+ Outnumbered his thin hairs of silver grey.
+ From right to left his sabre swept;
+ Many an Othman mother wept
+ Sons that were unborn, when dipped
+ His weapon first in Moslem gore,
+ Ere his years could count a score.
+ Of all he might have been the sire
+ Who fell that day beneath his ire:
+ For, sonless left long years ago,
+ His wrath made many a childless foe;
+ And since the day, when in the strait
+ His only boy had met his fate,
+ His parent's iron hand did doom
+ More than a human hecatomb.
+ If shades by carnage be appeased,
+ Patroclus' spirit less was pleased
+ Than his, Minotti's son, who died
+ Where Asia's bounds and ours divide.
+ Buried he lay, where thousands before
+ For thousands of years were inhumed on the shore;
+ What of them is left, to tell
+ Where they lie, and how they fell?
+ Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves;
+ But they live in the verse that immortally saves.
+
+
+ THE MAGAZINE
+
+ Darkly, sternly, and all alone,
+ Minotti stood o'er the altar-stone:
+ Madonna's face upon him shone,
+ Painted in heavenly hues above,
+ With eyes of light and looks of love;
+ And placed upon that holy shrine
+ To fix our thoughts on things divine,
+ When pictured there, we kneeling see
+ Her, and the boy-God on her knee,
+ Smiling sweetly on each prayer
+ To heaven, as if to waft it there.
+ Still she smiled; even now she smiles,
+ Though slaughter streams along her aisles:
+ Minotti lifted his aged eye,
+ And made the sign of a cross with a sigh,
+ Then seized a torch which blazed thereby;
+ And still he stood, while with steel and flame
+ Inward and onward the Mussulman came.
+
+ The vaults beneath the mosaic stone
+ Contained the dead of ages gone;
+ Their names were on the graven floor,
+ But now illegible with gore;
+ The carved crests, and curious hues
+ The varied marble's veins diffuse,
+ Were smeared, and slippery, stained, and strown
+ With broken swords and helms o'erthrown:
+ There were dead above, and the dead below
+ Lay cold in many a coffined row;
+ You might see them piled in sable state,
+ By a pale light through a gloomy grate;
+ But War had entered their dark caves,
+ And stored along the vaulted graves
+ Her sulphurous treasures, thickly spread
+ In masses by the fleshless dead:
+ Here, throughout the siege, had been
+ The Christians' chiefest magazine;
+ To these a late formed train now led,
+ Minotti's last and stern resource
+ Against the foe's o'erwhelming force.
+
+ The foe came on, and few remain
+ To strive, and those must strive in vain:
+ For lack of further lives, to slake
+ The thirst of vengeance now awake,
+ With barbarous blows they gash the dead,
+ And lop the already lifeless head,
+ And fell the statues from their niche,
+ And spoil the shrines of offerings rich,
+ And from each other's rude hands wrest
+ The silver vessels saints had blessed.
+ To the high altar on they go;
+ O, but it made a glorious show!
+ On its table still behold
+ The cup of consecrated gold;
+ Massy and deep, a glittering prize,
+ Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes:
+ That morn it held the holy wine,
+ Converted by Christ to his blood so divine,
+ Which his worshippers drank at the break of day,
+ To shrive their souls ere they joined in the fray.
+ Still a few drops within it lay;
+ And round the sacred table glow
+ Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row,
+ From the purest metal cast;
+ A spoil--the richest, and the last.
+
+ So near they came, the nearest stretched
+ To grasp the spoil he almost reached,
+ When old Minotti's hand
+ Touched with the torch the train--
+ 'Tis fired!
+ Spire, vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain,
+ The turbaned victors, the Christian band,
+ All that of living or dead remain,
+ Hurl'd on high with the shivered fane,
+ In one wild roar expired!
+ The shattered town--the walls thrown down--
+ The waves a moment backward bent--
+ The hills that shake, although unrent,
+ As if an earthquake passed--
+ The thousand shapeless things all driven
+ In cloud and flame athwart the heaven
+ By that tremendous blast--
+ Proclaimed the desperate conflict o'er
+ On that too long afflicted shore:
+ Up to the sky like rockets go
+ All that mingled there below:
+ Many a tall and goodly man,
+ Scorched and shrivelled to a span,
+ When he fell to earth again
+ Like a cinder strewed the plain:
+ Down the ashes shower like rain;
+ Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles
+ With a thousand circling wrinkles;
+ Some fell on the shore, but far away
+ Scattered o'er the isthmus lay;
+ Christian or Moslem, which be they?
+ Let their mother say and say!
+ When in cradled rest they lay,
+ And each nursing mother smiled
+ On the sweet sleep of her child,
+ Little deemed she such a day
+ Would rend those tender limbs away.
+ Not the matrons that them bore
+ Could discern their offspring more;
+ That one moment left no trace
+ More of human form or face
+ Save a scattered scalp or bone:
+ And down came blazing rafters, strown
+ Around, and many a falling stone,
+ Deeply dinted in the clay,
+ All blackened there and reeking lay.
+ All the living things that heard
+ That deadly earth-shock disappeared:
+ The wild birds flew; the wild dogs fled,
+ And howling left the unburied dead;
+ The camels from their keepers broke;
+ The distant steer forsook the yoke--
+ The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain,
+ And burst his girth, and tore his rein;
+ The bull-frog's note from out the marsh
+ Deep-mouthed arose, and doubly harsh;
+ The wolves yelled on the caverned hill
+ Where echo rolled in thunder still;
+ The jackals' troop in gathered cry
+ Bayed from afar complainingly,
+ With a mixed and mournful sound,
+ Like crying babe, and beaten hound:
+ With sudden wing and ruffled breast
+ The eagle left his rocky nest,
+ And mounted nearer to the sun,
+ The clouds beneath him seemed so dun;
+ Their smoke assailed his startled beak,
+ And made him higher soar and shriek--
+ Thus was Corinth lost and won!
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXIV
+
+ ALHAMA
+
+
+ The Moorish King rides up and down,
+ Through Granada's royal town;
+ From Elvira's gates to those
+ Of Bivarambla on he goes.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Letters to the monarch tell
+ How Alhama's city fell:
+ In the fire the scroll he threw,
+ And the messenger he slew.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,
+ And through the street directs his course;
+ Through the street of Zacatin
+ To the Alhambra spurring in.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ When the Alhambra walls he gained,
+ On the moment he ordained
+ That the trumpet straight should sound
+ With the silver clarion round.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And when the hollow drums of war
+ Beat the loud alarm afar,
+ That the Moors of town and plain
+ Might answer to the martial strain--
+ Woe is me, Alhama!--
+
+ Then the Moors, by this aware,
+ That bloody Mars recalled them there
+ One by one, and two by two,
+ To a mighty squadron grew.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Out then spake an aged Moor
+ In these words the king before,
+ 'Wherefore call on us, O King?
+ What may mean this gathering?'
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ 'Friends! ye have, alas! to know
+ Of a most disastrous blow;
+ That the Christians, stern and bold,
+ Have obtained Alhama's hold.'
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Out then spake old Alfaqui,
+ With his beard so white to see,
+ 'Good King! thou art justly served,
+ Good King! this thou hast deserved.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ By thee were slain, in evil hour,
+ The Abencerrage, Granada's flower;
+ And strangers were received by thee
+ Of Cordova the Chivalry.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And for this, O King! is sent
+ On thee a double chastisement:
+ Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,
+ One last wreck shall overwhelm.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ He who holds no laws in awe,
+ He must perish by the law;
+ And Granada must be won,
+ And thyself with her undone.'
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Fire flashed from out the old Moor's eyes,
+ The monarch's wrath began to rise,
+ Because he answered, and because
+ He spake exceeding well of laws.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ 'There is no law to say such things
+ As may disgust the ear of kings:'
+ Thus, snorting with his choler, said
+ The Moorish King, and doomed him dead.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!
+ Though thy beard so hoary be,
+ The King hath sent to have thee seized,
+ For Alhama's loss displeased.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And to fix thy head upon
+ High Alhambra's loftiest stone;
+ That this for thee should be the law,
+ And others tremble when they saw.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ 'Cavalier, and man of worth!
+ Let these words of mine go forth!
+ Let the Moorish Monarch know,
+ That to him I nothing owe.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ But on my soul Alhama weighs,
+ And on my inmost spirit preys;
+ And if the King his land hath lost,
+ Yet others may have lost the most.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ Sires have lost their children, wives
+ Their lords, and valiant men their lives!
+ One what best his love might claim
+ Hath lost, another wealth, or fame.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ I lost a damsel in that hour,
+ Of all the land the loveliest flower;
+ Doubloons a hundred I would pay,
+ And think her ransom cheap that day.'
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And as these things the old Moor said,
+ They severed from the trunk his head;
+ And to the Alhambra's wall with speed
+ 'Twas carried, as the King decreed.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And men and infants therein weep
+ Their loss, so heavy and so deep;
+ Granada's ladies, all she rears
+ Within her walls, burst into tears.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ And from the windows o'er the walls
+ The sable web of mourning falls;
+ The King weeps as a woman o'er
+ His loss, for it is much and sore.
+ Woe is me, Alhama!
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXV
+
+ FRIENDSHIP
+
+
+ My boat is on the shore,
+ And my bark is on the sea;
+ But, before I go, Tom Moore,
+ Here's a double health to thee!
+
+ Here's a sigh to those who love me,
+ And a smile to those who hate;
+ And, whatever sky's above me,
+ Here's a heart for every fate.
+
+ Though the ocean roar around me,
+ Yet it still shall bear me on;
+ Though a desert should surround me,
+ It hath springs that may be won.
+
+ Were 't the last drop in the well,
+ As I gasped upon the brink,
+ Ere my fainting spirit fell,
+ 'Tis to thee that I would drink.
+
+ With that water, as this wine,
+ The libation I would pour
+ Should be, 'Peace with thine and mine,
+ And a health to thee, Tom Moore!'
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXVI
+
+ THE RACE WITH DEATH
+
+
+ O Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls
+ Are level with the waters, there shall be
+ A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,
+ A loud lament along the sweeping sea!
+ If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,
+ What should thy sons do?--anything but weep:
+ And yet they only murmur in their sleep.
+ In contrast with their fathers--as the slime,
+ The dull green ooze of the receding deep,
+ Is with the dashing of the spring-tide foam
+ That drives the sailor shipless to his home,
+ Are they to those that were; and thus they creep,
+ Crouching and crab-like, through their sapping streets.
+ O agony! that centuries should reap
+ No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred years
+ Of wealth and glory turned to dust and tears,
+ And every monument the stranger meets,
+ Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets;
+ And even the Lion all subdued appears,
+ And the harsh sound of the barbarian drum
+ With dull and daily dissonance repeats
+ The echo of thy tyrant's voice along
+ The soft waves, once all musical to song,
+ That heaved beneath the moonlight with the throng
+ Of gondolas and to the busy hum
+ Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds
+ Were but the overbeating of the heart,
+ And flow of too much happiness, which needs
+ The aid of age to turn its course apart
+ From the luxuriant and voluptuous flood
+ Of sweet sensations, battling with the blood.
+ But these are better than the gloomy errors,
+ The weeds of nations in their last decay,
+ When Vice walks forth with her unsoftened terrors,
+ And Mirth is madness, and but smiles to slay;
+ And Hope is nothing but a false delay,
+ The sick man's lightening half an hour ere death,
+ When Faintness, the last mortal birth of Pain,
+ And apathy of limb, the dull beginning
+ Of the cold staggering race which Death is winning,
+ Steals vein by vein and pulse by pulse away;
+ Yet so relieving the o'er-tortured clay,
+ To him appears renewal of his breath,
+ And freedom the mere numbness of his chain;
+ And then he talks of life, and how again
+ He feels his spirits soaring--albeit weak,
+ And of the fresher air, which he would seek:
+ And as he whispers knows not that he gasps,
+ That his thin finger feels not what it clasps;
+ And so the film comes o'er him, and the dizzy
+ Chamber swims round and round, and shadows busy,
+ At which he vainly catches, flit and gleam,
+ Till the last rattle chokes the strangled scream,
+ And all is ice and blackness, and the earth
+ That which it was the moment ere our birth.
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXVII
+
+ THE GLORY THAT WAS GREECE
+
+
+ The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
+ Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
+ Where grew the arts of war and peace,
+ Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
+ Eternal summer gilds them yet,
+ But all except their sun is set.
+
+ The Scian and the Teian muse,
+ The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
+ Have found the fame your shores refuse:
+ Their place of birth alone is mute
+ To sounds which echo further west
+ Than your sires' 'Islands of the Blest.'
+
+ The mountains look on Marathon--
+ And Marathon looks on the sea;
+ And, musing there an hour alone,
+ I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
+ For, standing on the Persians' grave,
+ I could not deem myself a slave.
+
+ A king sate on the rocky brow
+ Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
+ And ships by thousands lay below,
+ And men in nations;--all were his!
+ He counted them at break of day,
+ And when the sun set, where were they?
+
+ And where are they? and where art thou,
+ My country? On thy voiceless shore
+ The heroic lay is tuneless now,
+ The heroic bosom beats no more!
+ And must thy lyre, so long divine,
+ Degenerate into hands like mine?
+
+ 'Tis something in the dearth of fame,
+ Though linked among a fettered race,
+ To feel at least a patriot's shame,
+ Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
+ For what is left the poet here?
+ For Greeks a blush, for Greece a tear!
+
+ Must _we_ but weep o'er days more blest?
+ Must _we_ but blush? Our fathers bled.
+ Earth! render back from out thy breast
+ A remnant of our Spartan dead!
+ Of the three hundred grant but three,
+ To make a new Thermopylae!
+
+ What, silent still? and silent all?
+ Ah! no: the voices of the dead
+ Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
+ And answer, 'Let one living head,
+ But one arise,--we come, we come!'
+ 'Tis but the living who are dumb.
+
+ In vain--in vain: strike other chords;
+ Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
+ Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
+ And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
+ Hark! rising to the ignoble call,
+ How answers each bold Bacchanal!
+
+ You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;
+ Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
+ Of two such lessons, why forget
+ The nobler and the manlier one?
+ You have the letters Cadmus gave;
+ Think ye he meant them for a slave?
+
+ Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
+ We will not think of themes like these!
+ It made Anacreon's song divine:
+ He served--but served Polycrates:
+ A tyrant; but our masters then
+ Were still, at least, our countrymen.
+
+ The tyrant of the Chersonese
+ Was freedom's best and bravest friend;
+ _That_ tyrant was Miltiades!
+ Oh! that the present hour would lend
+ Another despot of the kind!
+ Such chains as his were sure to bind.
+
+ Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
+ On Suli's rock and Parga's shore
+ Exists the remnant of a line
+ Such as the Doric mothers bore;
+ And there, perhaps, some seed is sown
+ The Heracleidan blood might own.
+
+ Trust not for freedom to the Franks--
+ They have a king who buys and sells;
+ In native swords and native ranks
+ The only hope of courage dwells:
+ But Turkish force and Latin fraud
+ Would break your shield, however broad.
+
+ Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
+ Our virgins dance beneath the shade--
+ I see their glorious black eyes shine;
+ But, gazing on each glowing maid,
+ My own the burning tear-drop laves,
+ To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
+
+ Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
+ Where nothing save the waves and I
+ May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
+ There, swan-like, let me sing and die:
+ A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine--
+ Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXVIII
+
+ HAIL AND FAREWELL
+
+
+ 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
+ Since others it hath ceased to move:
+ Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
+ Still let me love!
+
+ My days are in the yellow leaf;
+ The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
+ The worm, the canker, and the grief
+ Are mine alone!
+
+ The fire that on my bosom preys
+ Is lone as some volcanic isle;
+ No torch is kindled at its blaze--
+ A funeral pile.
+
+ The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
+ The exalted portion of the pain
+ And power of love, I cannot share,
+ But wear the chain.
+
+ But 'tis not thus, and 'tis not here,
+ Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor _now_
+ Where glory decks the hero's bier,
+ Or binds his brow.
+
+ The sword, the banner, and the field,
+ Glory and Greece, around me see!
+ The Spartan borne upon his shield
+ Was not more free.
+
+ Awake! (not Greece--she _is_ awake!)
+ Awake, my spirit! Think through _whom_
+ Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
+ And then strike home!
+
+ Tread those reviving passions down,
+ Unworthy manhood! unto thee
+ Indifferent should the smile or frown
+ Of beauty be.
+
+ If thou regrett'st thy youth, _why live?_
+ The lad of honourable death
+ Is here: up to the field, and give
+ Away thy breath!
+
+ Seek out--less often sought than found--
+ A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
+ Then look around, and choose thy ground,
+ And take thy rest.
+
+ _Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXIX
+
+ AFTER CORUNNA
+
+
+ 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 enclosed his breast,
+ Nor 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,
+ How 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.
+
+ _Wolfe._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXX
+
+ THE OLD NAVY
+
+
+ The captain stood on the carronade: 'First lieutenant,' says he,
+ 'Send all my merry men aft here, for they must list to me;
+ I haven't the gift of the gab, my sons--because I'm bred to the sea;
+ That ship there is a Frenchman, who means to fight with we.
+ And odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea,
+ I've fought 'gainst every odds--but I've gained the victory!
+
+ That ship there is a Frenchman, and if we don't take _she_,
+ 'Tis a thousand bullets to one, that she will capture _we_;
+ I haven't the gift of the gab, my boys; so each man to his gun;
+ If she's not mine in half an hour, I'll flog each mother's son.
+ For odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea,
+ I've fought 'gainst every odds--and I've gained the victory!'
+
+ We fought for twenty minutes, when the Frenchman had enough;
+ 'I little thought,' said he, 'that your men were of such stuff';
+ Our captain took the Frenchman's sword, a low bow made to _he_;
+ 'I haven't the gift of the gab, monsieur, but polite I wish to be.
+ And odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea,
+ I've fought 'gainst every odds--and I've gained the victory!'
+
+ Our captain sent for all of us: 'My merry men,' said he,
+ 'I haven't the gift of the gab, my lads, but yet I thankful be.
+ You've done your duty handsomely, each man stood to his gun;
+ If you hadn't, you villains, as sure as day, I'd have flogged each
+ mother's son.
+ For odds bobs, hammer and tongs, as long as I'm at sea,
+ I'll fight 'gainst every odds--and I'll gain the victory!'
+
+ _Marryat._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXI
+
+ CASABIANCA
+
+
+ The boy stood on the burning deck
+ Whence all but he had fled;
+ The flame that lit the battle's wreck
+ Shone round him o'er the dead.
+
+ Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
+ As born to rule the storm:
+ A creature of heroic blood,
+ A proud though child-like form.
+
+ The flames rolled on--he would not go
+ Without his father's word;
+ That father, faint in death below,
+ His voice no longer heard.
+
+ He called aloud; 'Say, father! say
+ If yet my task is done!'
+ He knew not that the chieftain lay
+ Unconscious of his son.
+
+ 'Speak, father!' once again he cried,
+ 'If I may yet be gone!'
+ And but the booming shots replied,
+ And fast the flames rolled on.
+
+ Upon his brow he felt their breath,
+ And in his waving hair;
+ He looked from that lone post of death
+ In still yet brave despair,
+
+ And shouted but once more aloud,
+ 'My father! must I stay?'
+ While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
+ The wreathing fires made way.
+
+ They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
+ They caught the flag on high,
+ And streamed above the gallant child
+ Like banners in the sky.
+
+ There came a burst of thunder-sound--
+ The boy--O! where was he?
+ Ask of the winds that far around
+ With fragments strewed the sea:
+
+ With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
+ That well had borne their part!
+ But the noblest thing which perished there
+ Was that young faithful heart.
+
+ _Hemans._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXII
+
+ 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.
+
+ _Hemans._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXIII
+
+ TO THE ADVENTUROUS
+
+
+ Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,
+ And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
+ Round many western islands have I been
+ Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
+ Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
+ That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne:
+ Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
+ Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
+ Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
+ When a new planet swims into his ken;
+ Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
+ He stared at the Pacific--and all his men
+ Looked at each other with a wild surmise--
+ Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
+
+ _Keats._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXIV
+
+ HORATIUS
+
+
+ THE TRYSTING
+
+ Lars Porsena of Clusium
+ By the Nine Gods he swore
+ That the great house of Tarquin
+ Should suffer wrong no more.
+ By the Nine Gods he swore it,
+ And named a trysting day,
+ And bade his messengers ride forth
+ East and west and south and north
+ To summon his array.
+
+ East and west and south and north
+ The messengers ride fast,
+ And tower and town and cottage
+ Have heard the trumpet's blast.
+ Shame on the false Etruscan
+ Who lingers in his home,
+ When Porsena of Clusium
+ Is on the march for Rome.
+
+ The horsemen and the footmen
+ Are pouring in amain
+ From many a stately market-place,
+ From many a fruitful plain;
+ From many a lonely hamlet
+ Which, hid by beech and pine,
+ Like an eagle's nest hangs on the crest
+ Of purple Apennine;
+
+ From lordly Volaterrae,
+ Where scowls the far-famed hold
+ Piled by the hands of giants
+ For godlike kings of old;
+ From sea-girt Populonia
+ Whose sentinels descry
+ Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops
+ Fringing the southern sky;
+
+ From the proud mart of Pisae,
+ Queen of the western waves,
+ Where ride Massilia's triremes
+ Heavy with fair-haired slaves;
+ From where sweet Clanis wanders
+ Through corn and vines and flowers;
+ From where Cortona lifts to heaven
+ Her diadem of towers.
+
+ Tall are the oaks whose acorns
+ Drop in dark Auser's rill;
+ Fat are the stags that champ the boughs
+ Of the Ciminian hill;
+ Beyond all streams Clitumnus
+ Is to the herdsman dear;
+ Best of all pools the fowler loves
+ The great Volsinian mere.
+
+ But now no stroke of woodman
+ Is heard by Auser's rill;
+ No hunter tracks the stag's green path
+ Up the Ciminian hill;
+ Unwatched along Clitumnus
+ Grazes the milk-white steer;
+ Unharmed the water-fowl may dip
+ In the Volsinian mere.
+
+ The harvests of Arretium
+ This year old men shall reap;
+ This year young boys in Umbro
+ Shall plunge the struggling sheep;
+ And in the vats of Luna
+ This year the must shall foam
+ Round the white feet of laughing girls
+ Whose sires have marched to Rome.
+
+ There be thirty chosen prophets,
+ The wisest of the land,
+ Who alway by Lars Porsena
+ Both morn and evening stand:
+ Evening and morn the Thirty
+ Have turned the verses o'er,
+ Traced from the right on linen white
+ By mighty seers of yore.
+
+ And with one voice the Thirty
+ Have their glad answer given:
+ 'Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena;
+ Go forth, beloved of Heaven;
+ Go, and return in glory
+ To Clusium's royal dome,
+ And hang round Nurscia's altars
+ The golden shields of Rome.'
+
+ And now hath every city
+ Sent up her tale of men;
+ The foot are fourscore thousand,
+ The horse are thousands ten.
+ Before the gates of Sutrium
+ Is met the great array.
+ A proud man was Lars Porsena
+ Upon the trysting day!
+
+ For all the Etruscan armies
+ Were ranged beneath his eye,
+ And many a banished Roman,
+ And many a stout ally;
+ And with a mighty following
+ To join the muster came
+ The Tusculan Mamilius,
+ Prince of the Latian name.
+
+
+ THE TROUBLE IN ROME
+
+ But by the yellow Tiber
+ Was tumult and affright:
+ From all the spacious champaign
+ To Rome men took their flight.
+ A mile around the city
+ The throng stopped up the ways;
+ A fearful sight it was to see
+ Through two long nights and days.
+
+ For aged folk on crutches,
+ And women great with child,
+ And mothers sobbing over babes
+ That clung to them and smiled,
+ And sick men borne in litters
+ High on the necks of slaves,
+ And troops of sun-burned husbandmen
+ With reaping-hooks and staves,
+
+ And droves of mules and asses
+ Laden with skins of wine,
+ And endless flocks of goats and sheep,
+ And endless herds of kine,
+ And endless trains of waggons
+ That creaked beneath the weight
+ Of corn-sacks and of household goods,
+ Choked every roaring gate.
+
+ Now from the rock Tarpeian
+ Could the wan burghers spy
+ The line of blazing villages
+ Red in the midnight sky.
+ The Fathers of the City,
+ They sat all night and day,
+ For every hour some horseman came
+ With tidings of dismay.
+
+ To eastward and to westward
+ Have spread the Tuscan bands;
+ Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote
+ In Crustumerium stands.
+ Verbenna down to Ostia
+ Hath wasted all the plain;
+ Astur hath stormed Janiculum,
+ And the stout guards are slain.
+
+ I wis, in all the Senate
+ There was no heart so bold
+ But sore it ached, and fast it beat,
+ When that ill news was told.
+ Forthwith up rose the Consul,
+ Up rose the Fathers all;
+ In haste they girded up their gowns,
+ And hied them to the wall.
+
+ They held a council standing
+ Before the River-Gate;
+ Short time was there, ye well may guess,
+ For musing or debate.
+ Out spake the Consul roundly:
+ 'The bridge must straight go down;
+ For, since Janiculum is lost,
+ Nought else can save the town.'
+
+ Just then a scout came flying,
+ All wild with haste and fear:
+ 'To arms! to arms! Sir Consul:
+ Lars Porsena is here.'
+ On the low hills to westward
+ The Consul fixed his eye,
+ And saw the swarthy storm of dust
+ Rise fast along the sky.
+
+ And nearer fast and nearer
+ Doth the red whirlwind come;
+ And louder still and still more loud,
+ From underneath that rolling cloud
+ Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud,
+ The trampling, and the hum.
+ And plainly and more plainly
+ Now through the gloom appears,
+ Far to left and far to right,
+ In broken gleams of dark-blue light,
+ The long array of helmets bright,
+ The long array of spears.
+
+ And plainly and more plainly
+ Above that glimmering line
+ Now might ye see the banners
+ Of twelve fair cities shine;
+ But the banner of proud Clusium
+ Was highest of them all,
+ The terror of the Umbrian,
+ The terror of the Gaul.
+
+ And plainly and more plainly
+ Now might the burghers know,
+ By port and vest, by horse and crest,
+ Each warlike Lucumo.
