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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballads of Bravery, by Various

+

+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most

+other parts of the world 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.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have

+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.

+

+

+

+Title: Ballads of Bravery

+

+Author: Various

+

+Editor: George Melville Baker

+

+Release Date: September 26, 2016 [EBook #53148]

+

+Language: English

+

+Character set encoding: UTF-8

+

+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS OF BRAVERY ***

+

+

+

+

+Produced by David Edwards, Paul Marshall and the Online

+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This

+file was produced from images generously made available

+by The Internet