+ There Cilnius of Arretium
+ On his fleet roan was seen;
+ And Astur of the fourfold shield,
+ Girt with the brand none else may wield,
+ Tolumnius with the belt of gold,
+ And dark Verbenna from the hold
+ By reedy Thrasymene.
+
+ Fast by the royal standard
+ O'erlooking all the war,
+ Lars Porsena of Clusium
+ Sate in his ivory car.
+ By the right wheel rode Mamilius,
+ Prince of the Latian name;
+ And by the left false Sextus,
+ That wrought the deed of shame.
+
+ But when the face of Sextus
+ Was seen among the foes,
+ A yell that rent the firmament
+ From all the town arose.
+ On the house-tops was no woman
+ But spat towards him, and hissed;
+ No child but screamed out curses,
+ And shook its little fist.
+
+ But the Consul's brow was sad,
+ And the Consul's speech was low,
+ And darkly looked he at the wall,
+ And darkly at the foe.
+ 'Their van will be upon us
+ Before the bridge goes down;
+ And if they once may win the bridge,
+ What hope to save the town?'
+
+ Then out spake brave Horatius,
+ The Captain of the gate:
+ 'To every man upon this earth
+ Death cometh soon or late;
+ And how can man die better
+ Than facing fearful odds,
+ For the ashes of his fathers
+ And the temples of his Gods,
+
+ And for the tender mother
+ Who dandled him to rest,
+ And for the wife who nurses
+ His baby at her breast,
+ And for the holy maidens
+ Who feed the eternal flame,
+ To save them from false Sextus
+ That wrought the deed of shame?
+
+ Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
+ With all the speed ye may;
+ I, with two more to help me,
+ Will hold the foe in play.
+ In yon strait path a thousand
+ May well be stopped by three.
+ Now who will stand on either hand,
+ And keep the bridge with me?'
+
+ Then out spake Spurius Lartius,
+ A Ramnian proud was he:
+ 'Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
+ And keep the bridge with thee.'
+ And out spake strong Heminius,
+ Of Titian blood was he:
+ 'I will abide on thy left side,
+ And keep the bridge with thee.'
+
+ 'Horatius,' quoth the Consul,
+ 'As thou sayest, so let it be.'
+ And straight against that great array
+ Forth went the dauntless Three.
+ For Romans in Rome's quarrel
+ Spared neither land nor gold,
+ Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+ Then none was for a party;
+ Then all were for the state;
+ Then the great man helped the poor,
+ And the poor man loved the great:
+ Then lands were fairly portioned;
+ Then spoils were fairly sold:
+ The Romans were like brothers
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+ Now Roman is to Roman
+ More hateful than a foe,
+ And the Tribunes beard the high,
+ And the Fathers grind the low.
+ As we wax hot in faction,
+ In battle we wax cold:
+ Wherefore men fight not as they fought
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+
+ THE KEEPING OF THE BRIDGE
+
+ Now while the Three were tightening
+ Their harness on their backs,
+ The Consul was the foremost man
+ To take in hand an axe:
+ And Fathers mixed with Commons
+ Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
+ And smote upon the planks above,
+ And loosed the props below.
+
+ Meanwhile the Tuscan army,
+ Right glorious to behold,
+ Came flashing back the noonday light,
+ Rank behind rank, like surges bright
+ Of a broad sea of gold.
+ Four hundred trumpets sounded
+ A peal of warlike glee,
+ As that great host, with measured tread,
+ And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,
+ Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head,
+ Where stood the dauntless Three.
+
+ The Three stood calm and silent,
+ And looked upon the foes,
+ And a great shout of laughter
+ From all the vanguard rose:
+ And forth three chiefs came spurring
+ Before that deep array;
+ To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,
+ And lifted high their shields, and flew
+ To win the narrow way;
+
+ Aunus from green Tifernum,
+ Lord of the Hill of Vines;
+ And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves
+ Sicken in Ilva's mines;
+ And Picus, long to Clusium
+ Vassal in peace and war,
+ Who led to fight his Umbrian powers
+ From that grey crag where, girt with towers,
+ The fortress of Nequinum lowers
+ O'er the pale waves of Nar.
+
+ Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus
+ Into the stream beneath:
+ Herminius struck at Seius,
+ And clove him to the teeth:
+ At Picus brave Horatius
+ Darted one fiery thrust,
+ And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms
+ Clashed in the bloody dust.
+
+ Then Ocnus of Falerii
+ Rushed on the Roman Three;
+ And Lausulus of Urgo,
+ The rover of the sea;
+ And Aruns of Volsinium,
+ Who slew the great wild boar,
+ The great wild boar that had his den
+ Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen,
+ And wasted fields, and slaughtered men,
+ Along Albinia's shore.
+
+ Herminius smote down Aruns:
+ Lartius laid Ocnus low:
+ Right to the heart of Lausulus
+ Horatius sent a blow.
+ 'Lie there,' he cried, 'fell pirate!
+ No more, aghast and pale,
+ From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark
+ The track of thy destroying bark.
+ No more Campania's hinds shall fly
+ To woods and caverns when they spy
+ Thy thrice-accursed sail.'
+
+ But now no sound of laughter
+ Was heard amongst the foes.
+ A wild and wrathful clamour
+ From all the vanguard rose.
+ Six spears' lengths from the entrance
+ Halted that deep array,
+ And for a space no man came forth
+ To win the narrow way.
+
+ But hark! the cry is Astur:
+ And lo! the ranks divide;
+ And the great Lord of Luna
+ Comes with his stately stride.
+ Upon his ample shoulders
+ Clangs loud the fourfold shield,
+ And in his hand he shakes the brand
+ Which none but he can wield.
+
+ He smiled on those bold Romans
+ A smile serene and high;
+ He eyed the flinching Tuscans,
+ And scorn was in his eye.
+ Quoth he, 'The she-wolf's litter
+ Stands savagely at bay:
+ But will ye dare to follow,
+ If Astur clears the way?'
+
+ Then, whirling up his broadsword
+ With both hands to the height,
+ He rushed against Horatius,
+ And smote with all his might.
+ With shield and blade Horatius
+ Right deftly turned the blow.
+ The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh;
+ It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh:
+ The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
+ To see the red blood flow.
+
+ He reeled, and on Herminius
+ He leaned one breathing-space;
+ Then, like a wild cat mad with wounds,
+ Sprang right at Astur's face.
+ Through teeth, and skull, and helmet,
+ So fierce a thrust he sped
+ The good sword stood a handbreadth out
+ Behind the Tuscan's head.
+
+ And the great Lord of Luna
+ Fell at that deadly stroke,
+ As falls on Mount Alvernus
+ A thunder-smitten oak:
+ Far o'er the crashing forest
+ The giant arms lie spread;
+ And the pale augurs, muttering low,
+ Gaze on the blasted head.
+
+ On Astur's throat Horatius
+ Right firmly pressed his heel,
+ And thrice and four times tugged amain,
+ Ere he wrenched out the steel.
+ 'And see,' he cried, 'the welcome,
+ Fair guests, that waits you here!
+ What noble Lucumo comes next
+ To taste our Roman cheer?'
+
+ But at his haughty challenge
+ A sullen murmur ran,
+ Mingled of wrath and shame and dread,
+ Along that glittering van.
+ There lacked not men of prowess,
+ Nor men of lordly race;
+ For all Etruria's noblest
+ Were round the fatal place.
+
+ But all Etruria's noblest
+ Felt their hearts sink to see
+ On the earth the bloody corpses,
+ In the path the dauntless Three:
+ And, from the ghastly entrance
+ Where those bold Romans stood,
+ All shrank, like boys who unaware,
+ Ranging the woods to start a hare,
+ Come to the mouth of the dark lair
+ Where, growling low, a fierce old bear
+ Lies amidst bones and blood.
+
+ Was none who would be foremost
+ To lead such dire attack;
+ But those behind cried 'Forward!'
+ And those before cried 'Back!'
+ And backward now and forward
+ Wavers the deep array;
+ And on the tossing sea of steel,
+ To and fro the standards reel;
+ And the victorious trumpet-peal
+ Dies fitfully away.
+
+ Yet one man for one moment
+ Strode out before the crowd;
+ Well known was he to all the Three,
+ And they gave him greeting loud.
+ 'Now welcome, welcome, Sextus!
+ Now welcome to thy home!
+ Why dost thou stay, and turn away?
+ Here lies the road to Rome.'
+
+ Thrice looked he at the city;
+ Thrice looked he at the dead;
+ And thrice came on in fury,
+ And thrice turned back in dread:
+ And, white with fear and hatred,
+ Scowled at the narrow way
+ Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,
+ The bravest Tuscans lay.
+
+ But meanwhile axe and lever
+ Have manfully been plied;
+ And now the bridge hangs tottering
+ Above the boiling tide.
+ 'Come back, come back, Horatius!'
+ Loud cried the Fathers all.
+ 'Back, Lartius! back, Herminius!
+ Back, ere the ruin fall!'
+
+ Back darted Spurius Lartius;
+ Herminius darted back:
+ And, as they passed, beneath their feet
+ They felt the timbers crack.
+ But, when they turned their faces,
+ And on the farther shore
+ Saw brave Horatius stand alone,
+ They would have crossed once more.
+
+ But with a crash like thunder
+ Fell every loosened beam,
+ And, like a dam, the mighty wreck
+ Lay right athwart the stream:
+ And a long shout of triumph
+ Rose from the walls of Rome,
+ As to the highest turret-tops
+ Was splashed the yellow foam.
+
+ And, like a horse unbroken
+ When first he feels the rein,
+ The furious river struggled hard,
+ And tossed his tawny mane;
+ And burst the curb, and bounded,
+ Rejoicing to be free;
+ And whirling down, in fierce career,
+ Battlement, and plank, and pier,
+ Rushed headlong to the sea.
+
+
+ FATHER TIBER
+
+ Alone stood brave Horatius,
+ But constant still in mind;
+ Thrice thirty thousand foes before,
+ And the broad flood behind.
+ 'Down with him!' cried false Sextus,
+ With a smile on his pale face.
+ 'Now yield thee,' cried Lars Porsena,
+ 'Now yield thee to our grace.'
+
+ Round turned he, as not deigning
+ Those craven ranks to see;
+ Nought spake he to Lars Porsena,
+ To Sextus nought spake he;
+ But he saw on Palatinus
+ The white porch of his home;
+ And he spake to the noble river
+ That rolls by the towers of Rome.
+
+ 'O Tiber! father Tiber!
+ To whom the Romans pray,
+ A Roman's life, a Roman's arms,
+ Take thou in charge this day!'
+ So he spake, and speaking sheathed
+ The good sword by his side,
+ And with his harness on his back
+ Plunged headlong in the tide.
+
+ No sound of joy or sorrow
+ Was heard from either bank;
+ But friends and foes in dumb surprise,
+ With parted lips and straining eyes,
+ Stood gazing where he sank;
+ And when above the surges
+ They saw his crest appear,
+ All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
+ And even the ranks of Tuscany
+ Could scarce forbear to cheer.
+
+ But fiercely ran the current,
+ Swollen high by months of rain:
+ And fast his blood was flowing;
+ And he was sore in pain,
+ And heavy with his armour,
+ And spent with changing blows:
+ And oft they thought him sinking,
+ But still again he rose.
+
+ Never, I ween, did swimmer,
+ In such an evil case,
+ Struggle through such a raging flood
+ Safe to the landing-place:
+ But his limbs were borne up bravely
+ By the brave heart within,
+ And our good father Tiber
+ Bare bravely up his chin.
+
+ 'Curse on him!' quoth false Sextus;
+ 'Will not the villain drown?
+ But for this stay ere close of day
+ We should have sacked the town!'
+ 'Heaven help him!' quoth Lars Porsena,
+ 'And bring him safe to shore;
+ For such a gallant feat of arms
+ Was never seen before.'
+
+ And now he feels the bottom;
+ Now on dry earth he stands;
+ Now round him throng the Fathers
+ To press his gory hands;
+ And now with shouts and clapping,
+ And noise of weeping loud,
+ He enters through the River-Gate,
+ Borne by the joyous crowd.
+
+ They gave him of the corn-land,
+ That was of public right,
+ As much as two strong oxen
+ Could plough from morn till night;
+ And they made a molten image,
+ And set it up on high,
+ And there it stands unto this day
+ To witness if I lie.
+
+ It stands in the Comitium
+ Plain for all folk to see;
+ Horatius in his harness,
+ Halting upon one knee:
+ And underneath is written,
+ In letters all of gold,
+ How valiantly he kept the bridge
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+ And still his name sounds stirring
+ Unto the men of Rome,
+ As the trumpet-blast that cries to them
+ To charge the Volscian home;
+ And wives still pray to Juno
+ For boys with hearts as bold
+ As his who kept the bridge so well
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+ And in the nights of winter,
+ When the cold north winds blow,
+ And the long howling of the wolves
+ Is heard amidst the snow;
+ When round the lonely cottage
+ Roars loud the tempest's din,
+ And the good logs of Algidus
+ Roar louder yet within;
+
+ When the oldest cask is opened,
+ And the largest lamp is lit;
+ When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
+ And the kid turns on the spit;
+ When young and old in circle
+ Around the firebrands close;
+ When the girls are weaving baskets,
+ And the lads are shaping bows;
+
+ When the goodman mends his armour
+ And trims his helmet's plume;
+ When the goodwife's shuttle merrily
+ Goes flashing through the loom;
+ With weeping and with laughter
+ Still is the story told,
+ How well Horatius kept the bridge
+ In the brave days of old.
+
+ _Macaulay._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXV
+
+ THE ARMADA
+
+
+ Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise;
+ I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,
+ When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain
+ The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.
+ It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,
+ There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;
+ Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,
+ At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile.
+ At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace;
+ And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase.
+ Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall;
+ The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty hall;
+ Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast,
+ And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post.
+ With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes;
+ Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums;
+ His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space;
+ For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace.
+ And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,
+ As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.
+ Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,
+ And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down!
+ So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,
+ Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Caesar's eagle shield.
+ So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay,
+ And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay.
+ Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight: ho! scatter flowers,
+ fair maids:
+ Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute; ho! gallants, draw your blades:
+ Thou sun, shine on her joyously: ye breezes, waft her wide;
+ Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner of our pride.
+
+ The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold;
+ The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;
+ Night sank upon the dusky beach and on the purple sea,
+ Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be.
+ From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,
+ That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;
+ For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread,
+ High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head.
+ Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,
+ Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.
+ The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves:
+ The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves!
+ O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew:
+ He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.
+ Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town,
+ And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down;
+ The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,
+ And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light:
+ Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like silence broke,
+ And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke.
+ At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires;
+ At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;
+ From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear;
+ And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer;
+ And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,
+ And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street;
+ And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,
+ As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in.
+ And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went,
+ And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.
+ Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;
+ High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north;
+ And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still:
+ All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill:
+ Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales,
+ Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy huts of Wales,
+ Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height,
+ Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light,
+ Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,
+ And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain;
+ Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,
+ And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent;
+ Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile,
+ And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.
+
+ _Macaulay._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXVI
+
+ THE LAST BUCCANEER
+
+
+ The winds were yelling, the waves were swelling,
+ The sky was black and drear,
+ When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship without a name
+ Alongside the last Buccaneer.
+
+ 'Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale,
+ When all others drive bare on the seas?
+ Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador,
+ Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees?'
+
+ 'From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line can sound,
+ Without rudder or needle we steer;
+ Above, below, our bark dies the sea-fowl and the shark,
+ As we fly by the last Buccaneer.
+
+ To-night there shall be heard on the rocks of Cape de Verde
+ A loud crash and a louder roar;
+ And to-morrow shall the deep with a heavy moaning sweep
+ The corpses and wreck to the shore,'
+
+ The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride
+ In the breath of the citron shades;
+ And Severn's towering mast securely now hies fast,
+ Through the seas of the balmy Trades.
+
+ From St Jago's wealthy port, from Havannah's royal fort,
+ The seaman goes forth without fear;
+ For since that stormy night not a mortal hath had sight
+ Of the flag of the last Buccaneer.
+
+ _Macaulay._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXVII
+
+ A JACOBITE'S EPITAPH
+
+
+ To my true king I offered free from stain
+ Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain.
+ For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth, away,
+ And one dear hope, that was more prized than they.
+ For him I languished in a foreign clime,
+ Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime;
+ Heard on Lavernia Scargill's whispering trees,
+ And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees;
+ Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep,
+ Each morning started from the dream to weep;
+ Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave
+ The resting-place I asked--an early grave.
+ Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone,
+ From that proud country which was once mine own,
+ By those white cliffs I never more must see,
+ By that dear language which I speak like thee,
+ Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear
+ O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.
+
+ _Macaulay._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXVIII
+
+ THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN
+
+
+ A good sword and a trusty hand!
+ A merry heart and true!
+ King James's men shall understand
+ What Cornish lads can do.
+
+ And have they fixed the where and when?
+ And shall Trelawny die?
+ Here's twenty thousand Cornish men
+ Will know the reason why!
+
+ Out spake their captain brave and bold,
+ A merry wight was he:
+ 'If London Tower were Michael's hold,
+ We'll set Trelawny free!
+
+ We'll cross the Tamar, land to land,
+ The Severn is no stay,
+ With "one and all," and hand in hand,
+ And who shall bid us nay?
+
+ And when we come to London Wall,
+ A pleasant sight to view,
+ Come forth! come forth! ye cowards all,
+ Here's men as good as you.
+
+ Trelawny he's in keep and hold,
+ Trelawny he may die;
+ But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold
+ Will know the reason why!'
+
+ _Hawker._
+
+
+
+
+ LXXXIX
+
+ THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP
+
+
+ THE MODEL
+
+ 'Build me straight, O worthy Master!
+ Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel,
+ That shall laugh at all disaster,
+ And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!'
+
+ The merchant's word
+ Delighted the Master heard;
+ For his heart was in his work, and the heart
+ Giveth grace unto every Art.
+ A quiet smile played round his lips,
+ As the eddies and dimples of the tide
+ Play round the bows of ships,
+ That steadily at anchor ride.
+ And with a voice that was full of glee,
+ He answered, 'Ere long we will launch
+ A vessel as goodly, and strong, and staunch,
+ As ever weathered a wintry sea!'
+
+ And first with nicest skill and art,
+ Perfect and finished in every part,
+ A little model the Master wrought,
+ Which should be to the larger plan
+ What the child is to the man,
+ Its counterpart in miniature;
+ That with a hand more swift and sure
+ The greater labour might be brought
+ To answer to his inward thought.
+ And as he laboured, his mind ran o'er
+ The various ships that were built of yore,
+ And above them all, and strangest of all,
+ Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall,
+ Whose picture was hanging on the wall,
+ With bows and stern raised high in air,
+ And balconies hanging here and there,
+ And signal lanterns and flags afloat,
+ And eight round towers, like those that frown
+ From some old castle, looking down
+ Upon the drawbridge and the moat.
+ And he said with a smile, 'Our ship, I wis,
+ Shall be of another form than this!'
+
+ It was of another form, indeed;
+ Built for freight, and yet for speed,
+ A beautiful and gallant craft;
+ Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast,
+ Pressing down upon sail and mast,
+ Might not the sharp bows overwhelm;
+ Broad in the beam, but sloping aft
+ With graceful curve and slow degrees,
+ That she might be docile to the helm,
+ And that the currents of parted seas,
+ Closing behind, with mighty force,
+ Might aid and not impede her course.
+
+
+ THE BUILDERS
+
+ In the ship-yard stood the Master,
+ With the model of the vessel,
+ That should laugh at all disaster,
+ And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!
+
+ Covering many a rood of ground,
+ Lay the timber piled around;
+ Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak,
+ And scattered here and there, with these,
+ The knarred and crooked cedar knees;
+ Brought from regions far away,
+ From Pascagoula's sunny bay,
+ And the banks of the roaring Roanoke!
+ Ah! what a wondrous thing it is
+ To note how many wheels of toil
+ One thought, one word, can set in motion!
+ There's not a ship that sails the ocean,
+ But every climate, every soil,
+ Must bring its tribute, great or small,
+ And help to build the wooden wall!
+
+ The sun was rising o'er the sea,
+ And long the level shadows lay,
+ As if they, too, the beams would be
+ Of some great, airy argosy,
+ Framed and launched in a single day.
+ That silent architect, the sun,
+ Had hewn and laid them every one,
+ Ere the work of man was yet begun.
+ Beside the Master, when he spoke,
+ A youth, against an anchor leaning,
+ Listened to catch his slightest meaning.
+ Only the long waves, as they broke
+ In ripples on the pebbly beach,
+ Interrupted the old man's speech.
+
+ Beautiful they were, in sooth,
+ The old man and the fiery youth!
+ The old man, in whose busy brain
+ Many a ship that sailed the main
+ Was modelled o'er and o'er again;--
+ The fiery youth, who was to be
+ The heir of his dexterity,
+ The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand,
+ When he had built and launched from land
+ What the elder head had planned.
+
+ 'Thus,' said he, 'will we build this ship!
+ Lay square the blocks upon the slip,
+ And follow well this plan of mine.
+ Choose the timbers with greatest care;
+ Of all that is unsound beware;
+ For only what is sound and strong
+ To this vessel shall belong.
+ Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine
+ Here together shall combine.
+ A goodly frame, and a goodly fame,
+ And the UNION be her name!
+ For the day that gives her to the sea
+ Shall give my daughter unto thee!'
+
+ The Master's word
+ Enraptured the young man heard;
+ And as he turned his face aside,
+ With a look of joy and a thrill of pride,
+ Standing before
+ Her father's door,
+ He saw the form of his promised bride.
+ The sun shone on her golden hair,
+ And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair,
+ With the breath of morn and the soft sea air.
+ Like a beauteous barge was she,
+ Still at rest on the sandy beach,
+ Just beyond the billow's reach;
+ But he
+ Was the restless, seething, stormy sea!
+
+ Ah! how skilful grows the hand
+ That obeyeth Love's command!
+ It is the heart, and not the brain,
+ That to the highest doth attain,
+ And he who followeth Love's behest
+ Far exceedeth all the rest!
+ Thus with the rising of the sun
+ Was the noble task begun,
+ And soon throughout the ship-yard's bounds
+ Were heard the intermingled sounds
+ Of axes and of mallets, plied
+ With vigourous arms on every side;
+ Plied so deftly and so well,
+ That ere the shadows of evening fell,
+ The keel of oak for a noble ship,
+ Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong,
+ Was lying ready, and stretched along
+ The blocks, well placed upon the slip.
+ Happy, thrice happy, every one
+ Who sees his labour well begun,
+ And not perplexed and multiplied,
+ By idly waiting for time and tide!
+
+ And when the hot, long day was o'er,
+ The young man at the Master's door
+ Sat with the maiden calm and still.
+ And within the porch, a little more
+ Removed beyond the evening chill,
+ The father sat, and told them tales
+ Of wrecks in the great September gales,
+ Of pirates upon the Spanish Main,
+ And ships that never came back again;
+ The chance and change of a sailor's life,
+ Want and plenty, rest and strife,
+ His roving fancy, like the wind,
+ That nothing can stay and nothing can bind:
+ And the magic charm of foreign lands,
+ With shadows of palms and shining sands,
+ Where the tumbling surf,
+ O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar,
+ Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar,
+ As he lies alone and asleep on the turf.
+
+ And the trembling maiden held her breath
+ At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea,
+ With all its terror and mystery,
+ The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death,
+ That divides and yet unites mankind!
+ And whenever the old man paused, a gleam
+ From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume
+ The silent group in the twilight gloom,
+ And thoughtful faces, as in a dream;
+ And for a moment one might mark
+ What had been hidden by the dark,
+ That the head of the maiden lay at rest,
+ Tenderly, on the young man's breast!
+
+
+ IN THE SHIP-YARD
+
+ Day by day the vessel grew,
+ With timbers fashioned strong and true,
+ Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee,
+ Till, framed with perfect symmetry,
+ A skeleton ship rose up to view!
+ And round the bows and along the side
+ The heavy hammers and mallets plied,
+ Till after many a week, at length,
+ Wonderful for form and strength,
+ Sublime in its enormous bulk,
+ Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk!
+ And around it columns of smoke, upwreathing,
+ Rose from the boiling, bubbling, seething
+ Caldron that glowed,
+ And overflowed
+ With the black tar, heated for the sheathing.
+ And amid the clamours
+ Of clattering hammers,
+ He who listened heard now and then
+ The song of the Master and his men:--
+
+ 'Build me straight, O worthy Master,
+ Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel,
+ That shall laugh at all disaster,
+ And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!'
+
+ With oaken brace and copper band,
+ Lay the rudder on the sand,
+ That, like a thought, should have control
+ Over the movement of the whole;
+ And near it the anchor, whose giant hand
+ Would reach down and grapple with the land,
+ And immovable and fast
+ Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast!
+ And at the bows an image stood,
+ By a cunning artist carved in wood,
+ With robes of white, that far behind
+ Seemed to be fluttering in the wind.
+ It was not shaped in a classic mould,
+ Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old,
+ Or Naiad rising from the water,
+ But modelled from the Master's daughter!
+ On many a dreary and misty night
+ 'Twill be seen by the rays of the signal light,
+ Speeding along through the rain and the dark,
+ Like a ghost in its snow-white sark,
+ The pilot of some phantom bark,
+ Guiding the vessel in its flight
+ By a path none other knows aright,
+ Behold, at last,
+ Each tall and tapering mast
+ Is swung into its place;
+ Shrouds and stays
+ Holding it firm and fast!
+
+ Long ago,
+ In the deer-haunted forests of Maine,
+ When upon mountain and plain
+ Lay the snow,
+ They fell--those lordly pines!
+ Those grand, majestic pines!
+ 'Mid shouts and cheers
+ The jaded steers,
+ Panting beneath the goad,
+ Dragged down the weary, winding road
+ Those captive kings so straight and tall,
+ To be shorn of their streaming hair
+ And, naked and bare,
+ To feel the stress and the strain
+ Of the wind and the reeling main,
+ Whose roar
+ Would remind them for evermore
+ Of their native forest they should not see again.
+ And everywhere
+ The slender, graceful spars
+ Poise aloft in the air,
+ And at the mast head,
+ White, blue, and red,
+ A flag unrolls the stripes and stars,
+ Ah! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless,
+ In foreign harbours shall behold
+ That flag unrolled,
+ 'Twill be as a friendly hand
+ Stretched out from his native land,
+ Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless.
+
+
+ THE TWO BRIDALS
+
+ All is finished! and at length
+ Has come the bridal day
+ Of beauty and of strength.
+ To-day the vessel shall be launched!
+ With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched,
+ And o'er the bay,
+ Slowly, in all his splendours dight,
+ The great sun rises to behold the sight.
+ The ocean old,
+ Centuries old,
+ Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled,
+ Paces restless to and fro
+ Up and down the sands of gold.
+ His beating heart is not at rest;
+ And far and wide,
+ With ceaseless flow,
+ His beard of snow
+ Heaves with the heaving of his breast.
+
+ He waits impatient for his bride.
+ There she stands,
+ With her foot upon the sands,
+ Decked with flags and streamers gay
+ In honour of her marriage day,
+ Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending,
+ Round her like a veil descending,
+ Ready to be
+ The bride of the grey, old sea.
+
+ On the deck another bride
+ Is standing by her lover's side.
+ Shadows from the flags and shrouds,
+ Like the shadows cast by clouds,
+ Broken by many a sunny fleck,
+ Fall around them on the deck.
+
+ The prayer is said,
+ The service read,
+ The joyous bridegroom bows his head,
+ And in tears the good old Master
+ Shakes the brown hand of his son,
+ Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek
+ In silence, for he cannot speak,
+ And ever faster
+ Down his own the tears begin to run.
+ The worthy pastor--
+ The shepherd of that wandering flock,
+ That has the ocean for its wold,
+ That has the vessel for its fold,
+ Leaping ever from rock to rock--
+ Spake, with accents mild and clear,
+ Words of warning, words of cheer,
+ But tedious to the bridegroom's ear.
+ He knew the chart,
+ Of the sailor's heart,
+ All its pleasures and its griefs,
+ All its shallows and rocky reefs,
+ All those secret currents that flow
+ With such resistless undertow,
+ And lift and drift with terrible force,
+ The will from its moorings and its course.
+ Therefore he spake, and thus said he:
+
+ 'Like unto ships far off at sea,
+ Outward or homeward bound, are we.
+ Before, behind, and all around,
+ Floats and swings the horizon's bound,
+ Seems at its distant rim to rise
+ And climb the crystal wall of the skies,
+ And then again to turn and sink,
+ As if we could slide from its outer brink.
+ Ah! it is not the sea,
+ It is not the sea that sinks and shelves,
+ But ourselves
+ That rock and rise
+ With endless and uneasy motion,
+ Now touching the very skies,
+ Now sinking into the depths of ocean.
+ Ah! if our souls but poise and swing
+ Like the compass in its brazen ring,
+ Ever level, and ever true
+ To the toil and the task we have to do,
+ We shall sail securely, and safely reach
+ The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach
+ The sights we see, and the sounds we hear,
+ Will be those of joy and not of fear!'
+
+ Then the Master,
+ With a gesture of command,
+ Waved his hand;
+ And at the word,
+ Loud and sudden there was heard,
+ All around them and below,
+ The sound of hammers, blow on blow,
+ Knocking away the shores and spurs.
+ And see! she stirs!
+ She starts--she moves--she seems to feel
+ The thrill of life along her keel,
+ And, spurning with her foot the ground,
+ With one exulting, joyous bound,
+ She leaps into the ocean's arms!
+ And lo! from the assembled crowd
+ There rose a shout, prolonged and loud,
+ That to the ocean seemed to say,--
+ 'Take her, O bridegroom, old and grey,
+ Take her to thy protecting arms,
+ With all her youth and all her charms!'
+
+ How beautiful she is! How fair
+ She lies within those arms, that press
+ Her form with many a soft caress
+ Of tenderness and watchful care!
+ Sail forth into the sea, O ship!
+ Through wind and wave, right onward steer!
+ The moistened eye, the trembling lip,
+ Are not the signs of doubt or fear.
+
+ Sail forth into the sea of life,
+ O gentle, loving, trusting wife,
+ And safe from all adversity
+ Upon the bosom of that sea
+ Thy comings and thy goings be!
+ For gentleness and love and trust
+ Prevail o'er angry wave and gust;
+ And in the wreck of noble lives
+ Something immortal still survives!
+
+ Thou, too, sail on, O ship of State!
+ Sail on, O Union, strong and great!
+ Humanity with all its fears,
+ With all the hopes of future years,
+ Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
+ We know what Master laid thy keel,
+ What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
+ Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
+ What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
+ In what a forge and what a heat
+ Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
+ Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
+ 'Tis of the wave and not the rock;
+ 'Tis but the flapping of the sail,
+ And not a rent made by the gale!
+ In spite of rock and tempest's roar,
+ In spite of false lights on the shore,
+ Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!
+ Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
+ Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
+ Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,
+ Are all with thee,--are all with thee!
+
+ _Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+ XC
+
+ THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE
+
+
+ Othere, the old sea-captain,
+ Who dwelt in Helgoland,
+ To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth,
+ Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth,
+ Which he held in his brown right hand.
+
+ His figure was tall and stately,
+ Like a boy's his eye appeared;
+ His hair was yellow as hay,
+ But threads of a silvery grey
+ Gleamed in his tawny beard.
+
+ Hearty and hale was Othere,
+ His cheek had the colour of oak;
+ With a kind of laugh in his speech,
+ Like the sea-tide on a beach,
+ As unto the king he spoke.
+
+ And Alfred, King of the Saxons,
+ Had a book upon his knees,
+ And wrote down the wondrous tale
+ Of him who was first to sail
+ Into the Arctic seas.
+
+ 'So far I live to the northward,
+ No man lives north of me;
+ To the east are wild mountain-chains,
+ And beyond them meres and plains;
+ To the westward all is sea.
+
+ So far I live to the northward,
+ From the harbour of Skeringes-hale,
+ If you only sailed by day
+ With a fair wind all the way,
+ More than a month would you sail.
+
+ I own six hundred reindeer,
+ With sheep and swine beside;
+ I have tribute from the Finns,
+ Whalebone and reindeer-skins,
+ And ropes of walrus-hide.
+
+ I ploughed the land with horses,
+ But my heart was ill at ease,
+ For the old seafaring men
+ Came to me now and then,
+ With their sagas of the seas;--
+
+ Of Iceland and of Greenland,
+ And the stormy Hebrides,
+ And the undiscovered deep;--
+ I could not eat nor sleep
+ For thinking of those seas.
+
+ To the northward stretched the desert,
+ How far I fain would know;
+ So at last I sallied forth,
+ And three days sailed due north,
+ As far as the whale-ships go.
+
+ To the west of me was the ocean,
+ To the right the desolate shore,
+ But I did not slacken sail
+ For the walrus or the whale,
+ Till after three days more.
+
+ The days grew longer and longer,
+ Till they became as one,
+ And southward through the haze
+ I saw the sullen blaze
+ Of the red midnight sun.
+
+ And then uprose before me,
+ Upon the water's edge,
+ The huge and haggard shape
+ Of that unknown North Cape,
+ Whose form is like a wedge.
+
+ The sea was rough and stormy,
+ The tempest howled and wailed,
+ And the sea-fog, like a ghost,
+ Haunted that dreary coast,
+ But onward still I sailed.
+
+ Four days I steered to eastward,
+ Four days without a night:
+ Round in a fiery ring
+ Went the great sun, O King,
+ With red and lurid light.'
+
+ Here Alfred, King of the Saxons,
+ Ceased writing for a while;
+ And raised his eyes from his book,
+ With a strange and puzzled look,
+ And an incredulous smile.
+
+ But Othere, the old sea-captain,
+ He neither paused nor stirred,
+ Till the King listened, and then
+ Once more took up his pen,
+ And wrote down every word.
+
+ 'And now the land,' said Othere,
+ 'Bent southward suddenly,
+ And I followed the curving shore,
+ And ever southward bore
+ Into a nameless sea.
+
+ And there we hunted the walrus,
+ The narwhale, and the seal;
+ Ha! 'twas a noble game!
+ And like the lightning's flame
+ Flew our harpoons of steel.
+
+ There were six of us all together,
+ Norsemen of Helgoland;
+ In two days and no more
+ We killed of them threescore,
+ And dragged them to the strand.'
+
+ Here Alfred, the Truth-Teller,
+ Suddenly closed his book,
+ And lifted his blue eyes,
+ With doubt and strange surmise
+ Depicted in their look.
+
+ And Othere, the old sea-captain,
+ Stared at him wild and weird,
+ Then smiled till his shining teeth
+ Gleamed white from underneath
+ His tawny, quivering beard.
+
+ And to the King of the Saxons,
+ In witness of the truth,
+ Raising his noble head,
+ He stretched his brown hand, and said,
+ 'Behold this walrus-tooth!'
+
+ _Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+ XCI
+
+ THE CUMBERLAND
+
+
+ At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,
+ On board of the Cumberland, sloop of war;
+ And at times from the fortress across the bay
+ The alarum of drums swept past,
+ Or a bugle blast
+ From the camp on the shore.
+
+ Then far away to the south uprose
+ A little feather of snow-white smoke,
+ And we knew that the iron ship of our foes
+ Was steadily steering its course
+ To try the force
+ Of our ribs of oak.
+
+ Down upon us heavily runs,
+ Silent and sullen, the floating fort;
+ Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,
+ And leaps the terrible death,
+ With fiery breath,
+ From each open port.
+
+ We are not idle, but send her straight
+ Defiance back in a full broadside!
+ As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,
+ Rebounds our heavier hail
+ From each iron scale
+ Of the monster's hide.
+
+ 'Strike your flag!' the rebel cries,
+ In his arrogant old plantation strain
+ 'Never!' our gallant Morris replies;
+ 'It is better to sink than to yield!'
+ And the whole air pealed
+ With the cheers of our men.
+
+ Then, like a kraken huge and black,
+ She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp!
+ Down went the Cumberland all a wreck,
+ With a sudden shudder of death,
+ And the cannon's breath
+ For her dying gasp.
+
+ Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay,
+ Still floated our flag at the mainmast head.
+ Lord, how beautiful was thy day!
+ Every waft of the air
+ Was a whisper of prayer,
+ Or a dirge for the dead.
+
+ Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas,
+ Ye are at peace in the troubled stream!
+ Ho! brave land! with hearts like these,
+ Thy flag that is rent in twain
+ Shall be one again,
+ And without a seam!
+
+ _Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+ XCII
+
+ A DUTCH PICTURE
+
+
+ Simon Danz has come home again,
+ From cruising about with his buccaneers;
+ He has singed the beard of the King of Spain,
+ And carried away the Dean of Jaen
+ And sold him in Algiers.
+
+ In his house by the Maes, with its roof of tiles
+ And weathercocks flying aloft in air,
+ There are silver tankards of antique styles,
+ Plunder of convent and castle, and piles
+ Of carpets rich and rare.
+
+ In his tulip-garden there by the town,
+ Overlooking the sluggish stream,
+ With his Moorish cap and dressing-gown,
+ The old sea-captain, hale and brown,
+ Walks in a waking dream.
+
+ A smile in his grey mustachio lurks
+ Whenever he thinks of the King of Spain,
+ And the listed tulips look like Turks,
+ And the silent gardener as he works
+ Is changed to the Dean of Jaen.
+
+ The windmills on the outermost
+ Verge of the landscape in the haze,
+ To him are towers on the Spanish coast
+ With whiskered sentinels at their post,
+ Though this is the river Maes.
+
+ But when the winter rains begin,
+ He sits and smokes by the blazing brands,
+ And old seafaring men come in,
+ Goat-bearded, grey, and with double chin,
+ And rings upon their hands.
+
+ They sit there in the shadow and shine
+ Of the flickering fire of the winter night;
+ Figures in colour and design
+ Like those by Rembrandt of the Rhine,
+ Half darkness and half light.
+
+ And they talk of their ventures lost or won,
+ And their talk is ever and ever the same,
+ While they drink the red wine of Tarragon,
+ From the cellars of some Spanish Don
+ Or convent set on flame.
+
+ Restless at times, with heavy strides
+ He paces his parlour to and fro;
+ He is like a ship that at anchor rides,
+ And swings with the rising and falling tides,
+ And tugs at her anchor-tow.
+
+ Voices mysterious far and near,
+ Sound of the wind and sound of the sea,
+ Are calling and whispering in his ear,
+ 'Simon Danz! Why stayest thou here?
+ Come forth and follow me!'
+
+ So he thinks he shall take to the sea again
+ For one more cruise with his buccaneers,
+ To singe the beard of the King of Spain,
+ And capture another Dean of Jaen
+ And sell him in Algiers.
+
+ _Longfellow._
+
+
+
+
+ XCIII
+
+ BARBARA FRIETCHIE
+
+
+ Up from the meadows rich with corn,
+ Clear in the cool September morn,
+
+ The clustered spires of Frederick stand
+ Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
+
+ Round about them orchards sweep,
+ Apple and peach tree fruited deep,
+
+ Fair as a garden of the Lord
+ To the eyes of the famished rebel horde
+
+ On that pleasant morn of the early fall
+ When Lee marched over the mountain wall,
+
+ Over the mountains winding down,
+ Horse and foot into Frederick town.
+
+ Forty flags with their silver stars,
+ Forty flags with their crimson bars,
+
+ Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
+ Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
+
+ Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
+ Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
+
+ Bravest of all in Frederick town,
+ She took up the flag the men hauled down;
+
+ In her attic window the staff she set,
+ To show that one heart was loyal yet.
+
+ Up the street came the rebel tread,
+ Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
+
+ Under his slouched hat left and right
+ He glanced; the old flag met his sight.
+
+ 'Halt!'--the dust-brown ranks stood fast.
+ 'Fire!'--out blazed the rifle-blast.
+
+ It shivered the window, pane and sash;
+ It rent the banner with seam and gash.
+
+ Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
+ Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;
+
+ She leaned far out on the window-sill,
+ And shook it forth with a royal will.
+
+ 'Shoot, if you must, this old grey head,
+ But spare your country's flag,' she said.
+
+ A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
+ Over the face of the leader came;
+
+ The nobler nature within him stirred
+ To life at that woman's deed and word:
+
+ 'Who touches a hair of yon grey head
+ Dies like a dog! March on!' he said.
+
+ All day long through Frederick street
+ Sounded the tread of marching feet:
+
+ All day long that free flag tost
+ Over the heads of the rebel host.
+
+ Ever its torn folds rose and fell
+ On the loyal winds that loved it well;
+
+ And through the hill-gaps sunset light
+ Shone over it with a warm good-night.
+
+ _Whittier._
+
+
+
+
+ XCIV
+
+ A BALLAD OF THE FLEET
+
+
+ At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,
+ And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away:
+ 'Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!'
+ Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: ''Fore God I am no coward;
+ But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear,
+ And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick.
+ We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?'
+
+ Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: 'I know you are no coward;
+ You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.
+ But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore.
+ I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard,
+ To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.'
+
+ So Lord Howard passed away with five ships of war that day,
+ Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven;
+ But Sir Richard bore in hand all the sick men from the land
+ Very carefully and slow,
+ Men of Bideford in Devon,
+ And we laid them on the ballast down below;
+ For we brought them all aboard,
+ And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain,
+ To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.
+
+ He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight,
+ And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight,
+ With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow.
+ 'Shall we fight or shall we fly?
+ Good Sir Richard, tell us now,
+ For to fight is but to die!
+ There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.'
+ And Sir Richard said again: 'We be all good English men.
+ Let us bang those dogs of Seville, the children of the devil,
+ For I never turned my back upon Don or devil yet.'
+
+ Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we roared a hurrah, and so
+ The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe,
+ With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below;
+ For half their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen,
+ And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea-lane between.
+
+ Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks and laughed,
+ Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft
+ Running on and on, till delayed
+ By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons,
+ And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns,
+ Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed.
+
+ And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud
+ Whence the thunderbolt will fall
+ Long and loud,
+ Four galleons drew away
+ From the Spanish fleet that day,
+ And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay,
+ And the battle thunder broke from them all.
+
+ But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and went,
+ Having that within her womb that had left her ill content;
+ And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand,
+ For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers,
+ And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes his ears
+ When he leaps from the water to the land.
+
+ And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea,
+ But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.
+ Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came,
+ Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder and flame;
+ Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her
+ shame.
+ For some were sunk and many were shattered, and so could fight us no
+ more--
+ God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?
+
+ For he said, 'Fight on! fight on!'
+ Though his vessel was all but a wreck;
+ And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone,
+ With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck,
+ But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead,
+ And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head,
+ And he said, 'Fight on! fight on!'
+
+ 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.
+
+ And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true,
+ And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap
+ That he dared her with one little ship and his English few;
+ Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew,
+ But they sank his body with honour down into the deep,
+ And they manned the Revenge with a swarthier alien crew,
+ And away she sailed with her loss and longed for her own;
+ When a wind from the lands they had ruined awoke from sleep,
+ And the water began to heave and the weather to moan,
+ And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew,
+ And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew,
+ Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their
+ flags,
+ And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shattered navy of Spain,
+ And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags
+ To be lost evermore in the main.
+
+ _Tennyson._
+
+
+
+
+ XCV
+
+ THE HEAVY BRIGADE
+
+
+ The charge of the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade!
+ Down the hill, down the hill, thousands of Russians,
+ Thousands of horsemen, drew to the valley--and stayed;
+ For Scarlett and Scarlett's three hundred were riding by
+ When the points of the Russian lances arose in the sky;
+ And he called, 'Left wheel into line!' and they wheeled and obeyed.
+ Then he looked at the host that had halted he knew not why,
+ And he turned half round, and he bad his trumpeter sound
+ To the charge, and he rode on ahead, as he waved his blade
+ To the gallant three hundred whose glory will never die--
+ 'Follow,' and up the hill, up the hill, up the hill,
+ Followed the Heavy Brigade.
+
+ The trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and the might of the fight!
+ Thousands of horsemen had gathered there on the height,
+ With a wing pushed out to the left and a wing to the right,
+ And who shall escape if they close? but he dashed up alone
+ Through the great grey slope of men,
+ Swayed his sabre, and held his own
+ Like an Englishman there and then;
+ All in a moment followed with force
+ Three that were next in their fiery course,
+ Wedged themselves in between horse and horse,
+ Fought for their lives in the narrow gap they had made--
+ Four amid thousands! and up the hill, up the hill,
+ Gallopt the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade.
+
+ Fell like a cannon-shot,
+ Burst like a thunderbolt,
+ Crashed like a hurricane,
+ Broke through the mass from below,
+ Drove through the midst of the foe,
+ Plunged up and down, to and fro,
+ Rode flashing blow upon blow,
+ Brave Inniskillens and Greys
+ Whirling their sabres in circles of light!
+ And some of us, all in amaze,
+ Who were held for a while from the fight,
+ And were only standing at gaze,
+ When the dark-muffled Russian crowd
+ Folded its wings from the left and the right,
+ And rolled them around like a cloud,--
+ O mad for the charge and the battle were we,
+ When our own good redcoats sank from sight,
+ Like drops of blood in a dark grey sea,
+ And we turned to each other, whispering, all dismayed,
+ 'Lost are the gallant three hundred of Scarlett's Brigade!'
+
+ 'Lost one and all' were the words
+ Muttered in our dismay;
+ But they rode like Victors and Lords
+ Through the forest of lances and swords
+ In the heart of the Russian hordes,
+ They rode, or they stood at bay--
+ Struck with the sword-hand and slew,
+ Down with the bridle-hand drew
+ The foe from the saddle and threw
+ Underfoot there in the fray--
+ Ranged like a storm or stood like a rock
+ In the wave of a stormy day;
+ Till suddenly shock upon shock
+ Staggered the mass from without,
+ Drove it in wild disarray,
+ For our men gallopt up with a cheer and a shout,
+ And the foemen surged, and wavered and reeled
+ Up the hill, up the hill, up the hill, out of the field,
+ And over the brow and away.
+
+ Glory to each and to all, and the charge that they made!
+ Glory to all the three hundred, and all the Brigade!
+
+ _Tennyson._
+
+
+
+
+ XCVI
+
+ THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS
+
+
+ Last night, among his fellow roughs,
+ He jested, quaffed, and swore;
+ A drunken private of the Buffs,
+ Who never looked before.
+ To-day, beneath the foeman's frown,
+ He stands in Elgin's place,
+ Ambassador from Britain's crown
+ And type of all her race.
+
+ Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught
+ Bewildered, and alone,
+ A heart, with English instinct fraught,
+ He yet can call his own.
+ Ay, tear his body limb from limb,
+ Bring cord, or axe, or flame:
+ He only knows, that not through _him_
+ Shall England come to shame.
+
+ Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed,
+ Like dreams, to come and go;
+ Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed,
+ One sheet of living snow;
+ The smoke, above his father's door,
+ In grey soft eddyings hung:
+ Must he then watch it rise no more,
+ Doomed by himself, so young?
+
+ Yes, honour calls!--with strength like steel
+ He put the vision by.
+ Let dusky Indians whine and kneel;
+ An English lad must die.
+ And thus, with eyes that would not shrink,
+ With knee to man unbent,
+ Unfaltering on its dreadful brink,
+ To his red grave he went.
+
+ Vain, mightiest fleets of iron frames;
+ Vain, those all-shattering guns;
+ Unless proud England keep, untamed,
+ The strong heart of her sons.
+ So, let his name through Europe ring--
+ A man of mean estate,
+ Who died, as firm as Sparta's king,
+ Because his soul was great.
+
+ _Doyle._
+
+
+
+
+ XCVII
+
+ THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR
+
+
+ Eleven men of England
+ A breastwork charged in vain;
+ Eleven men of England
+ Lie stripped, and gashed, and slain.
+ Slain; but of foes that guarded
+ Their rock-built fortress well,
+ Some twenty had been mastered,
+ When the last soldier fell.
+
+ Whilst Napier piloted his wondrous way
+ Across the sand-waves of the desert sea,
+ Then flashed at once, on each fierce clan, dismay,
+ Lord of their wild Truckee.
+ These missed the glen to which their steps were bent,
+ Mistook a mandate, from afar half heard,
+ And, in that glorious error, calmly went
+ To death without a word.
+
+ The robber-chief mused deeply
+ Above those daring dead;
+ 'Bring here,' at length he shouted,
+ 'Bring quick, the battle thread.
+ Let Eblis blast for ever
+ Their souls, if Allah will:
+ But we must keep unbroken
+ The old rules of the Hill.
+
+ Before the Ghiznee tiger
+ Leapt forth to burn and slay;
+ Before the holy Prophet
+ Taught our grim tribes to pray;
+ Before Secunder's lances
+ Pierced through each Indian glen;
+ The mountain laws of honour
+ Were framed for fearless men.
+
+ Still, when a chief dies bravely,
+ We bind with green _one_ wrist--
+ Green for the brave, for heroes
+ ONE crimson thread we twist.
+ Say ye, Oh gallant Hillmen,
+ For these, whose life has fled,
+ Which is the fitting colour,
+ The green one or the red?'
+
+ 'Our brethren, laid in honoured graves, may wear
+ Their green reward,' each noble savage said;
+ 'To these, whom hawks and hungry wolves shall tear,
+ Who dares deny the red?'
+
+ Thus conquering hate, and steadfast to the right,
+ Fresh from the heart that haughty verdict came;
+ Beneath a waning moon, each spectral height
+ Rolled back its loud acclaim.
+
+ Once more the chief gazed keenly
+ Down on those daring dead;
+ From his good sword their heart's blood
+ Crept to that crimson thread.
+ Once more he cried, 'The judgment,
+ Good friends, is wise and true,
+ But though the red _be_ given,
+ Have we not more to do?
+
+ These were not stirred by anger,
+ Nor yet by lust made bold;
+ Renown they thought above them,
+ Nor did they look for gold.
+ To them their leader's signal
+ Was as the voice of God:
+ Unmoved, and uncomplaining,
+ The path it showed they trod.
+
+ As, without sound or struggle,
+ The stars unhurrying march,
+ Where Allah's finger guides them,
+ Through yonder purple arch,
+ These Franks, sublimely silent,
+ Without a quickened breath,
+ Went in the strength of duty
+ Straight to their goal of death.
+
+ 'If I were now to ask you
+ To name our bravest man,
+ Ye all at once would answer,
+ They called him Mehrab Khan.
+ He sleeps among his fathers,
+ Dear to our native land,
+ With the bright mark he bled for
+ Firm round his faithful hand.
+
+ 'The songs they sing of Rustum
+ Fill all the past with light;
+ If truth be in their music,
+ He was a noble knight.
+ But were those heroes living
+ And strong for battle still,
+ Would Mehrab Khan or Rustum
+ Have climbed, like these, the hill?'
+
+ And they replied, 'Though Mehrab Khan was brave,
+ As chief, he chose himself what risks to run;
+ Prince Rustum lied, his forfeit life to save,
+ Which these had never done.'
+
+ 'Enough!' he shouted fiercely;
+ 'Doomed though they be to hell,
+ Bind fast the crimson trophy
+ Round BOTH wrists--bind it well.
+ Who knows but that great Allah
+ May grudge such matchless men,
+ With none so decked in heaven,
+ To the fiends' flaming den?'
+
+ Then all those gallant robbers
+ Shouted a stern 'Amen!'
+ They raised the slaughtered sergeant,
+ They raised his mangled ten.
+ And when we found their bodies
+ Left bleaching in the wind,
+ Around BOTH wrists in glory
+ That crimson thread was twined.
+
+ Then Napier's knightly heart, touched to the core,
+ Rung, like an echo, to that knightly deed,
+ He bade its memory live for evermore,
+ That those who run may read.
+
+ _Doyle._
+
+
+
+
+ XCVIII
+
+ HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA
+
+
+ Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-west died away;
+ Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;
+ Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;
+ In the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey;
+ 'Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?'--say,
+ Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,
+ While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.
+
+ _Browning._
+
+
+
+
+ XCIX
+
+ HERVE RIEL
+
+
+ On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,
+ Did the English fight the French,--woe to France!
+ And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter thro' the blue,
+ Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,
+ Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Rance,
+ With the English fleet in view.
+
+ 'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase;
+ First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville;
+ Close on him fled, great and small,
+ Twenty-two good ships in all;
+ And they signalled to the place
+ 'Help the winners of a race!
+ Get us guidance, give us harbour, take us quick--or, quicker still,
+ Here's the English can and will!'
+
+ Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board;
+ 'Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?' laughed they:
+ 'Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored,
+ Shall the _Formidable_ here with her twelve and eighty guns
+ Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,
+ Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,
+ And with flow at full beside?
+ Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide.
+ Reach the mooring? Rather say,
+ While rock stands or water runs,
+ Not a ship will leave the bay!'
+
+ Then was called a council straight.
+ Brief and bitter the debate:
+ 'Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow
+ All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,
+ For a prize to Plymouth Sound?
+ Better run the ships aground!'
+ (Ended Damfreville his speech).
+ Not a minute more to wait!
+ 'Let the Captains all and each
+ Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!
+ France must undergo her fate.
+
+ Give the word!' But no such word
+ Was ever spoke or heard;
+ For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these
+ --A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate--first, second, third?
+ No such man of mark, and meet
+ With his betters to compete!
+ But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet,
+ A poor coasting-pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese.
+
+ And, 'What mockery or malice have we here?' cries Herve Riel:
+ 'Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues?
+ Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell
+ On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell
+ 'Twixt the offing here and Greve where the river disembogues?
+ Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for?
+ Morn and eve, night and day,
+ Have I piloted your bay,
+ Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.
+
+ Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues!
+ Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way!
+ Only let me lead the line,
+ Have the biggest ship to steer,
+ Get this _Formidable_ clear,
+ Make the others follow mine,
+ And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well,
+ Right to Solidor past Greve,
+ And there lay them safe and sound;
+ And if one ship misbehave,
+ --Keel so much as grate the ground,
+ Why, I've nothing but my life,--here's my head!' cries Herve Riel.
+
+ Not a minute more to wait.
+ 'Steer us in, then, small and great!
+ Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!' cried his chief.
+ 'Captains, give the sailor place!
+ He is Admiral, in brief.'
+ Still the north-wind, by God's grace!
+ See the noble fellow's face,
+ As the big ship with a bound,
+ Clears the entry like a hound,
+ Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide seas profound!
+ See, safe thro' shoal and rock,
+ How they follow in a flock,
+ Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,
+ Not a spar that comes to grief!
+ The peril, see, is past,
+ All are harboured to the last,
+ And just as Herve Riel hollas 'Anchor!'--sure as fate
+ Up the English come, too late!
+
+ So, the storm subsides to calm:
+ They see the green trees wave
+ On the o'erlooking Greve.
+ Hearts that bled are stanched with balm.
+ 'Just our rapture to enhance,
+ Let the English take the bay,
+ Gnash their teeth and glare askance,
+ As they cannonade away!
+ 'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!'
+ How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance!
+ Out burst all with one accord,
+ 'This is Paradise for Hell!
+ Let France, let France's King
+ Thank the man that did the thing!'
+ What a shout, and all one word,
+ 'Herve Riel!'
+ As he stepped in front once more,
+ Not a symptom of surprise
+ In the frank blue Breton eyes,
+ Just the same man as before.
+
+ Then said Damfreville, 'My friend,
+ I must speak out at the end,
+ Though I find the speaking hard.
+ Praise is deeper than the lips:
+ You have saved the King his ships,
+ You must name your own reward.
+ 'Faith our sun was near eclipse!
+ Demand whate'er you will,
+ France remains your debtor still.
+ Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not Damfreville.'
+
+ Then a beam of fun outbroke
+ On the bearded mouth that spoke,
+ As the honest heart laughed through
+ Those frank eyes of Breton blue:
+ 'Since I needs must say my say,
+ Since on board the duty's done,
+ And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?--
+ Since 'tis ask and have, I may--
+ Since the others go ashore--
+ Come! A good whole holiday!
+ Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!'
+ That he asked and that he got,--nothing more.
+
+ Name and deed alike are lost:
+ Not a pillar nor a post
+ In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell;
+ Not a head in white and black
+ On a single fishing smack,
+ In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack
+ All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell.
+ Go to Paris: rank on rank
+ Search the heroes flung pell-mell
+ On the Louvre, face and flank!
+ You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve Riel.
+ So, for better and for worse,
+ Herve Riel, accept my verse!
+ In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more
+ Save the squadron, honour France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!
+
+ _Browning._
+
+
+
+
+ C
+
+ THE DYING FIREMAN
+
+
+ I am the mashed fireman with breast-bone broken,
+ Tumbling walls buried me in their debris,
+ Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades,
+ I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels,
+ They have cleared the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth.
+
+ I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my
+ sake,
+ Painless after all I lie, exhausted but not so unhappy,
+ White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of
+ their fire-caps,
+ The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.
+
+ _Whitman._
+
+
+
+
+ CI
+
+ A SEA-FIGHT
+
+
+ Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight?
+ Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
+ List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me.
+
+ 'Our foe was no skulk in his ship, I tell you (said he),
+ His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and
+ never was, and never will be;
+ Along the lowered eve he came horribly raking us.
+
+ We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touched,
+ My captain lashed fast with his own hands.
+
+ We had received some eighteen-pound shots under the water,
+ On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire,
+ killing all around and blowing up overhead.
+
+ Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark,
+ Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain,
+ and five feet of water reported,
+ The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to
+ give them a chance for themselves.
+
+ The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels,
+ They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.
+
+ Our frigate takes fire,
+ The other asks if we demand quarter?
+ If our colours are struck and the fighting done?
+
+ Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,
+ "We have not struck," he composedly cries, "we have just begun our part
+ of the fighting."
+
+ Only three guns are in use,
+ One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast,
+ Two well served with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear
+ his decks.
+
+ The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the
+ main-top,
+ They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.
+
+ Not a moment's cease,
+ The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the
+ powder-magazine.
+
+ One of the pumps had been shot away, it is generally thought we are
+ sinking.
+
+ Serene stands the little captain,
+ He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low,
+ His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.
+
+ Toward twelve, there in the beams of the moon, they surrender to us.'
+
+ _Whitman._
+
+
+
+
+ CII
+
+ BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!
+
+
+ Beat! beat! drums!--blow! bugles! blow!
+ Through the windows--through doors--burst like a ruthless force,
+ Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation,
+ Into the school where the scholar is studying;
+ Leave not the bridegroom quiet--no happiness must he have now with
+ his bride,
+ Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering
+ his grain,
+ So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums--so shrill, you bugles, blow.
+
+ Beat! beat! drums!--blow! bugles! blow!
+ Over the traffic of cities--over the rumble of wheels in the streets;
+ Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers must
+ sleep in those beds,
+ No bargainers' bargains by day--no brokers or speculators--would they
+ continue?
+ Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
+ Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
+ Then rattle quicker, heavier, drums--you bugles, wilder blow.
+
+ Beat! beat! drums!--blow! bugles! blow!
+ Make no parley--stop for no expostulation,
+ Mind not the timid--mind not the weeper or prayer,
+ Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,
+ Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties,
+ Make even the trestle to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the
+ hearses,
+ So strong you thump, O terrible drums--so loud, you bugles, blow.
+
+ _Whitman._
+
+
+
+
+ CIII
+
+ TWO VETERANS
+
+
+ The last sunbeam
+ Lightly falls from the finished Sabbath,
+ On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking
+ Down a new-made double grave.
+
+ Lo! the moon ascending,
+ Up from the east the silvery round moon,
+ Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,
+ Immense and silent moon.
+
+ I see a sad procession,
+ And I hear the sound of coming full-keyed bugles,
+ All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,
+ As with voices and with tears.
+
+ I hear the great drums pounding,
+ And the small drums steady whirring,
+ And every blow of the great convulsive drums
+ Strikes me through and through.
+
+ For the son is brought with the father,
+ (In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell,
+ Two veterans son and father dropt together,
+ And the double grave awaits them).
+
+ Now nearer blow the bugles,
+ And the drums strike more convulsive,
+ And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded,
+ And the strong dead-march enwraps me.
+
+ In the eastern sky up-buoying,
+ The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumined,
+ ('Tis some mother's large transparent face
+ In heaven brighter growing).
+
+ O strong dead-march you please me!
+ O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me!
+ O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial!
+ What I have I also give you.
+
+ The moon gives you light,
+ And the bugles and the drums give you music,
+ And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
+ My heart gives you love.
+
+ _Whitman._
+
+
+
+
+ CIV
+
+ THE PLEASANT ISLE OF AVES
+
+
+ Oh England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high,
+ But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I;
+ And such a port for mariners I ne'er shall see again
+ As the pleasant Isle of Aves, beside the Spanish main.
+
+ There were forty craft in Aves that were both swift and stout,
+ All furnished well with small arms and cannons round about;
+ And a thousand men in Aves made laws so fair and free
+ To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally.
+
+ Thence we sailed against the Spaniard with his hoards of plate and gold,
+ Which he wrung with cruel tortures from Indian folk of old;
+ Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as stone,
+ Who flog men and keel-haul them, and starve them to the bone.
+
+ O the palms grew high in Aves, and fruits that shone like gold,
+ And the colibris and parrots they were gorgeous to behold;
+ And the negro maids to Aves from bondage fast did flee,
+ To welcome gallant sailors, a-sweeping in from sea.
+
+ O sweet it was in Aves to hear the landward breeze,
+ A-swing with good tobacco in a net between the trees,
+ With a negro lass to fan you, while you listened to the roar
+ Of the breakers on the reef outside, that never touched the shore.
+
+ But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be;
+ So the King's ships sailed on Aves, and quite put down were we.
+ All day we fought like bulldogs, but they burst the booms at night;
+ And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the fight.
+
+ Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside,
+ Till, for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died;
+ But as I lay a-gasping, a Bristol sail came by,
+ And brought me home to England here, to beg until I die.
+
+ And now I'm old and going--I'm sure I can't tell where;
+ One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be worse off there:
+ If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main,
+ To the pleasant Isle of Aves, to look at it once again.
+
+ _Kingsley._
+
+
+
+
+ CV
+
+ A WELCOME
+
+
+ Welcome, wild North-easter.
+ Shame it is to see
+ Odes to every zephyr;
+ Ne'er a verse to thee.
+ Welcome, black North-easter!
+ 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
+ Turns us out to play!
+ Sweep the golden reed-beds;
+ Crisp the lazy dyke;
+ 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 snow-flakes
+ Off the curdled sky.
+ Hark! The brave North-easter!
+ Breast-high lies the scent,
+ On by holt and headland,
+ Over heath and bent.
+ Chime, ye dappled darlings,
+ Through the sleet and snow.
+ Who can over-ride 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 grey weather
+ Breeds hard English men.
+ What's the soft South-wester?
+ 'Tis the ladies' breeze,
+ Bringing home their true-loves
+ Out of all the seas:
+ But the black North-easter,
+ 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!
+
+ _Kingsley._
+
+
+
+
+ CVI
+
+ THE BIRKENHEAD
+
+
+ Amid the loud ebriety of War,
+ With shouts of 'la Republique' and 'la Gloire,'
+ The Vengeur's crew, 'twas said, with flying flag
+ And broadside blazing level with the wave
+ Went down erect, defiant, to their grave
+ Beneath the sea.--'Twas but a Frenchman's brag,
+ Yet Europe rang with it for many a year.
+ Now we recount no fable; Europe, hear!
+ And when they tell thee 'England is a fen
+ Corrupt, a kingdom tottering to decay,
+ Her nerveless burghers lying an easy prey
+ For the first comer,' tell how the other day
+ A crew of half a thousand Englishmen
+ Went down into the deep in Simon's Bay!
+
+ Not with the cheer of battle in the throat,
+ Or cannon-glare and din to stir their blood,
+ But, roused from dreams of home to find their boat
+ Fast sinking, mustered on the deck they stood,
+ Biding God's pleasure and their chief's command.
+ Calm was the sea, but not less calm that band
+ Close ranged upon the poop, with bated breath
+ But flinching not though eye to eye with Death! Heroes!
+
+ Who were those Heroes? Veterans steeled
+ To face the King of Terrors mid the scaith
+ Of many an hurricane and trenched field?
+ Far other: weavers from the stocking-frame;
+ Boys from the plough; cornets with beardless chin,
+ But steeped in honour and in discipline!
+ Weep, Britain, for the Cape whose ill-starred name,
+ Long since divorced from Hope suggests but shame,
+ Disaster, and thy Captains held at bay
+ By naked hordes; but as thou weepest, thank
+ Heaven for those undegenerate sons who sank
+ Aboard the Birkenhead in Simon's Bay!
+
+ _Yule._
+
+
+
+
+ CVII
+
+ APOLLO
+
+
+ Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts
+ Thick breaks the red flame;
+ All Etna heaves fiercely
+ Her forest-clothed frame.
+
+ Not here, O Apollo!
+ Are haunts meet for thee.
+ But, where Helicon breaks down
+ In cliff to the sea,
+
+ Where the moon-silvered inlets
+ Send far their light voice
+ Up the still vale of Thisbe,
+ O speed, and rejoice!
+
+ On the sward at the cliff-top
+ Lie strewn the white flocks.
+ On the cliff-side the pigeons
+ Roost deep in the rocks.
+
+ In the moonlight the shepherds,
+ Soft lulled by the rills,
+ Lie wrapt in their blankets
+ Asleep on the hills.
+
+ --What forms are these coming
+ So white through the gloom?
+ What garments out-glistening
+ The gold-flowered broom?
+
+ What sweet-breathing presence
+ Out-perfumes the thyme?
+ What voices enrapture
+ The night's balmy prime?--
+
+ 'Tis Apollo comes leading
+ His choir, the Nine.
+ --The leader is fairest,
+ But all are divine.
+
+ They are lost in the hollows!
+ They stream up again!
+ What seeks on this mountain
+ The glorified train?--
+
+ They bathe on this mountain,
+ In the spring by the road;
+ Then on to Olympus,
+ Their endless abode.
+
+ --Whose praise do they mention?
+ Of what is it told?--
+ What will be for ever;
+ What was from of old.
+
+ First hymn they the Father
+ Of all things; and then,
+ The rest of immortals,
+ The action of men.
+
+ The day in his hotness,
+ The strife with the palm;
+ The night in her silence,
+ The stars in their calm.
+
+ _Arnold._
+
+
+
+
+ CVIII
+
+ THE DEATH OF SOHRAB
+
+
+ THE DUEL
+
+ He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts,
+ And he too drew his sword; at once they rushed
+ Together, as two eagles on one prey
+ Come rushing down together from the clouds,
+ One from the east, one from the west; their shields
+ Dashed with a clang together, and a din
+ Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters
+ Make often in the forest's heart at morn,
+ Of hewing axes, crashing trees--such blows
+ Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed.
+ And you would say that sun and stars took part
+ In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud
+ Grew suddenly in Heaven, and darkened the sun
+ Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose
+ Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain,
+ And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair.
+ In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they alone;
+ For both the on-looking hosts on either hand
+ Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure,
+ And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream.
+ But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes
+ And labouring breath; first Rustum struck the shield
+ Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-spiked spear
+ Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin,
+ And Rustum plucked it back with angry groan.
+ Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm,
+ Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest
+ He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume,
+ Never till now defiled, sank to the dust;
+ And Rustum bowed his head; but then the gloom
+ Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air,
+ And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse,
+ Who stood at hand, uttered a dreadful cry;--
+ No horse's cry was that, most like the roar
+ Of some pained desert-lion, who all day
+ Hath trailed the hunter's javelin in his side,
+ And comes at night to die upon the sand.
+ The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear,
+ And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream.
+ But Sohrab heard, and quailed not, but rushed on,
+ And struck again; and again Rustum bowed
+ His head; but this time all the blade, like glass,
+ Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm,
+ And in the hand the hilt remained alone.
+ Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes
+ Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear,
+ And shouted: _Rustum!_--Sohrab heard that shout,
+ And shrank amazed; back he recoiled one step,
+ And scanned with blinking eyes the advancing form;
+ And then he stood bewildered; and he dropped
+ His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side.
+ He reeled, and staggering back, sank to the ground;
+ And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell,
+ And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all
+ The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair--
+ Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet,
+ And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand.
+
+
+ SOHRAB
+
+ Then with a bitter smile, Rustum began:--
+ 'Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill
+ A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse,
+ And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent.
+ Or else that the great Rustum would come down
+ Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move
+ His heart to take a gift, and let thee go.
+ And then that all the Tartar host would praise
+ Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame,
+ To glad thy father in his weak old age.
+ Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man!
+ Dearer to the red jackels shalt thou be
+ Than to thy friends, and to thy father old,'
+ And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied:--
+ 'Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain.
+ Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man!
+ No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart.
+ For were I matched with ten such men as thee,
+ And I were that which till to-day I was,
+ They should be lying here, I standing there.
+ But that beloved name unnerved my arm--
+ That name, and something, I confess, in thee,
+ Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield
+ Fall; and thy spear transfix an unarmed foe.
+ And now thou boastest, and insultest my fate.
+ But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear:
+ The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death!
+ My father, whom I seek through all the world,
+ He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!'
+ As when some hunter in the spring hath found
+ A breeding eagle sitting on her nest,
+ Upon the craggy isle of a hill-lake,
+ And pierced her with an arrow as she rose,
+ And followed her to find her where she fell
+ Far off;--anon her mate comes winging back
+ From hunting, and a great way off decries
+ His huddling young left-sole; at that he checks
+ His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps
+ Circles above his eyry, with loud screams
+ Chiding his mate back to her nest; but she
+ Lies dying, with the arrow in her side,
+ In some far stony gorge out of his ken,
+ A heap of fluttering feathers--never more
+ Shall the lake glass her, flying over it;
+ Never the black and dripping precipices
+ Echo her stormy scream as she sails by--
+ As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss,
+ So Rustum knew not his own loss, but stood
+ Over his dying son, and knew him not.
+ But, with a cold, incredulous voice he said:
+ 'What prate is this of fathers and revenge?
+ The mighty Rustum never had a son.'
+ And with a failing voice Sohrab replied:
+ 'Ah yes, he had! and that lost son am I,
+ Surely the news will one day reach his ear,
+ Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long,
+ Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here;
+ And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap
+ To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee.
+ Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only son!
+ What will that grief, what will that vengeance be?
+ O could I live, till I that grief had seen!
+ Yet him I pity not so much, but her,
+ My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells
+ With that old king, her father, who grows grey
+ With age, and rules over the valiant Koords.
+ Her most I pity, who no more will see
+ Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp,
+ With spoils and honour, when the war is done.
+ But a dark rumour will be bruited up,
+ From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear;
+ And then will that defenceless woman learn
+ That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more,
+ But that in battle with a nameless foe,
+ By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain.'
+
+
+ THE RECOGNITION
+
+ He spoke, and as he ceased he wept aloud,
+ Thinking of her he left, and his own death.
+ He spoke; but Rustum listened plunged in thought.
+ Nor did he yet believe it was his son
+ Who spoke, although he called back names he knew;
+ For he had had sure tidings that the babe,
+ Which was in Ader-baijan born to him,
+ Had been a puny girl, no boy at all--
+ So that sad mother sent him word, for fear
+ Rustum should seek the boy, to train in arms.
+ And as he deemed that either Sohrab took,
+ By a false boast, the style of Rustum's son;
+ Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame.
+ So deemed he; yet he listened plunged in thought;
+ And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide
+ Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to shore
+ At the full moon; tears gathered in his eyes;
+ For he remembered his own early youth,
+ And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn,
+ The shepherd from his mountain-lodge descries
+ A far, bright city, smitten by the sun,
+ Through many rolling clouds--so Rustum saw
+ His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in her bloom;
+ And that old king, her father, who loved well
+ His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child
+ With joy; and all the pleasant life they led,
+ They three, in that long-distant summer-time--
+ The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt
+ And hound, and morn on those delightful hills
+ In Ader-baijan. And he saw that Youth,
+ Of age and looks to be his own dear son,
+ Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand,
+ Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe
+ Of an unskilful gardener has been cut,
+ Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed,
+ And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom,
+ On the mown, dying grass--so Sohrab lay,
+ Lovely in death, upon the common sand.
+ And Rustum gazed on him in grief, and said:
+ 'O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son
+ Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have loved:
+ Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men
+ Have told thee false--thou art not Rustum's son.
+ For Rustum had no son; one child he had--
+ But one--a girl; who with her mother now
+ Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us--
+ Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war.'
+ But Sohrab answered him in wrath; for now
+ The anguish of the deep-fixed spear grew fierce,
+ And he desired to draw forth the steel,
+ And let the blood flow free, and so to die--
+ But first he would convince his stubborn foe;
+ And, rising sternly on one arm, he said:
+ 'Man, who art thou who dost deny my words?
+ Truth sits upon the lips of dying men,
+ And falsehood, while I lived, was far from mine.
+ I tell thee, pricked upon this arm I bear
+ That seal which Rustum to my mother gave,
+ That she might prick it on the babe she bore.'
+ He spoke; and all the blood left Rustum's cheeks,
+ And his knees tottered, and he smote his hand
+ Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand,
+ That the hard iron corselet clanked aloud;
+ And to his heart he pressed the other hand,
+ And in a hollow voice he spake and said:
+ 'Sohrab, that were a proof that could not lie!
+ If thou show this, then art thou Rustum's son.'
+ Then with weak hasty fingers Sohrab loosed
+ His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm,
+ And showed a sign in faint vermilion points
+ Pricked; as a cunning workman, in Pekin,
+ Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase,
+ An emperor's gift--at early morn he paints,
+ And all day long, and, when night comes, the lamp
+ Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands--
+ So delicately pricked the sign appeared
+ On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Rustum's seal.
+ It was that griffin, which of old reared Zal,
+ Rustum's great father, whom they left to die,
+ A helpless babe, among the mountain rocks;
+ Him that kind creature found, and reared, and loved--
+ Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign.
+ And Sohrab bared that image on his arm,
+ And himself scanned it long with mournful eyes,
+ And then he touched it with his hand and said:--
+ 'How sayest thou? Is that sign the proper sign
+ Of Rustum's son, or of some other man's?'
+
+
+ RUKSH THE HORSE
+
+ He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood
+ Speechless; and then he uttered one sharp cry:
+ _O boy--thy father!_--and his voice choked there.
+ And then a dark cloud passed before his eyes,
+ And his head swam, and he sank down to earth.
+ But Sohrab crawled to where he lay, and cast
+ His arms about his neck, and kissed his lips,
+ And with fond faltering fingers stroked his cheeks,
+ Trying to call him back to life; and life
+ Came back to Rustum, and he oped his eyes,
+ And they stood wide with horror; and he seized
+ In both his hands the dust which lay around,
+ And threw it on his head, and smirched his hair,--
+ His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms;
+ And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast,
+ And his sobs choked him; and he clutched his sword,
+ To draw it, and for ever let life out.
+ But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands,
+ And with a soothing voice he spake, and said:
+ 'Father, forbear! for I but meet to-day
+ The doom which at my birth was written down
+ In Heaven, and thou art Heaven's unconscious hand.
+ Surely my heart cried out that it was thou,
+ When first I saw thee; and thy heart spoke too,
+ I know it! but fate trod these promptings down
+ Under its iron heel; fate, fate engaged
+ The strife, and hurled me on my father's spear.
+ But let us speak no more of this! I find
+ My father; let me feel that I have found!
+ Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take
+ My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks,
+ And wash them with thy tears, and say: _My son!_
+ Quick! quick! for numbered are my sands of life,
+ And swift; for like the lightning to this field
+ I came, and like the wind I go away--
+ Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind.
+ But it was writ in Heaven that this should be.'
+ So said he, and his voice released the heart
+ Of Rustum and his tears broke forth; he cast
+ His arms round his son's neck, and wept aloud,
+ And kissed him. And awe fell on both the hosts,
+ When they saw Rustum's grief; and Ruksh the horse,
+ With his head bowing to the ground and mane
+ Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe
+ First to the one, then to the other moved
+ His head, as if inquiring what their grief
+ Might mean; and from his dark, compassionate eyes,
+ The big warm tears rolled down, and caked the sand.
+ But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said:--
+ 'Ruksh, now thou grievest; but, O Ruksh, thy feet
+ Should first have rotted on their nimble joints,
+ Or ere they brought thy master to this field!'
+ But Sohrab looked upon the horse and said:
+ 'Is this, then, Ruksh? How often in past days,
+ My mother told me of thee, thou brave steed,
+ My terrible father's terrible horse! and said,
+ That I should one day find thy lord and thee.
+ Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane!
+ O Ruksh, thou art more fortunate than I;
+ For thou hast gone where I shall never go,
+ And snuffed the breezes of my father's home.
+ And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan,
+ And seen the river of Helmund, and the Lake
+ Of Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself
+ Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee food,
+ Corn in a golden platter soaked with wine,
+ And said: _O Ruksh! bear Rustum well!_--but I
+ Have never known my grandsire's furrowed face,
+ Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan,
+ Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund stream;
+ But lodged among my father's foes, and seen
+ Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand,
+ Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste,
+ And the black Toorkman tents; and only drunk
+ The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend,
+ Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep,
+ The northern Sir; and this great Oxus stream,
+ The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die.'
+
+
+ RUSTUM
+
+ Then with a heavy groan, Rustum bewailed:
+ 'O that its waves were flowing over me!
+ O that I saw its grains of yellow silt
+ Roll tumbling in the current o'er my head!'
+ But with a grave mild voice, Sohrab replied:--
+ 'Desire not that, my father! thou must live.
+ For some are born to do great deeds, and live,
+ As some are born to be obscured, and die.
+ Do thou the deeds I die too young to do,
+ And reap a second glory in thine age;
+ Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine.
+ But come! thou seest this great host of men
+ Which follow me; I pray thee, slay not these!
+ Let me entreat for them; what have they done?
+ They followed me, my hope, my fame, my star.
+ Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace.
+ But me thou must bear hence, not send with them,
+ But carry me with thee to Seistan,
+ And place me on a bed, and mourn for me,
+ Thou, and the snow-haired Zal, and all thy friends.
+ And thou must lay me in that lovely earth,
+ And heap a stately mound above my bones,
+ And plant a far-seen pillar over all.
+ That so the passing horseman on the waste
+ May see my tomb a great way off, and cry;
+ _Sohrab, the mighty Rustum's son, lies here,
+ Whom his great father did in ignorance kill!_
+ And I be not forgotten in my grave.'
+ And, with a mournful voice, Rustum replied:
+ 'Fear not! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son,
+ So shall it be; for I will burn my tents,
+ And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me,
+ And carry thee away to Seistan,
+ And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee,
+ With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends.
+ And I will lay thee in that lovely earth,
+ And heap a stately mound above thy bones,
+ And plant a far-seen pillar over all,
+ And men shall not forget thee in thy grave.
+ And I will spare thy host; yea, let them go!
+ Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace!
+ What should I do with slaying any more?
+ For would that all whom I have ever slain
+ Might be once more alive--my bitterest foes,
+ And they who were called champions in their time,
+ And through whose death I won that fame I have--
+ And I were nothing but a common man,
+ A poor, mean soldier, and without renown,
+ So thou mightest live too, my son, my son!
+ Or rather would that I, even I myself,
+ Might now be lying on this bloody sand,
+ Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine,
+ Not thou of mine! and I might die, not thou;
+ And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan;
+ And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine;
+ And say: _O Son, I weep thee not too sore,
+ For willingly, I know, thou met'st thine end!_
+ But now in blood and battles was my youth,
+ And full of blood and battles is my age,
+ And I shall never end this life of blood.'
+ Then at the point of death, Sohrab replied:
+ 'A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man!
+ But thou shalt yet have peace; only not now,
+ Not yet! but thou shalt have it on that day,
+ When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship,
+ Thou and the other peers of Kai Khosroo
+ Returning home over the salt blue sea,
+ From laying thy dear master in his grave.'
+
+
+ NIGHT
+
+ And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said:
+ 'Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea!
+ Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure.'
+ He spoke; and Sohrab smiled on him, and took
+ The spear, and drew it from his side, and eased
+ His wound's imperious anguish; but the blood
+ Came welling from the open gash, and life
+ Flowed with the stream;--all down his cold white side
+ The crimson torrent ran, dim now and soiled,
+ Like the soiled tissue of white violets
+ Left, freshly gathered, on their native bank,
+ By children whom their nurses call with haste
+ Indoors from the sun's eye; his head dropped low,
+ His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, he lay--
+ White, with eyes closed; only when heavy gasps,
+ Deep heavy gasps quivering through all his frame,
+ Convulsed him back to life, he opened them,
+ And fixed them feebly on his father's face;
+ Till now all strength was ebbed, and from his limbs
+ Unwillingly the spirit fled away,
+ Regretting the warm mansion which it left,
+ And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world.
+ So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead;
+ And the great Rustum drew his horseman's cloak
+ Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son.
+ As those black granite pillars once high-reared
+ By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear
+ His house, now 'mid their broken flights of steps
+ Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side,
+ So in the sand lay Rustum by his son.
+ And night came down over the solemn waste,
+ And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair,
+ And darkened all; and a cold fog, with night,
+ Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose,
+ As of a great assembly loosed, and fires
+ Began to twinkle through the fog; for now
+ Both armies moved to camp, and took their meal;
+ The Persians took it on the open sands
+ Southward, the Tartars by the river marge;
+ And Rustum and his son were left alone.
+ But the majestic river floated on,
+ Out of the mist and hum of that low land,
+ Into the frosty starlight, and there moved,
+ Rejoicing, through the hushed Chorasmian waste,
+ Under the solitary moon;--he flowed
+ Right for the polar star, past Orgunje,
+ Brimming, and bright, and large; then sands begin
+ To hem his watery march, and dam his streams,
+ And split his currents; that for many a league
+ The shorn and parcelled Oxus strains along
+ Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles--
+ Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had
+ In his high mountain cradle in Pamere
+ A foiled circuitous wanderer--till at last
+ The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and wide
+ His luminous home of waters opens, bright
+ And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars
+ Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea.
+
+ _Arnold._
+
+
+
+
+ CIX
+
+ FLEE FRO' THE PRESS
+
+
+ O born in days when wits were fresh and clear
+ And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames;
+ Before this strange disease of modern life,
+ With its sick hurry, its divided aims,
+ Its heads o'ertaxed, its palsied hearts, was rife--
+ Fly hence, our contact fear!
+ Still fly, plunge deeper in the bowering wood!
+ Averse, as Dido did with gesture stern
+ From her false friend's approach in Hades turn,
+ Wave us away and keep thy solitude!
+
+ Still nursing the unconquerable hope,
+ Still clutching the inviolable shade,
+ With a free, onward impulse brushing through,
+ By night, the silvered branches of the glade--
+ Far on the forest-skirts, where none pursue,
+ On some mild pastoral slope
+ Emerge, and resting on the moonlit pales
+ Freshen thy flowers as in former years
+ With dew, or listen with enchanted ears,
+ From the dark dingles, to the nightingales!
+
+ But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly!
+ For strong the infection of our mental strife,
+ Which, though it gives no bliss, yet spoils for rest;
+ And we should win thee from thy own fair life,
+ Like us distracted, and like us unblest.
+ Soon, soon thy cheer would die,
+ Thy hopes grow timorous, and unfixed thy powers,
+ And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made;
+ And then thy glad perennial youth would fade,
+ Fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours.
+
+ Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles!
+ As some grave Tyrian trader, from the sea,
+ Descried at sunrise an emerging prow
+ Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily,
+ The fringes of a southward-facing brow
+ Among the AEgaean isles;
+ And saw the merry Grecian coaster come,
+ Freighted with amber grapes, and Chian wine,
+ Green, bursting figs, and tunnies steeped in brine--
+ And knew the intruders on his ancient home,
+
+ The young light-hearted masters of the waves--
+ And snatched his rudder, and shook out more sail;
+ And day and night held on indignantly
+ O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale,
+ Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily,
+ To where the Atlantic raves
+ Outside the western straits; and unbent sails
+ There, where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of foam,
+ Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come;
+ And on the beach undid his corded bales.
+
+ _Arnold._
+
+
+
+
+ CX
+
+ SCHOOL FENCIBLES
+
+
+ We come in arms, we stand ten score,
+ Embattled on the castle green;
+ We grasp our firelocks tight, for war
+ Is threatening, and we see our Queen.
+ And 'Will the churls last out till we
+ Have duly hardened bones and thews
+ For scouring leagues of swamp and sea
+ Of braggart mobs and corsair crews?'
+ We ask; we fear not scoff or smile
+ At meek attire of blue and grey,
+ For the proud wrath that thrills our isle
+ Gives faith and force to this array.
+ So great a charm is England's right,
+ That hearts enlarged together flow,
+ And each man rises up a knight
+ To work the evil-thinkers woe.
+ And, girt with ancient truth and grace,
+ We do our service and our suit,
+ And each can be, whate'er his race,
+ A Chandos or a Montacute.
+ Thou, Mistress, whom we serve to-day,
+ Bless the real swords that we shall wield,
+ Repeat the call we now obey
+ In sunset lands, on some fair field.
+ Thy flag shall make some Huron rock
+ As dear to us as Windsor's keep,
+ And arms thy Thames hath nerved shall mock
+ The surgings of th' Ontarian deep.
+ The stately music of thy Guards,
+ Which times our march beneath thy ken,
+ Shall sound, with spells of sacred bards,
+ From heart to heart, when we are men.
+ And when we bleed on alien earth,
+ We'll call to mind how cheers of ours
+ Proclaimed a loud uncourtly mirth
+ Amongst thy glowing orange bowers.
+ And if for England's sake we fall,
+ So be it, so thy cross be won,
+ Fixed by kind hands on silvered pall,
+ And worn in death, for duty done.
+ Ah! thus we fondle Death, the soldier's mate,
+ Blending his image with the hopes of youth
+ To hallow all; meanwhile the hidden fate
+ Chills not our fancies with the iron truth.
+ Death from afar we call, and Death is here,
+ To choose out him who wears the loftiest mien;
+ And Grief, the cruel lord who knows no peer,
+ Breaks through the shield of love to pierce our Queen.
+
+ _Cory._
+
+
+
+
+ CXI
+
+ THE TWO CAPTAINS
+
+
+ When George the Third was reigning a hundred years ago,
+ He ordered Captain Farmer to chase the foreign foe.
+ 'You're not afraid of shot,' said he, 'you're not afraid of wreck,
+ So cruise about the west of France in the frigate called _Quebec_.
+
+ Quebec was once a Frenchman's town, but twenty years ago
+ King George the Second sent a man called General Wolfe, you know,
+ To clamber up a precipice and look into Quebec,
+ As you'd look down a hatchway when standing on the deck.
+
+ If Wolfe could beat the Frenchmen then so you can beat them now.
+ Before he got inside the town he died, I must allow.
+ But since the town was won for us it is a lucky name,
+ And you'll remember Wolfe's good work, and you shall do the same.'
+
+ Then Farmer said, 'I'll try, sir,' and Farmer bowed so low
+ That George could see his pigtail tied in a velvet bow.
+ George gave him his commission, and that it might be safer,
+ Signed 'King of Britain, King of France,' and sealed it with a wafer.
+
+ Then proud was Captain Farmer in a frigate of his own,
+ And grander on his quarter-deck than George upon the throne.
+ He'd two guns in his cabin, and on the spar-deck ten,
+ And twenty on the gun-deck, and more than ten score men.
+
+ And as a huntsman scours the brakes with sixteen brace of dogs,
+ With two-and-thirty cannon the ship explored the fogs.
+ From Cape la Hogue to Ushant, from Rochefort to Belleisle,
+ She hunted game till reef and mud were rubbing on her keel.
+
+ The fogs are dried, the frigate's side is bright with melting tar,
+ The lad up in the foretop sees square white sails afar;
+ The east wind drives three square-sailed masts from out the Breton bay,
+ And 'Clear for action!' Farmer shouts, and reefers yell 'Hooray!'
+
+ The Frenchman's captain had a name I wish I could pronounce;
+ A Breton gentleman was he, and wholly free from bounce,
+ One like those famous fellows who died by guillotine
+ For honour and the fleurs-de-lys and Antoinette the Queen.
+
+ The Catholic for Louis, the Protestant for George,
+ Each captain drew as bright a sword as saintly smiths could forge;
+ And both were simple seamen, but both could understand
+ How each was bound to win or die for flag and native land.
+
+ The French ship was _la Surveillante_, which means the watchful maid;
+ She folded up her head-dress and began to cannonade.
+ Her hull was clean, and ours was foul; we had to spread more sail.
+ On canvas, stays, and topsail yards her bullets came like hail.
+
+ Sore smitten were both captains, and many lads beside,
+ And still to cut our rigging the foreign gunners tried.
+ A sail-clad spar came flapping down athwart a blazing gun;
+ We could not quench the rushing flames, and so the Frenchman won.
+
+ Our quarter-deck was crowded, the waist was all aglow;
+ Men hung upon the taffrail half scorched, but loth to go;
+ Our captain sat where once he stood, and would not quit his chair.
+ He bade his comrades leap for life, and leave him bleeding there.
+
+ The guns were hushed on either side, the Frenchmen lowered boats,
+ They flung us planks and hencoops, and everything that floats.
+ They risked their lives, good fellows! to bring their rivals aid.
+ 'Twas by the conflagration the peace was strangely made.
+
+ _La Surveillante_ was like a sieve; the victors had no rest,
+ They had to dodge the east wind to reach the port of Brest,
+ And where the waves leapt lower, and the riddled ship went slower,
+ In triumph, yet in funeral guise, came fisher-boats to tow her.
+
+ They dealt with us as brethren, they mourned for Farmer dead;
+ And as the wounded captives passed each Breton bowed the head.
+ Then spoke the French Lieutenant, ''Twas fire that won, not we.
+ You never struck your flag to us; you'll go to England free.'
+
+ 'Twas the sixth day of October, seventeen hundred seventy-nine,
+ A year when nations ventured against us to combine,
+ _Quebec_ was burnt and Farmer slain, by us remembered not;
+ But thanks be to the French book wherein they're not forgot.
+
+ Now you, if you've to fight the French, my youngster, bear in mind
+ Those seamen of King Louis so chivalrous and kind;
+ Think of the Breton gentlemen who took our lads to Brest,
+ And treat some rescued Breton as a comrade and a guest.
+
+ _Cory._
+
+
+
+
+ CXII
+
+ THE HEAD OF BRAN
+
+
+ When the head of Bran
+ Was firm on British shoulders,
+ God made a man!
+ Cried all beholders.
+
+ Steel could not resist
+ The weight his arm would rattle;
+ He with naked fist
+ Has brained a knight in battle.
+
+ He marched on the foe,
+ And never counted numbers;
+ Foreign widows know
+ The hosts he sent to slumbers.
+
+ As a street you scan
+ That's towered by the steeple,
+ So the head of Bran
+ Rose o'er his people.
+
+ 'Death's my neighbour,'
+ Quoth Bran the blest;
+ 'Christian labour
+ Brings Christian rest.
+ From the trunk sever
+ The head of Bran,
+ That which never
+ Has bent to man!
+
+ That which never
+ To men has bowed
+ Shall live ever
+ To shame the shroud:
+ Shall live ever
+ To face the foe;
+ Sever it, sever,
+ And with one blow.
+
+ Be it written,
+ That all I wrought
+ Was for Britain,
+ In deed and thought:
+ Be it written,
+ That, while I die,
+ "Glory to Britain!"
+ Is my last cry.
+
+ "Glory to Britain!"
+ Death echoes me round.
+ Glory to Britain!
+ The world shall resound.
+ Glory to Britain!
+ In ruin and fall,
+ Glory to Britain!
+ Is heard over all.'
+
+ Burn, Sun, down the sea!
+ Bran lies low with thee.
+
+ Burst, Morn, from the main!
+ Bran so shall rise again.
+
+ Blow, Wind, from the field!
+ Bran's Head is the Briton's shield.
+
+ Beam, Star, in the west!
+ Bright burns the Head of Bran the Blest.
+
+ Crimson-footed like the stork,
+ From great ruts of slaughter,
+ Warriors of the Golden Torque
+ Cross the lifting water.
+ Princes seven, enchaining hands,
+ Bear the live Head homeward.
+ Lo! it speaks, and still commands;
+ Gazing far out foamward.
+
+ Fiery words of lightning sense
+ Down the hollows thunder;
+ Forest hostels know not whence
+ Comes the speech, and wonder.
+ City-castles, on the steep
+ Where the faithful Severn
+ House at midnight, hear in sleep
+ Laughter under heaven.
+
+ Lilies, swimming on the mere,
+ In the castle shadow,
+ Under draw their heads, and Fear
+ Walks the misty meadow;
+ Tremble not, it is not Death
+ Pledging dark espousal:
+ 'Tis the Head of endless breath,
+ Challenging carousal!
+
+ Brim the horn! a health is drunk,
+ Now, that shall keep going:
+ Life is but the pebble sunk,
+ Deeds, the circle growing!
+ Fill, and pledge the Head of Bran!
+ While his lead they follow,
+ Long shall heads in Britain plan
+ Speech Death cannot swallow.
+
+ _George Meredith._
+
+
+
+
+ CXIII
+
+ THE SLAYING OF THE NIBLUNGS
+
+
+ HOGNI
+
+ Ye shall know that in Atli's feast-hall on the side that joined the house
+ Were many carven doorways whose work was glorious
+ With marble stones and gold-work, and their doors of beaten brass:
+ Lo now, in the merry morning how the story cometh to pass!
+ --While the echoes of the trumpet yet fill the people's ears,
+ And Hogni casts by the war-horn, and his Dwarf-wrought sword uprears,
+ All those doors aforesaid open, and in pour the streams of steel,
+ The best of the Eastland champions, the bold men of Atli's weal:
+ They raise no cry of battle nor cast forth threat of woe,
+ And their helmed and hidden faces from each other none may know:
+ Then a light in the hall ariseth, and the fire of battle runs
+ All adown the front of the Niblungs in the face of the mighty ones;
+ All eyes are set upon them, hard drawn is every breath,
+ Ere the foremost points be mingled and death be blent with death.
+ --All eyes save the eyes of Hogni; but e'en as the edges meet,
+ He turneth about for a moment to the gold of the kingly seat,
+ Then aback to the front of battle; there then, as the lightning-flash
+ Through the dark night showeth the city when the clouds of heaven clash,
+ And the gazer shrinketh backward, yet he seeth from end to end
+ The street and the merry market, and the windows of his friend,
+ And the pavement where his footsteps yester'en returning trod,
+ Now white and changed and dreadful 'neath the threatening voice of God;
+ So Hogni seeth Gudrun, and the face he used to know,
+ Unspeakable, unchanging, with white unknitted brow
+ With half-closed lips untrembling, with deedless hands and cold
+ Laid still on knees that stir not, and the linen's moveless fold.
+
+ Turned Hogni unto the spear-wall, and smote from where he stood,
+ And hewed with his sword two-handed as the axe-man in a wood:
+ Before his sword was a champion, and the edges clave to the chin,
+ And the first man fell in the feast-hall of those that should fall
+ therein.
+ Then man with man was dealing, and the Niblung host of war
+ Was swept by the leaping iron, as the rock anigh the shore
+ By the ice-cold waves of winter: yet a moment Gunnar stayed
+ As high in his hand unblooded he shook his awful blade;
+ And he cried: 'O Eastland champions, do ye behold it here,
+ The sword of the ancient Giuki? Fall on and have no fear,
+ But slay and be slain and be famous, if your master's will it be!
+ Yet are we the blameless Niblungs, and bidden guests are we:
+ So forbear, if ye wander hood-winked, nor for nothing slay and be slain;
+ For I know not what to tell you of the dead that live again.'
+
+ So he saith in the midst of the foemen with his war-flame reared on high,
+ But all about and around him goes up a bitter cry
+ From the iron men of Atli, and the bickering of the steel
+ Sends a roar up to the roof-ridge, and the Niblung war-ranks reel
+ Behind the steadfast Gunnar: but lo! have ye seen the corn,
+ While yet men grind the sickle, by the wind-streak overborne
+ When the sudden rain sweeps downward, and summer groweth black,
+ And the smitten wood-side roareth 'neath the driving thunder-wrack?
+ So before the wise-heart Hogni shrank the champions of the East,
+ As his great voice shook the timbers in the hall of Atli's feast.
+ There he smote, and beheld not the smitten, and by nought were his edges
+ stopped;
+ He smote, and the dead were thrust from him; a hand with its shield he
+ lopped;
+ There met him Atli's marshal, and his arm at the shoulder he shred;
+ Three swords were upreared against him of the best of the kin of the
+ dead;
+ And he struck off a head to the rightward, and his sword through a throat
+ he thrust,
+ But the third stroke fell on his helm-crest, and he stooped to the ruddy
+ dust,
+ And uprose as the ancient Giant, and both his hands were wet:
+ Red then was the world to his eyen, as his hand to the labour he set;
+ Swords shook and fell in his pathway, huge bodies leapt and fell,
+ Harsh grided shield and war-helm like the tempest-smitten bell,
+ And the war-cries ran together, and no man his brother knew,
+ And the dead men loaded the living, as he went the war-wood through;
+ And man 'gainst man was huddled, till no sword rose to smite,
+ And clear stood the glorious Hogni in an island of the fight,
+ And there ran a river of death 'twixt the Niblung and his foes,
+ And therefrom the terror of men and the wrath of the Gods arose.
+
+
+ GUNNAR
+
+ Now fell the sword of Gunnar, and rose up red in the air,
+ And hearkened the song of the Niblung, as his voice rang glad and clear,
+ And rejoiced and leapt at the Eastmen, and cried as it met the rings
+ Of a Giant of King Atli and a murder-wolf of kings;
+ But it quenched its thirst in his entrails, and knew the heart in his
+ breast,
+ And hearkened the praise of Gunnar, and lingered not to rest,
+ But fell upon Atli's brother, and stayed not in his brain;
+ Then he fell, and the King leapt over, and clave a neck atwain,
+ And leapt o'er the sweep of a pole-axe, and thrust a lord in the throat,
+ And King Atli's banner-bearer through shield and hauberk smote;
+ Then he laughed on the huddled East-folk, and against their war-shields
+ drave
+ While the white swords tossed about him, and that archer's skull he clave
+ Whom Atli had bought in the Southlands for many a pound of gold;
+ And the dark-skinned fell upon Gunnar, and over his war-shield rolled,
+ And cumbered his sword for a season, and the many blades fell on,
+ And sheared the cloudy helm-crest and rents in his hauberk won,
+ And the red blood ran from Gunnar; till that Giuki's sword outburst,
+ As the fire-tongue from the smoulder that the leafy heap hath nursed,
+ And unshielded smote King Gunnar, and sent the Niblung song
+ Through the quaking stems of battle in the hall of Atli's wrong:
+ Then he rent the knitted war-hedge till by Hogni's side he stood,
+ And kissed him amidst of the spear-hail, and their cheeks were wet with
+ blood.
+
+ Then on came the Niblung bucklers, and they drave the East-folk home,
+ As the bows of the oar-driven long-ship beat off the waves in foam:
+ They leave their dead behind them, and they come to the doors and the
+ wall,
+ And a few last spears from the fleeing amidst their shield-hedge fall:
+ But the doors clash to in their faces, as the fleeing rout they drive,
+ And fain would follow after; and none is left alive
+ In the feast-hall of King Atli, save those fishes of the net,
+ And the white and silent woman above the slaughter set.
+
+ Then biddeth the heart-wise Hogni, and men to the windows climb,
+ And uplift the war-grey corpses, dead drift of the stormy time,
+ And cast them adown to their people: thence they come aback and say
+ That scarce shall ye see the houses, and no whit the wheel-worn way
+ For the spears and shields of the Eastlands that the merchant city
+ throng;
+ And back to the Niblung burg-gate the way seemed weary-long.
+
+ Yet passeth hour on hour, and the doors they watch and ward
+ But a long while hear no mail-clash, nor the ringing of the sword;
+ Then droop the Niblung children, and their wounds are waxen chill,
+ And they think of the burg by the river, and the builded holy hill,
+ And their eyes are set on Gudrun as of men who would beseech;
+ But unlearned are they in craving, and know not dastard's speech.
+ Then doth Giuki's first-begotten a deed most fair to be told,
+ For his fair harp Gunnar taketh, and the warp of silver and gold;
+ With the hand of a cunning harper he dealeth with the strings,
+ And his voice in their midst goeth upward, as of ancient days he sings,
+ Of the days before the Niblungs, and the days that shall be yet;
+ Till the hour of toil and smiting the warrior hearts forget,
+ Nor hear the gathering foemen, nor the sound of swords aloof:
+ Then clear the song of Gunnar goes up to the dusky roof,
+ And the coming spear-host tarries, and the bearers of the woe
+ Through the cloisters of King Atli with lingering footsteps go.
+
+ But Hogni looketh on Gudrun, and no change in her face he sees,
+ And no stir in her folded linen and the deedless hands on her knees:
+ Then from Gunnar's side he hasteneth; and lo! the open door,
+ And a foeman treadeth the pavement, and his lips are on Atli's floor,
+ For Hogni is death in the doorway: then the Niblungs turn on the foe,
+ And the hosts are mingled together, and blow cries out on blow.
+
+
+ GUDRUN
+
+ Still the song goeth up from Gunnar, though his harp to earth be laid;
+ But he fighteth exceeding wisely, and is many a warrior's aid,
+ And he shieldeth and delivereth, and his eyes search through the hall,
+ And woe is he for his fellows, as his battle-brethren fall;
+ For the turmoil hideth little from that glorious folk-king's eyes,
+ And o'er all he beholdeth Gudrun, and his soul is waxen wise,
+ And he saith: 'We shall look on Sigurd, and Sigmund of old days,
+ And see the boughs of the Branstock o'er the ancient Volsung's praise.'
+
+ Woe's me for the wrath of Hogni! From the door he giveth aback
+ That the Eastland slayers may enter to the murder and the wrack:
+ Then he rageth and driveth the battle to the golden kingly seat,
+ And the last of the foes he slayeth by Gudrun's very feet,
+ That the red blood splasheth her raiment; and his own blood therewithal
+ He casteth aloft before her, and the drops on her white hands fall:
+ But nought she seeth or heedeth, and again he turns to fight,
+ Nor heedeth stroke nor wounding so he a foe may smite:
+ Then the battle opens before him, and the Niblungs draw to his side;
+ As death in the world first fashioned, through the feast-hall doth he
+ stride.
+ And so once more do the Niblungs sweep that murder-flood of men
+ From the hall of toils and treason, and the doors swing to again.
+ Then again is there peace for a little within the fateful fold;
+ But the Niblungs look about them, and but few folk they behold
+ Upright on their feet for the battle: now they climb aloft no more,
+ Nor cast the dead from the windows; but they raise a rampart of war,
+ And its stones are the fallen East-folk, and no lowly wall is that.
+
+ Therein was Gunnar the mighty: on the shields of men he sat,
+ And the sons of his people hearkened, for his hand through the
+ harp-strings ran,
+ And he sang in the hall of his foeman of the Gods and the making of man,
+ And how season was sundered from season in the days of the fashioning,
+ And became the Summer and Autumn, and became the Winter and Spring;
+ He sang of men's hunger and labour, and their love and their breeding
+ of broil.
+ And their hope that is fostered of famine, and their rest that is
+ fashioned of toil:
+ Fame then and the sword he sang of, and the hour of the hardy and wise,
+ When the last of the living shall perish, and the first of the dead
+ shall arise,
+ And the torch shall be lit in the daylight, and God unto man shall pray,
+ And the heart shall cry out for the hand in the fight of the uttermost
+ day.
+ So he sang, and beheld not Gudrun, save as long ago he saw
+ His sister, the little maiden of the face without a flaw:
+ But wearily Hogni beheld her, and no change in her face there was,
+ And long thereon gazed Hogni, and set his brows as the brass,
+ Though the hands of the King were weary, and weak his knees were grown,
+ And he felt as a man unholpen in a waste land wending alone.
+
+
+ THE SONS OF GIUKI
+
+ Now the noon was long passed over when again the rumour arose,
+ And through the doors cast open flowed in the river of foes:
+ They flooded the hall of the murder, and surged round that rampart of
+ dead;
+ No war-duke ran before them, no lord to the onset led,
+ But the thralls shot spears at adventure, and shot out shafts from afar,
+ Till the misty hall was blinded with the bitter drift of war:
+ Few and faint were the Niblung children, and their wounds were waxen
+ acold,
+ And they saw the Hell-gates open as they stood in their grimly hold:
+ Yet thrice stormed out King Hogni, thrice stormed out Gunnar the King,
+ Thrice fell they aback yet living to the heart of the fated ring;
+ And they looked and their band was little, and no man but was wounded
+ sore,
+ And the hall seemed growing greater, such hosts of foes it bore,
+ So tossed the iron harvest from wall to gilded wall;
+ And they looked and the white-clad Gudrun sat silent over all.
+
+ Then the churls and thralls of the Eastland howled out as wolves accurst,
+ But oft gaped the Niblungs voiceless, for they choked with anger and
+ thirst;
+ And the hall grew hot as a furnace, and men drank their flowing blood,
+ Men laughed and gnawed on their shield-rims, men knew not where they
+ stood,
+ And saw not what was before them; as in the dark men smote,
+ Men died heart-broken, unsmitten; men wept with the cry in the throat,
+ Men lived on full of war-shafts, men cast their shields aside
+ And caught the spears to their bosoms; men rushed with none beside,
+ And fell unarmed on the foemen, and tore and slew in death:
+ And still down rained the arrows as the rain across the heath;
+ Still proud o'er all the turmoil stood the Kings of Giuki born,
+ Nor knit were the brows of Gunnar, nor his song-speech overworn;
+ But Hogni's mouth kept silence, and oft his heart went forth
+ To the long, long day of the darkness, and the end of worldly worth.
+
+ Loud rose the roar of the East-folk, and the end was coming at last:
+ Now the foremost locked their shield-rims and the hindmost over them
+ cast,
+ And nigher they drew and nigher, and their fear was fading away,
+ For every man of the Niblungs on the shaft-strewn pavement lay,
+ Save Gunnar the King and Hogni: still the glorious King up-bore
+ The cloudy shield of the Niblungs set full of shafts of war;
+ But Hogni's hands had fainted, and his shield had sunk adown,
+ So thick with the Eastland spearwood was that rampart of renown;
+ And hacked and dull were the edges that had rent the wall of foes:
+ Yet he stood upright by Gunnar before that shielded close,
+ Nor looked on the foeman's faces as their wild eyes drew anear,
+ And their faltering shield-rims clattered with the remnant of their fear;
+ But he gazed on the Niblung woman, and the daughter of his folk,
+ Who sat o'er all unchanging ere the war-cloud over them broke.
+
+ Now nothing might men hearken in the house of Atli's weal,
+ Save the feet slow tramping onward, and the rattling of the steel,
+ And the song of the glorious Gunnar, that rang as clearly now
+ As the speckled storm-cock singeth from the scant-leaved hawthorn-bough,
+ When the sun is dusking over and the March snow pelts the land.
+ There stood the mighty Gunnar with sword and shield in hand,
+ There stood the shieldless Hogni with set unangry eyes,
+ And watched the wall of war-shields o'er the dead men's rampart rise,
+ And the white blades flickering nigher, and the quavering points of war.
+ Then the heavy air of the feast-hall was rent with a fearful roar,
+ And the turmoil came and the tangle, as the wall together ran:
+ But aloft yet towered the Niblungs, and man toppled over man,
+ And leapt and struggled to tear them; as whiles amidst the sea
+ The doomed ship strives its utmost with mid-ocean's mastery,
+ And the tall masts whip the cordage, while the welter whirls and leaps,
+ And they rise and reel and waver, and sink amid the deeps:
+ So before the little-hearted in King Atli's murder-hall
+ Did the glorious sons of Giuki 'neath the shielded onrush fall:
+ Sore wounded, bound and helpless, but living yet, they lie
+ Till the afternoon and the even in the first of night shall die.
+
+ _William Morris._
+
+
+
+
+ CXIV
+
+ IS LIFE WORTH LIVING
+
+
+ Is life worth living? Yes, so long
+ As Spring revives the year,
+ And hails us with the cuckoo's song,
+ To show that she is here;
+ So long as May of April takes,
+ In smiles and tears, farewell,
+ And windflowers dapple all the brakes,
+ And primroses the dell;
+ While children in the woodlands yet
+ Adorn their little laps
+ With ladysmock and violet,
+ And daisy-chain their caps;
+ While over orchard daffodils
+ Cloud-shadows float and fleet,
+ And ousel pipes and laverock trills,
+ And young lambs buck and bleat;
+ So long as that which bursts the bud
+ And swells and tunes the rill
+ Makes springtime in the maiden's blood,
+ Life is worth living still.
+
+ Life not worth living! Come with me,
+ Now that, through vanishing veil,
+ Shimmers the dew on lawn and lea,
+ And milk foams in the pail;
+ Now that June's sweltering sunlight bathes
+ With sweat the striplings lithe,
+ As fall the long straight scented swathes
+ Over the crescent scythe;
+ Now that the throstle never stops
+ His self-sufficing strain,
+ And woodbine-trails festoon the copse,
+ And eglantine the lane;
+ Now rustic labour seems as sweet
+ As leisure, and blithe herds
+ Wend homeward with unweary feet,
+ Carolling like the birds;
+ Now all, except the lover's vow,
+ And nightingale, is still;
+ Here, in the twilight hour, allow,
+ Life is worth living still.
+
+ When Summer, lingering half-forlorn,
+ On Autumn loves to lean,
+ And fields of slowly yellowing corn
+ Are girt by woods still green;
+ When hazel-nuts wax brown and plump,
+ And apples rosy-red,
+ And the owlet hoots from hollow stump,
+ And the dormouse makes its bed;
+ When crammed are all the granary floors,
+ And the Hunter's moon is bright,
+ And life again is sweet indoors,
+ And logs again alight;
+ Ay, even when the houseless wind
+ Waileth through cleft and chink,
+ And in the twilight maids grow kind,
+ And jugs are filled and clink;
+ When children clasp their hands and pray
+ 'Be done Thy Heavenly will!'
+ Who doth not lift his voice, and say,
+ 'Life is worth living still'?
+
+ Is life worth living? Yes, so long
+ As there is wrong to right,
+ Wail of the weak against the strong,
+ Or tyranny to fight;
+ Long as there lingers gloom to chase,
+ Or streaming tear to dry,
+ One kindred woe, one sorrowing face
+ That smiles as we draw nigh;
+ Long as at tale of anguish swells
+ The heart, and lids grow wet,
+ And at the sound of Christmas bells
+ We pardon and forget;
+ So long as Faith with Freedom reigns,
+ And loyal Hope survives,
+ And gracious Charity remains
+ To leaven lowly lives;
+ While there is one untrodden tract
+ For Intellect or Will,
+ And men are free to think and act
+ Life is worth living still.
+
+ Not care to live while English homes
+ Nestle in English trees,
+ And England's Trident-Sceptre roams
+ Her territorial seas!
+ Not live while English songs are sung
+ Wherever blows the wind,
+ And England's laws and England's tongue
+ Enfranchise half mankind!
+ So long as in Pacific main,
+ Or on Atlantic strand,
+ Our kin transmit the parent strain,
+ And love the Mother-land;
+ So long as flashes English steel,
+ And English trumpets shrill,
+ He is dead already who doth not feel
+ Life is worth living still.
+
+ _Austin._
+
+
+
+
+ CXV
+
+ THEOLOGY IN EXTREMIS
+
+
+ Oft in the pleasant summer years,
+ Reading the tales of days bygone,
+ I have mused on the story of human tears,
+ All that man unto man has done,
+ Massacre, torture, and black despair;
+ Reading it all in my easy-chair.
+
+ Passionate prayer for a minute's life;
+ Tortured crying for death as rest;
+ Husband pleading for child or wife,
+ Pitiless stroke upon tender breast.
+ Was it all real as that I lay there
+ Lazily stretched on my easy-chair?
+
+ Could I believe in those hard old times,
+ Here in this safe luxurious age?
+ Were the horrors invented to season rhymes,
+ Or truly is man so fierce in his rage?
+ What could I suffer, and what could I dare?
+ I who was bred to that easy-chair.
+
+ They were my fathers, the men of yore,
+ Little they recked of a cruel death;
+ They would dip their hands in a heretic's gore,
+ They stood and burnt for a rule of faith.
+ What would I burn for, and whom not spare?
+ I, who had faith in an easy-chair.
+
+ Now do I see old tales are true,
+ Here in the clutch of a savage foe;
+ Now shall I know what my fathers knew,
+ Bodily anguish and bitter woe,
+ Naked and bound in the strong sun's glare,
+ Far from my civilised easy-chair.
+
+ Now have I tasted and understood
+ That old-world feeling of mortal hate;
+ For the eyes all round us are hot with blood;
+ They will kill us coolly--they do but wait;
+ While I, I would sell ten lives, at least,
+ For one fair stroke at that devilish priest.
+
+ Just in return for the kick he gave,
+ Bidding me call on the prophet's name;
+ Even a dog by this may save
+ Skin from the knife and soul from the flame;
+ My soul! if he can let the prophet burn it,
+ But life is sweet if a word may earn it.
+
+ A bullock's death, and at thirty years!
+ Just one phrase, and a man gets off it;
+ Look at that mongrel clerk in his tears
+ Whining aloud the name of the prophet;
+ Only a formula easy to patter,
+ And, God Almighty, what _can_ it matter?
+
+ 'Matter enough,' will my comrade say
+ Praying aloud here close at my side,
+ 'Whether you mourn in despair alway,
+ Cursed for ever by Christ denied;
+ Or whether you suffer a minute's pain
+ All the reward of Heaven to gain.'
+
+ Not for a moment faltereth he,
+ Sure of the promise and pardon of sin;
+ Thus did the martyrs die, I see,
+ Little to lose and muckle to win;
+ Death means Heaven, he longs to receive it,
+ But what shall I do if I don't believe it?
+
+ Life is pleasant, and friends may be nigh,
+ Fain would I speak one word and be spared;
+ Yet I could be silent and cheerfully die,
+ If I were only sure God cared;
+ If I had faith, and were only certain
+ That light is behind that terrible curtain.
+
+ But what if He listeth nothing at all,
+ Of words a poor wretch in his terror may say
+ That mighty God who created all
+ To labour and live their appointed day;
+ Who stoops not either to bless or ban,
+ Weaving the woof of an endless plan.
+
+ He is the Reaper, and binds the sheaf,
+ Shall not the season its order keep?
+ Can it be changed by a man's belief?
+ Millions of harvests still to reap;
+ Will God reward, if I die for a creed,
+ Or will He but pity, and sow more seed?
+
+ Surely He pities who made the brain,
+ When breaks that mirror of memories sweet,
+ When the hard blow falleth, and never again
+ Nerve shall quiver nor pulse shall beat;
+ Bitter the vision of vanishing joys;
+ Surely He pities when man destroys.
+
+ Here stand I on the ocean's brink,
+ Who hath brought news of the further shore?
+ How shall I cross it? Sail or sink,
+ One thing is sure, I return no more;
+ Shall I find haven, or aye shall I be
+ Tossed in the depths of a shoreless sea?
+
+ They tell fair tales of a far-off land,
+ Of love rekindled, of forms renewed;
+ There may I only touch one hand
+ Here life's ruin will little be rued;
+ But the hand I have pressed and the voice I have heard,
+ To lose them for ever, and all for a word!
+
+ Now do I feel that my heart must break
+ All for one glimpse of a woman's face;
+ Swiftly the slumbering memories wake
+ Odour and shadow of hour and place;
+ One bright ray through the darkening past
+ Leaps from the lamp as it brightens last,
+
+ Showing me summer in western land
+ Now, as the cool breeze murmureth
+ In leaf and flower--And here I stand
+ In this plain all bare save the shadow of death;
+ Leaving my life in its full noonday,
+ And no one to know why I flung it away.
+
+ Why? Am I bidding for glory's roll?
+ I shall be murdered and clean forgot;
+ Is it a bargain to save my soul?
+ God, whom I trust in, bargains not;
+ Yet for the honour of English race,
+ May I not live or endure disgrace.
+
+ Ay, but the word, if I could have said it,
+ I by no terrors of hell perplext;
+ Hard to be silent and have no credit
+ From man in this world, or reward in the next;
+ None to bear witness and reckon the cost
+ Of the name that is saved by the life that is lost.
+
+ I must be gone to the crowd untold
+ Of men by the cause which they served unknown,
+ Who moulder in myriad graves of old;
+ Never a story and never a stone
+ Tells of the martyrs who die like me,
+ Just for the pride of the old countree.
+
+ _Lyall._
+
+
+
+
+ CXVI
+
+ THE OBLATION
+
+
+ Ask nothing more of me, sweet;
+ All I can give you I give.
+ Heart of my heart, were it more,
+ More would be laid at your feet:
+ Love that should help you to live,
+ Song that should spur you to soar.
+
+ All things were nothing to give
+ Once to have sense of you more,
+ Touch you and taste of you, sweet,
+ Think you and breathe you and live,
+ Swept of your wings as they soar,
+ Trodden by chance of your feet.
+
+ I that have love and no more
+ Give you but love of you, sweet:
+ He that hath more, let him give;
+ He that hath wings, let him soar;
+ Mine is the heart at your feet
+ Here, that must love you to live.
+
+ _Swinburne._
+
+
+
+
+ CXVII
+
+ ENGLAND
+
+
+ England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle enrings thee
+ round,
+ Mother fair as the morning, where is now the place of thy foemen found?
+ Still the sea that salutes us free proclaims them stricken, acclaims
+ thee crowned.
+ Time may change, and the skies grow strange with signs of treason, and
+ fraud, and fear:
+ Foes in union of strange communion may rise against thee from far and
+ near:
+ Sloth and greed on thy strength may feed as cankers waxing from year
+ to year.
+
+ Yet, though treason and fierce unreason should league and lie and defame
+ and smite,
+ We that know thee, how far below thee the hatred burns of the sons of
+ night,
+ We that love thee, behold above thee the witness written of life in
+ light.
+
+ Life that shines from thee shows forth signs that none may read not by
+ eyeless foes:
+ Hate, born blind, in his abject mind grows hopeful now but as madness
+ grows:
+ Love, born wise, with exultant eyes adores thy glory, beholds and glows.
+ Truth is in thee, and none may win thee to lie, forsaking the face of
+ truth:
+ Freedom lives by the grace she gives thee, born again from thy deathless
+ youth:
+ Faith should fail, and the world turn pale, wert thou the prey of the
+ serpent's tooth.
+
+ Greed and fraud, unabashed, unawed, may strive to sting thee at heel in
+ vain;
+ Craft and fear and mistrust may leer and mourn and murmur and plead and
+ plain:
+ Thou art thou: and thy sunbright brow is hers that blasted the strength
+ of Spain.
+
+ Mother, mother beloved, none other could claim in place of thee England's
+ place:
+ Earth bears none that beholds the sun so pure of record, so clothed with
+ grace:
+ Dear our mother, nor son nor brother is thine, as strong or as fair of
+ face,
+ How shalt thou be abased? or how shalt fear take hold of thy heart? of
+ thine,
+ England, maiden immortal, laden with charge of life and with hopes
+ divine?
+ Earth shall wither, when eyes turned hither behold not light in her
+ darkness shine.
+
+ England, none that is born thy son, and lives by grace of thy glory,
+ free,
+ Lives and yearns not at heart and burns with hope to serve as he
+ worships thee;
+ None may sing thee: the sea-wind's wing beats down our songs as it
+ hails the sea.
+
+ _Swinburne._
+
+
+
+
+ CXVIII
+
+ A JACOBITE IN EXILE
+
+
+ The weary day rins down and dies,
+ The weary night wears through:
+ And never an hour is fair wi' flower,
+ And never a flower wi' dew.
+
+ I would the day were night for me,
+ I would the night were day:
+ For then would I stand in my ain fair land,
+ As now in dreams I may.
+
+ O lordly flow the Loire and Seine,
+ And loud the dark Durance:
+ But bonnier shine the braes of Tyne
+ Than a' the fields of France;
+ And the waves of Till that speak sae still
+ Gleam goodlier where they glance.
+
+ O weel were they that fell fighting
+ On dark Drumossie's day:
+ They keep their hame ayont the faem
+ And we die far away.
+
+ O sound they sleep, and saft, and deep,
+ But night and day wake we;
+ And ever between the sea banks green
+ Sounds loud the sundering sea.
+
+ And ill we sleep, sae sair we weep
+ But sweet and fast sleep they:
+ And the mool that haps them roun' and laps them
+ Is e'en their country's clay;
+ But the land we tread that are not dead
+ Is strange as night by day.
+
+ Strange as night in a strange man's sight,
+ Though fair as dawn it be:
+ For what is here that a stranger's cheer
+ Should yet wax blithe to see?
+
+ The hills stand steep, the dells lie deep,
+ The fields are green and gold:
+ The hill-streams sing, and the hill-sides ring,
+ As ours at home of old.
+
+ But hills and flowers are nane of ours,
+ And ours are over sea:
+ And the kind strange land whereon we stand,
+ It wotsna what were we
+ Or ever we came, wi' scathe and shame,
+ To try what end might be.
+
+ Scathe and shame, and a waefu' name,
+ And a weary time and strange,
+ Have they that seeing a weird for dreeing
+ Can die, and cannot change.
+
+ Shame and scorn may we thole that mourn,
+ Though sair be they to dree:
+ But ill may we bide the thoughts we hide,
+ Mair keen than wind and sea.
+
+ Ill may we thole the night's watches,
+ And ill the weary day:
+ And the dreams that keep the gates of sleep,
+ A waefu' gift gie they;
+ For the songs they sing us, the sights they bring us,
+ The morn blaws all away.
+
+ On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw,
+ The burn rins blithe and fain:
+ There's nought wi' me I wadna gie
+ To look thereon again.
+
+ On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide:
+ There sounds nae hunting-horn
+ That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat
+ Round banks where Tyne is born.
+
+ The Wansbeck sings with all her springs
+ The bents and braes give ear;
+ But the wood that rings wi' the sang she sings
+ I may not see nor hear;
+ For far and far thae blithe burns are,
+ And strange is a' thing near.
+
+ The light there lightens, the day there brightens,
+ The loud wind there lives free:
+ Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me
+ That I wad hear or see.
+
+ But O gin I were there again,
+ Afar ayont the faem,
+ Cauld and dead in the sweet saft bed
+ That haps my sires at hame!
+
+ We'll see nae mair the sea-banks fair,
+ And the sweet grey gleaming sky,
+ And the lordly strand of Northumberland,
+ And the goodly towers thereby;
+ And none shall know but the winds that blow
+ The graves wherein we lie.
+
+ _Swinburne._
+
+
+
+
+ CXIX
+
+ THE REVEILLE
+
+
+ Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands,
+ And of armed men the hum;
+ Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered
+ Round the quick alarming drum,--
+ Saying, 'Come,
+ Freemen, come!
+ Ere your heritage be wasted,' said the quick alarming drum.
+
+ 'Let me of my heart take counsel:
+ War is not of life the sum;
+ Who shall stay and reap the harvest
+ When the autumn days shall come?'
+ But the drum
+ Echoed, 'Come!
+ Death shall reap the braver harvest,' said the solemn-sounding drum.
+
+ 'But when won the coming battle,
+ What of profit springs therefrom?
+ What if conquest, subjugation,
+ Even greater ills become?'
+ But the drum
+ Answered, 'Come!
+ You must do the sum to prove it,' said the Yankee-answering drum.
+
+ 'What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder,
+ Whistling shot and bursting bomb,
+ When my brothers fall around me,
+ Should my heart grow cold and numb?'
+ But the drum
+ Answered, 'Come!
+ Better there in death united, than in life a recreant,--Come!'
+
+ Thus they answered,--hoping, fearing,
+ Some in faith, and doubting some,
+ Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming,
+ Said, 'My chosen people, come!'
+ Then the drum,
+ Lo! was dumb,
+ For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, 'Lord, we come!'
+
+ _Bret Harte._
+
+
+
+
+ CXX
+
+ WHAT THE BULLET SANG
+
+
+ O Joy of creation
+ To be!
+ O rapture to fly
+ And be free!
+ Be the battle lost or won
+ Though its smoke shall hide the sun,
+ I shall find my love--the one
+ Born for me!
+
+ I shall know him where he stands,
+ All alone,
+ With the power in his hands
+ Not o'erthrown;
+ I shall know him by his face,
+ By his god-like front and grace;
+ I shall hold him for a space
+ All my own!
+
+ It is he--O my love!
+ So bold!
+ It is I--All thy love
+ Foretold!
+ It is I. O love! what bliss!
+ Dost thou answer to my kiss?
+ O sweetheart! what is this
+ Lieth there so cold?
+
+ _Bret Harte._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXI
+
+ A BALLAD OF THE ARMADA
+
+
+ King Philip had vaunted his claims;
+ He had sworn for a year he would sack us;
+ With an army of heathenish names
+ He was coming to fagot and stack us;
+ Like the thieves of the sea he would track us,
+ And shatter our ships on the main;
+ But we had bold Neptune to back us--
+ And where are the galleons of Spain?
+
+ His carackes were christened of dames
+ To the kirtles whereof he would tack us;
+ With his saints and his gilded stern-frames
+ He had thought like an egg shell to crack us;
+ Now Howard may get to his Flaccus,
+ And Drake to his Devon again,
+ And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus--
+ For where are the galleons of Spain?
+
+ Let his Majesty hang to St. James
+ The axe that he whetted to hack us;
+ He must play at some lustier games
+ Or at sea he can hope to out-thwack us;
+ To his mines of Peru he would pack us
+ To tug at his bullet and chain;
+ Alas! that his Greatness should lack us!--
+ But where are the galleons of Spain?
+
+
+ ENVOY
+
+ Gloriana!--the Don may attack us
+ Whenever his stomach be fain;
+ He must reach us before he can rack us, ...
+ And where are the galleons of Spain?
+
+ _Dobson._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXII
+
+ THE WHITE PACHA
+
+
+ Vain is the dream! However Hope may rave,
+ He perished with the folk he could not save,
+ And though none surely told us he is dead,
+ And though perchance another in his stead,
+ Another, not less brave, when all was done,
+ Had fled unto the southward and the sun,
+ Had urged a way by force, or won by guile
+ To streams remotest of the secret Nile,
+ Had raised an army of the Desert men,
+ And, waiting for his hour, had turned again
+ And fallen on that False Prophet, yet we know
+ GORDON is dead, and these things are not so!
+ Nay, not for England's cause, nor to restore
+ Her trampled flag--for he loved Honour more--
+ Nay, not for Life, Revenge, or Victory,
+ Would he have fled, whose hour had dawned to die.
+ He will not come again, whate'er our need,
+ He will not come, who is happy, being freed
+ From the deathly flesh and perishable things,
+ And lies of statesmen and rewards of kings.
+ Nay, somewhere by the sacred River's shore
+ He sleeps like those who shall return no more,
+ No more return for all the prayers of men--
+ Arthur and Charles--they never come again!
+ They shall not wake, though fair the vision seem:
+ Whate'er sick Hope may whisper, vain the dream!
+
+ _Lang._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXIII
+
+ MOTHER AND SON
+
+
+ It is not yours, O mother, to complain,
+ Not, mother, yours to weep,
+ Though nevermore your son again
+ Shall to your bosom creep,
+ Though nevermore again you watch your baby sleep.
+
+ Though in the greener paths of earth
+ Mother and child, no more
+ We wander; and no more the birth
+ Of me whom once you bore,
+ Seems still the brave reward that once it seemed of yore;
+
+ Though as all passes, day and night,
+ The seasons and the years,
+ From you, O mother, this delight,
+ This also disappears--
+ Some profit yet survives of all your pangs and tears.
+
+ The child, the seed, the grain of corn,
+ The acorn on the hill,
+ Each for some separate end is born
+ In season fit, and still
+ Each must in strength arise to work the Almighty will.
+
+ So from the hearth the children flee,
+ By that Almighty hand
+ Austerely led; so one by sea
+ Goes forth, and one by land;
+ Nor aught of all men's sons escapes from that command.
+
+ So from the sally each obeys
+ The unseen Almighty nod;
+ So till the ending all their ways
+ Blind-folded loth have trod:
+ Nor knew their task at all, but were the tools of God.
+
+ And as the fervent smith of yore
+ Beat out the glowing blade,
+ Nor wielded in the front of war
+ The weapons that he made,
+ But in the tower at home still plied his ringing trade;
+
+ So like a sword the son shall roam
+ On nobler missions sent;
+ And as the smith remained at home
+ In peaceful turret pent,
+ So sits the while at home the mother well content.
+
+ _Stevenson._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXIV
+
+ PRAYERS
+
+
+ God who created me
+ Nimble and light of limb,
+ In three elements free,
+ To run, to ride, to swim:
+ Not when the sense is dim,
+ But now from the heart of joy,
+ I would remember Him:
+ Take the thanks of a boy.
+
+ Jesu, King and Lord,
+ Whose are my foes to fight,
+ Gird me with Thy sword
+ Swift and sharp and bright.
+ Thee would I serve if I might;
+ And conquer if I can,
+ From day-dawn till night,
+ Take the strength of a man.
+
+ Spirit of Love and Truth,
+ Breathing in grosser clay,
+ The light and flame of youth,
+ Delight of men in the fray,
+ Wisdom in strength's decay;
+ From pain, strife, wrong to be free
+ This best gift I pray,
+ Take my spirit to Thee.
+
+ _Beeching._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXV
+
+ A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST
+
+
+ Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border side,
+ And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the Colonel's pride:
+ He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day,
+ And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away.
+ Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the Guides:
+ 'Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?'
+ Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar,
+ 'If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know where his pickets are.
+ At dusk he harries the Abazai--at dawn he is into Bonair--
+ But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare,
+ So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly,
+ By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of
+ Jagai.
+ But if he be passed the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then,
+ For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain are sown with
+ Kamal's men.'
+ The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he,
+ With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and the head of the
+ gallows-tree.
+ The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat--
+ Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.
+ He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
+ Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
+ Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her back,
+ And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack.
+ He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.
+ 'Ye shoot like a soldier,' Kamal said. 'Show now if ye can ride.'
+ It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go,
+ The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe.
+ The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above,
+ But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars as a lady plays with a
+ glove.
+ They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the
+ dawn,
+ The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.
+ The dun he fell at a water-course--in a woful heap fell he,--
+ And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free.
+ He has knocked the pistol out of his hand--small room was there to
+ strive--
+ ''Twas only by favour of mine,' quoth he, 'ye rode so long alive;
+ There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
+ But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.
+ If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
+ The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row;
+ If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
+ The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly.'
+ Lightly answered the Colonel's son:--'Do good to bird and beast,
+ But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.
+ If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away,
+ Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay.
+ They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the
+ garnered grain,
+ The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are
+ slain.
+ But if thou thinkest the price be fair, and thy brethren wait to sup,
+ The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn,--howl, dog, and call them up!
+ And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack,
+ Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way back!'
+ Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his feet.
+ 'No talk shall be of dogs,' said he, 'when wolf and grey wolf meet.
+ May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath.
+ What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with Death?'
+ Lightly answered the Colonel's son:--'I hold by the blood of my clan;
+ Take up the mare for my father's gift--By God she has carried a man!'
+ The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled her nose in his
+ breast,
+ 'We be two strong men,' said Kamal then, 'but she loveth the younger
+ best.
+ So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise studded rein,
+ My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain.'
+ The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it muzzle-end,
+ 'Ye have taken the one from a foe,' said he; 'will ye take the mate from
+ a friend?'
+ 'A gift for a gift,' said Kamal straight; 'a limb for the risk of a limb.
+ Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my son to him!'
+ With that he whistled his only son, who dropped from a mountain-crest--
+ He trod the ling like a buck in spring and he looked like a lance in
+ rest.
+ 'Now here is thy master,' Kamal said, 'who leads a troop of the Guides,
+ And thou must ride at his left side as shield to shoulder rides.
+ Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed,
+ Thy life is his--thy fate it is to guard him with thy head.
+ And thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all her foes are thine,
+ And thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace of the Border-line,
+ And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power--
+ Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am hanged in Peshawur.'
+ They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no
+ fault,
+ They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and
+ salt;
+ They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut
+ sod,
+ On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names
+ of God.
+ The Colonel's son he rides the mare and Kamal's boy the dun,
+ And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went forth but one.
+ And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty swords flew clear--
+ There was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of the
+ mountaineer.
+ 'Ha' done! ha' done!' said the Colonel's son. 'Put up the steel at your
+ sides!
+ Last night ye had struck at a Border thief--to-night 'tis a man of the
+ Guides!'
+
+ Oh, east is east, and west is west, and never the two shall meet
+ Till earth and sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat.
+ But there is neither east nor west, border or breed or birth,
+ When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends
+ of the earth.
+
+ _Kipling._
+
+
+
+
+ CXXVI
+
+ THE FLAG OF ENGLAND
+
+
+ Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro--
+ And what should they know of England who only England know?--
+ The poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag,
+ They are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the English
+ Flag.
+
+ Must we borrow a clout from the Boer--to plaster anew with dirt?
+ An Irish liar's bandage, or an English coward's shirt?
+ We may not speak of England; her Flag's to sell or share.
+ What is the Flag of England? Winds of the World, declare!
+
+ The North Wind blew:--'From Bergen my steel-shod vanguards go;
+ I chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe;
+ By the great North Lights above me I work the will of God,
+ And the liner splits on the ice-fields or the Dogger fills with cod.
+
+ I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my doors with flame,
+ Because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies came;
+ I took the sun from their presence, I cut them down with my blast,
+ And they died, but the Flag of England blew free ere the spirit passed.
+
+ The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long Arctic night,
+ The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern Light:
+ What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my bergs to dare,
+ Ye have but my drifts to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!'
+
+ The South Wind sighed:--'From the Virgins my mid-sea course was ta'en
+ Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main,
+ Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long-backed breakers
+ croon
+ Their endless ocean legends to the lazy, locked lagoon.
+
+ Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid outer keys,
+ I waked the palms to laughter--I tossed the scud in the breeze--
+ Never was isle so little, never was sea so lone,
+ But over the scud and the palm trees an English flag was flown.
+
+ I have wrenched it free from the halliard to hang for a wisp on the
+ Horn;
+ I have chased it north to the Lizard--ribboned and rolled and torn;
+ I have spread its fold o'er the dying, adrift in a hopeless sea;
+ I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free.
+
+ My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross,
+ Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the Southern Cross.
+ What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my reefs to dare,
+ Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, for it is there!'
+
+ The East Wind roared:--'From the Kuriles, the Bitter Seas, I come,
+ And me men call the Home-Wind, for I bring the English home.
+ Look--look well to your shipping! By the breath of my mad typhoon
+ I swept your close-packed Praya and beached your best at Kowloon!
+
+ The reeling junks behind me and the racing seas before,
+ I raped your richest roadstead--I plundered Singapore!
+ I set my hand on the Hoogli; as a hooded snake she rose,
+ And I heaved your stoutest steamers to roost with the startled crows.
+
+ Never the lotos closes, never the wild-fowl wake.
+ But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for England's sake--
+ Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid--
+ Because on the bones of the English the English Flag is stayed.
+
+ The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild-ass knows,
+ The scared white leopard winds it across the taintless snows.
+ What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun to dare,
+ Ye have but my sands to travel. Go forth, for it is there!'
+
+ The West Wind called:--'In squadrons the thoughtless galleons fly
+ That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die.
+ They make my might their porter, they make my house their path,
+ And I loose my neck from their service and whelm them all in my wrath.
+
+ I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn from the hole,
+ They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll:
+ For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my breath,
+ And they see strange bows above them and the two go locked to death.
+
+ But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or day
+ I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away,
+ First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky,
+ Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by.
+
+ The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it--the frozen dews have kissed--
+ The morning stars have hailed it, a fellow-star in the mist.
+ What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my breath to dare,
+ Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!'
+
+ _Kipling._
+
+
+
+
+NOTES
+
+
+I
+
+This descant upon one of the most glorious feats of arms that
+even England has achieved is selected and pieced together from
+the magnificent verse assigned to the Chorus--'_Enter RUMOUR
+painted full of tongues_'--to _King Henry V._, the noble piece of
+pageantry produced in 1598, and a famous number from the _Poems
+Lyrick and Pastorall_ (_circ._ 1605) of Michael Drayton. 'Look,'
+says Ben Jonson, in his _Vision on the Muses of his Friend,
+Michael Drayton_:--
+
+ Look how we read the Spartans were inflamed
+ With bold Tyrtaeus' verse; when thou art named
+ So shall our English youths urge on, and cry
+ An AGINCOURT! an AGINCOURT! or die.
+
+This, it is true, was in respect of another _Agincourt_, but
+we need not hesitate to appropriate it to our own: in respect
+of which--'To the Cambro-Britons and their Harp, His _Ballad
+of Agincourt_,' is the poet's own description--it is to note
+that Drayton had no model for it; that it remains wellnigh
+unique in English letters for over two hundred years; and that,
+despite such lapses into doggerel as the third stanza, and some
+curious infelicities of diction which need not here be specified,
+it remains, with a certain Sonnet, its author's chief title
+to fame. Compare the ballads of _The Brave Lord Willoughby_
+and _The Honour of Bristol_ in the seventeenth century, the
+song of _The Arethusa_ in the eighteenth, and in the nineteenth
+a choice of such Tyrtaean music as _The Battle of the Baltic_,
+Lord Tennyson's _Ballad of the Fleet_, and _The Red Thread of
+Honour_ of the late Sir Francis Doyle.
+
+
+II
+
+Originally _The True Character of a Happy Life_: written and
+printed about 1614, and reprinted by Percy (1765) from the
+_Reliquiae Wottonianae_ of 1651. Says Drummond of Ben Jonson, 'Sir
+Edward (_sic_) Wotton's verses of a Happy Life he hath by heart.'
+Of Wotton himself it was reserved for Cowley to remark that
+
+ He did the utmost bounds of knowledge find,
+ And found them not so large as was his mind;
+
+ * * * * * *
+
+ And when he saw that he through all had passed
+ He died--lest he should idle grow at last.
+
+See Izaak Walton, _Lives_.
+
+
+III, IV
+
+From _Underwoods_ (1640). The first, _An Ode_, is addressed to an
+innominate not yet, I believe, identified. The second is part of
+that _Ode to the Immortal Memory of that Heroic Pair, Sir Lucius
+Cary and Sir Henry Morrison_, which is the first true Pindaric in
+the language. Gifford ascribes it to 1629, when Sir Henry died,
+but it seems not to have been printed before 1640. Sir Lucius
+Cary is the Lord Falkland of Clarendon and Horace Walpole.
+
+
+V
+
+From _The Mad Lover_ (produced about 1618: published in 1640).
+Compare the wooden imitations of Dryden in _Amboyna_ and
+elsewhere.
+
+
+VI
+
+First printed, Mr. Bullen tells me, in 1640. Compare X. (Shirley,
+_post_, p. 20), and the cry from Raleigh's _History of the World_:
+'O Eloquent, Just, and Mighty Death! Whom none could advise,
+thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done;
+and whom all the World hath flattered, thou only hast cast out
+of the World and despised: thou hast drawn together all the
+far-stretched Greatness, all the Pride, Cruelty, and Ambition
+of Man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words,
+"_Hic Jacet_."'
+
+
+VII, VIII
+
+This pair of 'noble numbers,' of brilliant and fervent lyrics,
+is from _Hesperides, or, The Works both Human and Divine of
+Robert Herrich, Esq._ (1648).
+
+
+IX
+
+No. 61, '_Vertue_,' in _The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private
+Ejaculations_, 1632-33. Compare Herbert to Christopher Farrer,
+as reported by Izaak Walton:--'Tell him that I do not repine,
+but am pleased with my want of health; and tell him, my heart
+is fixed on that place where true joy is only to be found, and
+that I long to be there, and do wait for my appointed change
+with hope and patience.'
+
+
+X
+
+From _The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses_, printed 1659. Compare
+VI. (Beaumont, _ante_, p. 15), and Bacon, _Essays_, 'On Death':
+'But, above all, believe it, the sweetest canticle is _Nunc
+dimittis_, when a man hath attained worthy ends and expectations.'
+
+
+XI
+
+Written in the November of 1637, and printed next year in the
+_Obsequies to the Memorie of Mr. Edward King_. 'In this Monody,'
+the title runs, 'the Author bewails a Learned Friend unfortunately
+drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637. And
+by occasion foretells the ruine of our corrupted Clergie, then
+in their height.' King, who died at five- or six-and-twenty, was
+a personal friend of Milton's, but the true accents of grief are
+inaudible in _Lycidas_, which is, indeed, an example as perfect
+as exists of Milton's capacity for turning whatever he touched
+into pure poetry: an arrangement, that is, of 'the best words
+in the best order'; or, to go still further than Coleridge, the
+best words in the prescribed or inevitable sequence that makes
+the arrangement art. For the innumerable allusions see Professor
+Masson's edition of Milton (Macmillan, 1890), i. 187-201, and
+iii. 254-276.
+
+
+XII
+
+The Eighth Sonnet (Masson): 'When the Assault was Intended to the
+City.' Written in 1642, with Rupert and the King at Brentford,
+and printed in the edition of 1645.
+
+
+XIII
+
+The Sixteenth Sonnet (Masson): 'To the Lord General Cromwell, May,
+1652: On the Proposals of Certain Ministers at the Committee for
+Propagation of the Gospel.' Printed by Philips, _Life of Milton_,
+1694. In defence of the principle of Religious Voluntaryism,
+and against the intolerant Fifteen Proposals of John Owen and
+the majority of the Committee.
+
+
+XIV
+
+The Eighteenth Sonnet (Masson). 'Written in 1655,' says Masson,
+and referring 'to the persecution instituted, in the early part
+of the year, by Charles Emmanuel II., Duke of Savoy and Prince
+of Piedmont, against his Protestant subjects of the valleys of
+the Cottian Alps.' In January, an edict required them to turn
+Romanists or quit the country out of hand; it was enforced with
+such barbarity that Cromwell took the case of the sufferers in
+hand; and so vigorous was his action that the Edict was withdrawn
+and a convention was signed (August 1655) by which the Vaudois
+were permitted to worship as they would. Printed in 1673.
+
+
+XV
+
+The Nineteenth Sonnet (Masson) 'may have been written any time
+between 1652 and 1655,' the first years of Milton's blindness,
+'but it follows the Sonnet on the Piedmontese Massacre in Milton's
+own volume of 1673.'
+
+
+XVI, XVII
+
+From the choric parts of _Samson Agonistes_ (i.e. the Agonist,
+or Wrestler), first printed in 1671.
+
+
+XVIII
+
+Of uncertain date; first printed by Watson 1706-11. The version
+given here is Emerson's (which is shorter than the original), with
+the exception of the last stanza, which is Napier's (_Montrose_,
+i. Appendices). Napier is at great pains to prove that the
+ballad is allegorical, and that Montrose's 'dear and only love'
+was that unhappy King whose Epitaph, the famous _Great, Good,
+and Just_, he is said--falsely--to have written with his sword. Be
+this as it may, the verses have a second part, which has dropped
+into oblivion. For the Great Marquis, who reminded De Retz of
+the men in Plutarch's _Lives_, was not averse from the practice
+of poetry, and wrote, besides these numbers, a prayer ('Let
+them bestow on every airth a limb'), a 'pasquil,' a pleasant
+string of conceits in praise of woman, a set of vehement and
+fiery memorial stanzas on the King, and one copy of verses more.
+
+
+XIX, XX
+
+_To Lucasta going to the Wars_ and _To Althea from Prison_
+are both, I believe, from Lovelace's _Lucasta_ (1645).
+
+
+XXI
+
+First printed by Captain Thomson, _Works_ (1776), from a copy
+he held, on what seems excellent authority, to be in Marvell's
+hand. The true title is _A Horatian Ode on Cromwell's Return
+from Ireland_ (1650). It is always ascribed to Marvell (whose
+verse was first collected and printed by his widow in 1681),
+but there are faint doubts as to the authorship.
+
+
+XXII
+
+_Poems_ (1681). This elegant and romantic lyric appears to have
+been inspired by a passage in the life of John Oxenbridge, of
+whom, 'religionis causa oberrantem,' it is enough to note that,
+after migrating to Bermudas, where he had a church, and being
+'ejected' at the Restoration from an English cure, he went
+to Surinam (1662-67), to Barbadoes (1667), and to New England
+(1669), where he was made pastor of 'the First Church of Boston'
+(1670), and where he died in 1674. These details are from Mr.
+Grosart's _Marvell_ (1875), i. 82-85, and ii. 5-8.
+
+
+XXIII
+
+Dryden's second Ode for Saint Cecilia's Day, _Alexander's Feast,
+or the Power of Sound_, as it is called, was written and printed
+in 1697. As it was designed for music (it was set by Jeremiah
+Clarke), the closing lines of every strophe are repeated by way
+of chorus. I have removed these repetitions as impertinent to
+the effect of the poem in print, and as interrupting the rushing
+vehemency of the narrative. The incident described is the burning
+of Persepolis.
+
+
+XXIV
+
+Written early in 1782, in memory of Robert Levett: 'an old and
+faithful friend,' says Johnson, and withal 'a very useful and
+very blameless man.' Excepting for the perfect odes of Cowper
+(_post_, pp. 85, 86), in these excellent and affecting verses the
+'classic' note is audible for the last time in this book until
+we reach the _Iphigeneia_ of Walter Savage Landor, who was a
+lad of seven at the date of their composition. They were written
+seventeen years after the publication of the _Reliques_ (1765),
+and a full quarter century after the appearance of _The Bard_
+(1757); but in style they proceed from the age of Pope. For the
+rest, the Augustan Muse was an utter stranger to the fighting
+inspiration. Her gait was pedestrian, her purpose didactic, her
+practice neat and formal: and she prosed of England's greatest
+captain, the victor of Blenheim, as tamely as himself had been
+'a parson in a tye-wig'--himself, and not the amiable man of
+letters who acted as her amanuensis for the nonce.
+
+
+XXV
+
+_Chevy Chase_ is here preferred to _Otterbourne_ as appealing more
+directly to Englishmen. The text is Percy's, and the movement like
+that of all the English ballads, is jog-trot enough. Sidney's
+confession--that he never heard it, even from a blind fiddler,
+but it stirred him like the sound of a trumpet--refers, no doubt,
+to an earlier version than the present, which appears to date from
+the first quarter of the seventeenth century. Compare _The Brave
+Lord Willoughby_ and _The Honour of Bristol_ (_post_, pp. 60, 73).
+
+
+XXVI
+
+First printed by Percy. The text I give is, with some few
+variants, that of the vastly better version in _The Minstrelsy
+of the Scottish Border_ (1802-3). Of the 'history' of the ballad
+the less said the better. The argument is neatly summarised by
+Mr. Allingham, p. 376 of _The Ballad Book_ ('Golden Treasury,'
+1879).
+
+ skeely = _skilful_
+ white monie = _silver_
+ gane = _would suffice_
+ half-fou = _the eighth part of a peck_
+ gurly = _rough_
+ lap = _sprang_
+ bout = _bolt_
+ twine = _thread_, i.e. canvas
+ wap = _warp_
+ flattered = '_fluttered_, or rather, floated' (Scott)
+ kaims = _combs_
+
+
+XXVII
+
+Printed by Percy, 'from an old black-letter copy; with some
+conjectural emendations.' At the suggestion of my friend,
+the Rev. Mr. Hunt, I have restored the original readings,
+as in truer consonancy with the vainglorious, insolent, and
+swaggering ballad spirit. As for the hero, Peregrine Bertie,
+Lord Willoughby of Eresby, described as 'one of the Queen's
+best swordsmen' and 'a great master of the art military,' he
+succeeded Leicester in the command in the Low Countries in 1587,
+distinguished himself repeatedly in fight with the Spaniards,
+and died in 1601. 'Both Norris and Turner were famous among the
+military men of that age' (Percy). In the Roxburgh Ballads the
+full title of the broadside--which is 'printed for S. Coles in
+Vine St., near Hatton Garden,'--is as follows:--'_A true relation
+of a famous and bloudy Battell fought in Flanders by the noble
+and valiant Lord Willoughby with 1500 English against 40,000
+Spaniards, wherein the English obtained a notable victory for
+the glory and renown of our nation._ Tune: _Lord Willoughby_.'
+
+
+XXVIII
+
+First printed by Tom D'Urfey, _Wit and Mirth, etc._ (1720),
+vi. 289-91; revised by Robert Burns for _The Scots Musical
+Magazine_, and again by Allan Cunningham for _The Songs
+of Scotland_; given with many differences, 'long current in
+Selkirkshire,' in the _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_. The
+present version is a _rifaccimento_ from Burns and Scott. It is
+worth noting that Graeme (pronounced 'Grime'), and Graham are both
+forms of one name, which name was originally Grimm, and that,
+according to some, the latter orthography is the privilege of
+the chief of the clan.
+
+
+XXIX
+
+First printed in the _Minstrelsy_. This time the 'history'
+is authentic enough. It happened early in 1596, when Salkeld,
+the Deputy Warden of the Western Marches, seized under truce the
+person of William Armstrong of Kinmont--elsewhere described as
+'Will Kinmonde the common thieffe'--and haled him to Carlisle
+Castle, whence he was rescued--'with shouting and crying and sound
+of trumpet'--by the Laird of Buccleuch, Keeper of Liddesdale,
+and a troop of two hundred horse. 'The Queen of England,'
+says Spottiswoode, 'having notice sent her of what was done,
+stormed not a little'; but see the excellent summary compiled
+by Scott (who confesses to having touched up the ballad) for
+the _Minstrelsy_.
+
+ Haribee = _the gallows hill at Carlisle_
+ reiver = _a border thief_, one of a class which lived sparely,
+ fought stoutly, entertained the strictest sense of
+ honour and justice, went ever on horseback, and
+ carried the art of cattle-lifting to the highest
+ possible point of perfection (_National Observer,
+ 30th May, 1891_)
+ yett = _gate_
+ lawing = _reckoning_
+ basnet = _helmet_
+ curch = _coif or cap_
+ lightly = _to scorn_
+ in a lowe = _on fire_
+ slocken = _to slake_
+ splent = _shoulder-piece_
+ spauld = _shoulder_
+ broken men = _outlaws_
+ marshal men = _officers of law_
+ rank reiver = _common thief_
+ herry = _harry_
+ corbie = _crow_
+ lear = _learning_
+ row-footed = _rough-shod_
+ spait = _flood_
+ garred = _made_
+ slogan = _battle-cry_
+ stear = _stir_
+ saft = _light_
+ fleyed = _frightened_
+ bairns = _children_
+ spier = _ask_
+ hente = _lifted_, _haled_
+ maill = _rent_
+ furs = _furrows_
+ trew = _trust_
+ Christentie = _Christendom_
+
+
+XXX
+
+Communicated by Mr. Hunt,--who dates it about 1626--from
+Seyer's _Memoirs, Historical and Topographical, of Bristol and
+its Neighbourhood_ (1821-23). The full title is _The Honour of
+Bristol: shewing how the Angel Gabriel of Bristol fought with
+three ships, who boarded as many times, wherein we cleared our
+decks and killed five hundred of their men, and wounded many more,
+and made them fly into Cales, when we lost but three men, to the
+Honour of the Angel Gabriel of Bristol_. To the tune _Our Noble
+King in his Progress_. Cales (13), pronounced as a dissyllable,
+is of course Cadiz. It is fair to add that this spirited and
+amusing piece of doggerel has been severely edited.
+
+
+XXXI
+
+From the _Minstrelsy_, where it is 'given, without alteration
+or improvement, from the most accurate copy that could be
+recovered.' The story runs that Helen Irving (or Helen Bell),
+of Kirkconnell in Dumfriesshire, was beloved by Adam Fleming,
+and (as some say) Bell of Blacket House; that she favoured the
+first but her people encouraged the second; that she was thus
+constrained to tryst with Fleming by night in the churchyard,
+'a romantic spot, almost surrounded by the river Kirtle'; that
+they were here surprised by the rejected suitor, who fired at
+his rival from the far bank of the stream; that Helen, seeking
+to shield her lover, was shot in his stead; and that Fleming,
+either there and then, or afterwards in Spain, avenged her
+death on the body of her slayer. Wordsworth has told the story
+in a copy of verses which shows, like so much more of his work,
+how dreary a poetaster he could be.
+
+
+XXXII
+
+This epic-in-little, as tremendous an invention as exists in
+verse, is from the _Minstrelsy_: 'as written down from tradition
+by a lady' (C. Kirkpatrick Sharpe).
+
+ corbies = _crows_
+ fail-dyke = _wall of turf_
+ hause-bane = _breast-bone_
+ theek = _thatch_
+
+
+XXXIII
+
+Begun in 1755, and finished and printed (with _The Progress
+of Poetry_) in 1757. 'Founded,' says the poet, 'on a tradition
+current in Wales, that Edward the First, when he concluded the
+conquest of that country, ordered all the bards that fell into
+his hands to be put to death.' The 'agonising king' (line 56)
+is Edward II.; the 'she-wolf of France' (57), Isabel his queen;
+the 'scourge of heaven' (60), Edward III.; the 'sable warrior'
+(67), Edward the Black Prince. Lines 75-82 commemorate the rise
+and fall of Richard II.; lines 83-90, the Wars of the Roses, the
+murders in the Tower, the 'faith' of Margaret of Anjou, the 'fame'
+of Henry V., the 'holy head' of Henry VI. The 'bristled boar'
+(93) is symbolical of Richard III.; 'half of thy heart' (99)
+of Eleanor of Castile, 'who died a few years after the conquest
+of Wales.' Line 110 celebrates the accession of the House of
+Tudor in fulfilment of the prophecies of Merlin and Taliessin;
+lines 115-20, Queen Elizabeth; lines 128-30, Shakespeare;
+lines 131-32, Milton; and the 'distant warblings' of line 133,
+'the succession of poets after Milton's time' (Gray).
+
+
+XXXIV, XXXV
+
+Written, the one in September 1782 (in the August of which year
+the _Royal George_ (108 guns) was overset in Portsmouth Harbour
+with the loss of close on a thousand souls), and the other
+'after reading Hume's _History_ in 1780' (Benham).
+
+
+XXXVI
+
+It is worth recalling that at one time Walter Scott attributed
+this gallant lyric, which he printed in the _Minstrelsy_, to a
+'greater Graham'--the Marquis of Montrose.
+
+
+XXXVII, XXXVIII
+
+Of these, the first, _Blow High, Blow Low_, was sung in _The
+Seraglio_ (1776), a forgotten opera; the second, said to have
+been inspired by the death of the author's brother, a naval
+officer, in _The Oddities_ (1778)--a 'table-entertainment,'
+where Dibdin was author, actor, singer, musician, accompanist,
+everything but audience and candle-snuffer. They are among the
+first in time of his sea-ditties.
+
+
+XXXIX
+
+It is told (_Life_, W. H. Curran, 1819) that Curran met a
+deserter, drank a bottle, and talked of his chances, with him,
+and put his ideas and sentiments into this song.
+
+
+XL
+
+The _Arethusa_, Mr. Hannay tells me, being attached to Keppel's
+fleet at the mouth of the Channel, was sent to order the
+_Belle Poule_, which was cruising with some smaller craft in
+search of Keppel's ships, to come under his stern. The _Belle
+Poule_ (commanded by M. Chadeau de la Clocheterie) refusing,
+the _Arethusa_ (Captain Marshall) opened fire. The ships were
+fairly matched, and in the action which ensued the _Arethusa_
+appears to have got the worst of it. In the end, after about
+an hour's fighting, Keppel's liners came up, and the _Belle
+Poule_ made off. She was afterwards driven ashore by a superior
+English force, and it is an odd coincidence that in 1789 the
+_Arethusa_ ran ashore off Brest during her action (10th March)
+with _l'Aigrette_. As for the French captain, he lived to command
+_l'Hercule_, De Grasse's leading ship in the great sea-fight
+(12th April 1782) with Rodney off Dominica, where he was killed.
+
+
+XLI
+
+From the _Songs of Experience_ (1794).
+
+
+XLII
+
+_Scots Musical Museum_, 1788. Adapted from, or rather suggested
+by, the _Farewell_, which Macpherson, a cateran 'of great personal
+strength and musical accomplishment,' is said to have played and
+sung at the gallows foot; thereafter breaking his violin across
+his knee and submitting his neck to the hangman.
+
+ spring = _a melody in quick time_
+ sturt = _molestation_
+
+
+XLIII
+
+_Museum_, 1796. Burns told Thomson and Mrs. Dunlop that this
+noble and most moving song was old; but nobody believed him then,
+and nobody believes him now.
+
+ pint-stoup = _pint-mug_
+ braes = _hill-sides_
+ gowans = _daisies_
+ paidl't = _paddled_
+ burn = _brook_
+ fiere = _friend_, _companion_
+ guid-willie = _well-meant_, _full of good-will_
+ waught = _draught_
+
+
+XLIV
+
+The first four lines are old. The rest were written apparently in
+1788, when the poet sent this song and _Auld Lang Syne_ to Mrs.
+Dunlop. It appeared in the _Museum_, 1790.
+
+ tassie = _a cup_; _Fr._ 'tasse'
+
+
+XLV
+
+About 1777-80: printed 1801. 'One of my juvenile works,' says
+Burns. 'I do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits
+or demerits.' But Hazlitt thought the world of it, and now it
+passes for one of Burns's masterpieces.
+
+ trysted = _appointed_
+ stoure = _dust and din_
+
+
+XLVI
+
+_Museum_, 1796. Attributed, in one shape or another, to a
+certain Captain Ogilvie. Sharpe, too, printed a broadside in
+which the third stanza (used more than once by Sir Walter)
+is found as here. But Scott Douglas (_Burns_, iii. 173) has
+'no doubt that this broadside was printed after 1796,' and as
+it stands the thing is assuredly the work of Burns. The refrain
+and the metrical structure have been used by Scott (_Rokeby_,
+IV. 28), Carlyle, Charles Kingsley (_Dolcino to Margaret_),
+and Mr. Swinburne (_A Reiver's Neck Verse_) among others.
+
+
+XLVII-LII
+
+Of the first four numbers, the high-water mark of Wordsworth's
+achievement, all four were written in 1802; the second and third
+were published in 1803; the first and fourth in 1807. The _Ode to
+Duty_ was written in 1805, and published in 1807, to which year
+belongs that _Song for the Feast of Brougham Castle_, from which
+I have extracted the excellent verses here called _Two Victories_.
+
+
+LIII-LXII
+
+The first three numbers are from _Marmion_ (1808):
+I. Introduction; V. 12; and VI. 18-20, 25-27, and 33-34. The
+next is from _The Lady of the Lake_ (1810), I. 1-9: _The Outlaw_
+is from _Rokeby_ (1813), III. 16; the _Pibroch_ was published
+in 1816; _The Omnipotent_ and _The Red Harlaw_ are from
+_The Antiquary_ (1816), and the _Farewell_ from _The Pirate_
+(1821). As for _Bonny Dundee_, that incomparable ditty, it was
+written as late as 1825. 'The air of Bonny Dundee running in
+my head to-day,' he writes under date of 22d December (_Diary_,
+1890, i. 61), 'I wrote a few verses to it before dinner, taking
+the key-note from the story of Clavers leaving the Scottish
+Convention of Estates in 1688-9. _I wonder if they are good._'
+See _The Doom of Devorgoil_ (1830), Note A, Act II. sc. 2.
+
+
+LXIII
+
+This unsurpassed piece of art, in which a music the most exquisite
+is used to body forth a set of suggestions that seem dictated by
+the very Spirit of Romance, was produced, under the influence of
+'an anodyne,' as early as 1797. Coleridge, who calls it _Kubla
+Khan: A Vision within a Dream_, avers that, having fallen asleep
+in his chair over a sentence from Purchas's Pilgrimage--'Here
+the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built and a stately
+garden thereto; and thus ten miles of ground were enclosed with
+a wall,'--he remained unconscious for about three hours, 'during
+which time he had the most vivid confidence that he could not
+have composed less than three hundred lines'; 'if that,' he adds,
+'can be called composition, in which all the images rose up before
+him as things, with a parallel production of the correspondent
+expressions, without any sensation or consciousness of effort.' On
+awakening, he proceeded to write out his 'composition,' and
+had set down as much of it as is printed here, when 'he was
+unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock,'
+whose departure, an hour after, left him wellnigh oblivious
+of the rest. This confession, which is dated 1816, has been
+generally accepted as true; but Coleridge had a trick of dreaming
+dreams about himself which makes doubt permissible.
+
+
+LXIV
+
+From the _Hellenics_ (written in Latin, 1814-20, and translated
+into English at the instance of Lady Blessington), 1846. See
+Colvin, _Landor_ ('English Men of Letters'), pp. 189, 190.
+
+
+LXV-LXVII
+
+Of the first, 'Napoleon and the British Sailor' (_The Pilgrim
+of Glencoe_, 1842), Campbell writes that the 'anecdote has
+been published in several public journals, both French and
+English.' 'My belief,' he continues, 'in its authenticity was
+confirmed by an Englishman, long resident in Boulogne, lately
+telling me that he remembered the circumstance to have been
+generally talked of in the place.' Authentic or not, I have
+preferred the story to _Hohenlinden_, as less hackneyed, for one
+thing, and, for another, less pretentious and rhetorical. The
+second (_Gertrude of Wyoming_, 1809) is truly one of 'the glories
+of our birth and state.' The third (_idem_) I have ventured to
+shorten by three stanzas: a proceeding which, however culpable it
+seem, at least gets rid of the chief who gave a country's wounds
+relief by stopping a battle, eliminates the mermaid and her song
+(the song that 'condoles'), and ends the lyric on as sonorous
+and romantic a word as even Shakespeare ever used.
+
+
+LXVIII
+
+_Corn Law Rhymes_, 1831.
+
+
+LXIX
+
+From that famous and successful forgery, Cromek's _Remains of
+Nithsdale and Galloway Song_ (1810), written when Allan was
+a working mason in Dumfriesshire. I have omitted a stanza as
+inferior to the rest.
+
+
+LXXI
+
+_English Songs and other Small Poems_, 1834.
+
+
+LXXII-LXXVIII
+
+The first is from the _Hebrew Melodies_ (1815); the next is
+selected from _The Siege of Corinth_ (1816), 22-33; _Alhama_
+(_idem_) is a spirited yet faithful rendering of the _Romance
+muy Doloroso del Sitio y Toma de Alhama_, which existed both in
+Spanish and in Arabic, and whose effect was such that 'it was
+forbidden to be sung by the Moors on the pain of death in Granada'
+(Byron); No. LXXV., surely one of the bravest songs in the
+language, was addressed (_idem_) to Thomas Moore; the tremendous
+_Race with Death_ is lifted out of the _Ode in Venice_ (1819);
+for the next number see _Don Juan_, III. (1821); the last of all,
+'Stanzas inscribed _On this day I completed my Thirty-sixth year_'
+(1824), is the last verse that Byron wrote.
+
+
+LXXIX
+
+Napier has described the terrific effect of Napoleon's pursuit;
+but in the operations before Corunna he was distanced, if not
+out-generalled, by Sir John Moore, and ere the first days of
+1809 he gave his command to Soult, who pressed us vainly through
+the hill-country between Leon and Gallicia, and got beaten
+at Corunna for his pains. Wolfe, who was an Irish parson and
+died of consumption, wrote some spirited verses on the flight
+of Busaco, but this admirable elegy--'I will show you,' said
+Byron to Shelley (Medwin, ii. 154) 'one you have never seen,
+that I consider little if at all inferior to the best, the
+present prolific age has brought forth'--remains his passport
+to immortality. It was printed, not by the author, in an Irish
+newspaper; was copied all over Britain; was claimed by liar after
+liar in succession; and has been reprinted more often, perhaps,
+than any poem of the century.
+
+
+LXXX
+
+From _Snarleyow, or the Dog Fiend_ (1837). Compare Nelson to
+Collingwood: '_Victory_, 25th June, 1805,--May God bless you
+and send you alongside the _Santissima Trinidad_.'
+
+
+LXXXI, LXXXII
+
+The story of Casabianca is, I believe, untrue; but the intention
+of the singer, alike in this number and in the next, is excellent.
+Each indeed is, in its way, a classic. The _Mayflower_ sailed
+from Southampton in 1626.
+
+
+LXXXIII
+
+This magnificent sonnet, _On First Reading Chapman's Homer_,
+was printed in 1817. The 'Cortez' of the eleventh verse is a
+mistake; the discoverer of the Pacific being Nunez de Balboa.
+
+
+LXXXIV-LXXXVII
+
+The _Lays_ are dated 1824; they have passed through edition
+after edition; and if Matthew Arnold disliked and contemned them
+(see Sir F. H. Doyle, _Reminiscences and Opinions_, pp. 178-87),
+the general is wise enough to know them by heart. But a book that
+is 'a catechism to fight' (in Jonson's phrase) would have sinned
+against itself had it taken no account of them, and I have given
+_Horatius_ in its integrity: if only, as Landor puts it,
+
+ To show the British youth, who ne'er
+ Will lag behind, what Romans were,
+ When all the Tuscans and their Lars
+ Shouted, and shook the towers of Mars.
+
+As for _The Armada_, I have preferred it to _The Battle of
+Naseby_, first, because it is neither vicious nor ugly, and
+the other is both; and, second, because it is so brilliant an
+outcome of that capacity for dealing with proper names which
+Macaulay, whether poet or not, possesses in common with none
+but certain among the greater poets. For _The Last Buccaneer_
+(a curious anticipation of some effects of Mr. Rudyard Kipling),
+and that noble thing, the _Jacobite's Epitaph_, they are dated
+1839 and 1845 respectively.
+
+
+LXXXVIII
+
+_The Poetical Works of Robert Stephen Hawker_ (Kegan Paul,
+1879). By permission of Mrs. R. S. Hawker. 'With the exception
+of the choral lines--
+
+ And shall Trelawney die?
+ There's twenty thousand Cornishmen
+ Will know the reason why!--
+
+and which have been, ever since the imprisonment by James II. of
+the Seven Bishops--one of them Sir Jonathan Trelawney--a popular
+proverb throughout Cornwall, the whole of this song was composed
+by me in the year 1825. I wrote it under a stag-horned oak in Sir
+Beville's Walk in Stowe Wood. It was sent by me anonymously to a
+Plymouth paper, and there it attracted the notice of Mr. Davies
+Gilbert, who reprinted it at his private press at Eastbourne under
+the avowed impression that it was the original ballad. It had
+the good fortune to win the eulogy of Sir Walter Scott, who also
+deemed it to be the ancient song. It was praised under the same
+persuasion by Lord Macaulay and Mr. Dickens.'--_Author's Note._
+
+
+LXXXIX-XCII
+
+From _The Sea Side and the Fire Side_, 1851; _Birds of Passage_,
+_Flight the First_, and _Flight the Second_; and _Flower de
+Luce_, 1866. Of these four examples of the picturesque and
+taking art of Longfellow, I need say no more than that all are
+printed in their integrity, with the exception of the first. This
+I leave the lighter by a moral and an application, both of which,
+superfluous or not, are remote from the general purpose of this
+book: a confession in which I may include the following number,
+Mr. Whittier's _Barbara Frietchie_ (_In War-Time_, 1863.)
+
+
+XCIV
+
+_Nineteenth Century_, March 1878; _Ballads and other Poems_,
+1880. By permission of Messrs. Macmillan, to whom I am indebted
+for some of my choicest numbers. For the story of Sir Richard
+Grenville's heroic death, 'in the last of August,' 1591--after
+the Revenge had endured the onset of 'fifteen several armadas,'
+and received some 'eight hundred shot of great artillerie,'--see
+Hakluyt (1598-1600), ii. 169-176, where you will find it told
+with singular animation and directness by Sir Walter Raleigh,
+who held a brief against the Spaniards in Sir Richard's case
+as always. To Sir Richard's proposal to blow up the ship the
+master gunner 'readily condescended,' as did 'divers others';
+but the captain was of 'another opinion,' and in the end Sir
+Richard was taken aboard the ship of the Spanish admiral, Don
+Alfonso de Bazan, who used him well and honourably until he
+died: leaving to his friends the 'comfort that being dead he
+hath not outlived his own honour,' and that he had nobly shown
+how false and vain, and therefore how contrary to God's will,
+the 'ambitious and bloudie practices of the Spaniards' were.
+
+
+XCV
+
+_Tiresias and Other Poems_, 1885. By permission of Messrs.
+Macmillan. Included at Lord Tennyson's own suggestion. For the
+noble feat of arms (25th October 1854) thus nobly commemorated,
+see Kinglake (v. i. 102-66). 'The three hundred of the Heavy
+Brigade who made this famous charge were the Scots Greys and the
+second squadron of Enniskillings, the remainder of the "Heavy
+Brigade" subsequently dashing up to their support. The "three"
+were Scarlett's aide-de-camp, Elliot, and the trumpeter, and
+Shegog the orderly, who had been close behind him.'--_Author's
+Note._
+
+
+XCVI, XCVII
+
+_The Return of the Guards, and other Poems_, 1866. By permission
+of Messrs. Macmillan. As to the first, which deals with an
+incident of the war with China, and is presumably referred
+to in 1860, 'Some Seiks and a private of the Buffs (or East
+Kent Regiment) having remained behind with the grog-carts,
+fell into the hands of the Chinese. On the next morning they
+were brought before the authorities and commanded to perform
+the _Ko tou_. The Seiks obeyed; but Moyse, the English soldier,
+declaring that he would not prostrate himself before any Chinaman
+alive, was immediately knocked upon the head and his body thrown
+upon a dunghill.'--Quoted by the author from _The Times_. The
+Elgin of line 6 is Henry Bruce, eighth Lord Elgin (1811-1863),
+then Ambassador to China, and afterwards Governor-General of
+India. Compare _Theology in Extremis_ (_post_, p. 309). Of the
+second, which Mr. Saintsbury describes 'as one of the most lofty,
+insolent, and passionate things concerning this matter that our
+time has produced,' Sir Francis notes that the incident--no doubt
+a part of the conquest of Sindh--was told him by Sir Charles
+Napier, and that 'Truckee' (line 12) = 'a stronghold in the
+Desert, supposed to be unassailable and impregnable.'
+
+
+XCVIII, XCIX
+
+By permission of Messrs. Smith, Elder, and Co. _Dramatic Lyrics_,
+1845; _Cornhill Magazine_, June 1871, and _Pacchiarotto_, 1876,
+Works, iv. and xiv. I can find nothing about Herve Riel.
+
+
+C-CIII
+
+The two first are from the 'Song of Myself,' _Leaves of Grass_
+(1855); the others from _Drum Taps_ (1865). See _Leaves of Grass_
+(Philadelphia, 1884), pp. 60, 62-63, 222, and 246.
+
+
+CIV, CV
+
+By permission of Messrs. Macmillan. Dated severally 1857 and 1859.
+
+
+CVI
+
+_Edinburgh Courant_, 1852. Compare _The Loss of the 'Birkenhead'_
+in _The Return of the Guards, and other Poems_ (Macmillan, 1883),
+pp. 256-58. Of the troopship _Birkenhead_ I note that she sailed
+from Queenstown on the 7th January 1852, with close on seven
+hundred souls on board; that the most of these were soldiers--of
+the Twelfth Lancers, the Sixtieth Rifles, the Second, Sixth,
+Forty-third, Forty-fifth, Seventy-third, Seventy-fourth, and
+Ninety-first Regiments; that she struck on a rock (26th February
+1852) off Simon's Bay, South Africa; that the boats would hold
+no more than a hundred and thirty-eight, and that, the women
+and children being safe, the men that were left--four hundred
+and fifty-four, all told--were formed on deck by their officers,
+and went down with the ship, true to colours and discipline till
+the end.
+
+
+CVII-CIX
+
+By permission of Messrs. Macmillan. From _Empedocles on Etna_
+(1853). As regards the second number, it may be noted that Sohrab,
+being in quest of his father Rustum, to whom he is unknown,
+offers battle as one of the host of the Tartar King Afrasiab,
+to any champion of the Persian Kai Khosroo. The challenge is
+accepted by Rustum, who fights as a nameless knight (like Wilfrid
+of Ivanhoe at the Gentle and Joyous Passage of Ashby), and so
+becomes the unwitting slayer of his son. For the story of the
+pair the poet refers his readers to Sir John Malcom's _History of
+Persia_. See _Poems_, by Matthew Arnold (Macmillan), i. 268, 269.
+
+
+CX, CXI
+
+_Ionica_ (Allen, 1891). By permission of the Author. _School
+Fencibles_ (1861) was 'printed, not published, in 1877.' _The
+Ballad for a Boy_, Mr. Cory writes, 'was never printed till
+this year.'
+
+
+CXII
+
+By permission of the Author. This ballad, which was suggested,
+Mr. Meredith tells me, by the story of Bendigeid Vran, the son
+of Llyr, in the _Mabinogion_ (iii. 121-9), is reprinted from
+_Modern Love_ (1862), but it originally appeared (_circ._ 1860)
+in _Once a Week_, a forgotten print the source of not a little
+unforgotten stuff--as _Evan Harrington_ and the first part of
+_The Cloister and the Hearth_.
+
+
+CXIII
+
+From the fourth and last book of _Sigurd the Volsung_, 1877.
+By permission of the Author. Hogni and Gunnar, being the guests
+of King Atli, husband to their sister Gudrun, refused to tell
+him the whereabouts of the treasure of Fafnir, whom Sigurd slew;
+and this is the manner of their taking and the beginning of King
+Atli's vengeance.
+
+
+CXIV
+
+_English Illustrated Magazine_, January 1890, and _Lyrical Poems_
+(Macmillan, 1891). By permission of the Author: with whose
+sanction I have omitted four lines from the last stanza.
+
+
+CXV
+
+By permission of Sir Alfred Lyall. _Cornhill Magazine_,
+September 1868, and _Verses Written in India_ (Kegan Paul, 1889).
+The second title is: _A Soliloquy that may have been delivered in
+India, June 1857_; and this is further explained by the following
+'extract from an Indian newspaper':--'They would have spared
+life to any of their English prisoners who should consent to
+profess Mahometanism by repeating the usual short formula; but
+only one half-caste cared to save himself that way.' Then comes
+the description, _Moriturus Loquitur_, and next the poem.
+
+
+CXVI-CXVIII
+
+From _Songs before Sunrise_ (Chatto and Windus, 1877), and
+the third series of _Poems and Ballads_ (Chatto and Windus,
+1889). By permission of the Author.
+
+
+CXIX, CXX
+
+_The Complete Poetical Works of Bret Harte_ (Chatto and Windus,
+1886). By permission of Author and Publisher. _The Reveille_ was
+spoken before a Union Meeting at San Francisco at the beginning
+of the Civil War and appeared in a volume of the Author's poems
+in 1867. _What the Bullet Sang_ is much later work: dating,
+thinks Mr. Harte, from '79 or '80.
+
+
+CXXI
+
+_St. James's Magazine_, October 1877, and _At the Sign of the
+Lyre_ (Kegan Paul, 1889). By permission of the Author.
+
+
+CXXII
+
+_St. James's Gazette_, 20th July 1888, and _Grass of Parnassus_
+(Longmans, 1888). By permission of Author and Publisher. Written
+in memory of Gordon's betrayal and death, but while there were
+yet hopes and rumours of escape.
+
+
+CXXIII
+
+_Underwoods_ (Chatto and Windus, 1886). By permission of the
+Publishers.
+
+
+CXXIV
+
+_Love's Looking-Glass_ (Percival, 1891). By permission of
+the Author.
+
+
+CXXV
+
+_Macmillan's Magazine_, November 1889. By permission of
+the Author. Kamal Khan is a Pathan; and the scene of this
+exploit--which, I am told, is perfectly consonant with the history
+and tradition of Guides and Pathans both--is the North Frontier
+country in the Peshawar-Kohat region, say, between Abazai and
+Bonair, behind which is stationed the Punjab Irregular Frontier
+Force--'the steel head of the lance couched for the defence of
+India.' As for the Queen's Own Corps of Guides, to the general
+'God's Own Guides' (from its exclusiveness and gallantry),
+it comprehends both horse and foot, is recruited from Sikhs,
+Pathans, Rajputs, Afghans, all the fighting races, is officered
+both by natives and by Englishmen, and in all respects is worthy
+of this admirable ballad.
+
+ Ressaldar = _the native leader of a _ressala_ or troop of
+ horse_
+ Tongue = _a barren and naked strath_--'what geologists
+ call a fan'
+ Gut of the Tongue = _the narrowest part of the strath_
+ dust-devils = _dust-clouds blown by a whirlwind_
+
+
+CXXVI
+
+_National Observer_, 4th April 1891. At the burning of the
+Court-House at Cork, 'Above the portico a flagstaff bearing the
+Union Jack remained fluttering in the air for some time, but
+ultimately when it fell the crowds rent the air with shouts,
+and seemed to see significance in the incident.'--Daily
+Papers. _Author's Note._
+
+
+
+
+INDEX
+ PAGE
+
+ A good sword and a trusty hand 207
+ All is finished! and at length 217
+ Alone stood brave Horatius 196
+ Amid the loud ebriety of war 264
+ And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said 280
+ Arm, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in 13
+ As I was walking all alane 79
+ Ask nothing more of me, sweet 316
+ As the spring-tides, with heavy plash 153
+ At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay 227
+ At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay 232
+ Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise 200
+ Attend you, and give ear awhile 73
+ Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones 28
+ A wet sheet and a flowing sea 148
+
+ Beat! beat! drums!--blow! bugles! blow! 257
+ Bid me to live, and I will live 18
+ Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear 89
+ Build me straight, O worthy Master 208
+ But by the yellow Tiber 183
+ But see! look up--on Flodden bent 116
+ By this, though deep the evening fell 119
+ Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms 27
+ Come, all ye jolly sailors bold 92
+ Condemned to Hope's delusive mine 45
+ Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud 28
+
+ Darkly, sternly, and all alone 156
+ Day by day the vessel grew 214
+ Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark 146
+
+ Eleven men of England 244
+ England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle
+ enrings thee round 317
+ Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede 49
+
+ Fair stood the wind for France 6
+ Farewell! farewell! the voice you hear 133
+ Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong 95
+
+ Get up! get up for shame! The blooming morn 15
+ God prosper long our noble king 47
+ God who created me 328
+ Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 97
+ Good Lord Scroope to the hills is gane 64
+
+ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be 147
+ Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands 322
+ He has called him forty Marchmen bold 69
+ Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling 90
+ He spoke, and as he ceased he wept aloud 272
+ He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts 267
+ He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood 275
+ High-spirited friend 12
+ How happy is he born or taught 11
+
+ I am the mashed fireman with breast-bone broken 254
+ If doughty deeds my lady please 88
+ If sadly thinking 91
+ I love contemplating, apart 140
+ In the ship-yard stood the Master 210
+ In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 136
+ Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom 138
+ I said, when evil men are strong 105
+ Is life worth living? Yes, so long 308
+ It is not growing like a tree 13
+ It is not to be thought of that the Flood 101
+ It is not yours, O mother, to complain 326
+ It was a' for our rightfu' King 99
+ I wish I were where Helen lies 77
+
+ Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border side 329
+ King Philip had vaunted his claims 324
+
+ Lars Porsena of Clusium 179
+ Last night, among his fellow-roughs 242
+
+ Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour 102
+ Mortality, behold and fear 15
+ Much have I travelled in the realms of gold 179
+ My boat is on the shore 164
+ My dear and only love, I pray 31
+
+ Next morn the Baron climbed the tower 114
+ Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the north-west died away 248
+ Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 172
+ Now all the youth of England are on fire 2
+ Now entertain conjecture of a time 4
+ Now fell the sword of Gunnar, and rose up red in the air 297
+ Now the noon was long passed over when again the rumour arose 304
+ Now we bear the king 10
+ Now while the Three were tightening 189
+ Now word is gane to the bold Keeper 67
+
+ O born in days when wits were fresh and clear 282
+ O Brignall banks are wild and fair 126
+ O England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high 260
+ Of Nelson and the North 144
+ O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend 1
+ Oft in the pleasant summer years 311
+ O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde 66
+ O how comely it is, and how reviving 31
+ O joy of creation 323
+ O Mary, at thy window be 98
+ Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee 100
+ On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred and ninety-two 248
+ Othere, the old sea-captain 223
+ Our English archers bent their bowes 51
+ O Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls 165
+ O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west 112
+
+ Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 129
+
+ Ruin seize thee, ruthless King 80
+
+ Should auld acquaintance be forgot 96
+ Simon Danz has come home again 228
+ Stern Daughter of the Voice of God 103
+ Still the song goeth up from Gunnar, though his harp to earth
+ be laid 301
+ Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright 19
+
+ Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind 32
+ The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold 150
+ The boy stood on the burning deck 175
+ The breaking waves dashed high 177
+ The captain stood on the carronade: 'First Lieutenant,'
+ says he 174
+ The charge of the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade 239
+ The fifteenth day of July 60
+ The forward youth that would appear 34
+ The glories of our birth and state 20
+ The herring loves the merry moonlight 131
+ The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece 167
+ The King sits in Dunfermline town 57
+ The last sunbeam 258
+ The Moorish King rides up and down 160
+ The newes was brought to Eddenborrow 56
+ The night is past, and shines the sun 151
+ The Sea! the Sea, the open Sea 149
+ The stag at eve had drunk his fill 121
+ The weary day rins down and dies 319
+ The winds were yelling, the waves were swelling 205
+ Then speedilie to wark we gaed 71
+ Then with a bitter smile, Rustum began 269
+ Then with a heavy groan, Rustum bewailed 277
+ This, this is he; softly a while 30
+ Through the black, rushing smoke bursts 265
+ Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies 3
+ Tiger, tiger, burning bright 94
+ 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved 171
+ Toll for the Brave 85
+ To mute and to material things 107
+ To my true king I offered free from stain 206
+ To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke 134
+ 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 40
+
+ Up from the meadows rich with corn 230
+
+ Vain is the dream! However Hope may rave 325
+
+ We come in arms, we stand ten score 284
+ Welcome, wild north-easter 262
+ When George the Third was reigning a hundred years ago 285
+ When I consider how my light is spent 29
+ When I have borne in memory what has tamed 101
+ When Love with unconfined wings 33
+ When the British warrior queen 86
+ When the head of Bran 290
+ Where the remote Bermudas ride 39
+ Why sitt'st thou by that ruined hall 130
+ Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering
+ to and fro 335
+ With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine 54
+ Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight 255
+
+ Ye Mariners of England 143
+ Ye shall know that in Atli's feast-hall on the side
+ that joined the house 293
+ Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more 21
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lyra Heroica, by Various
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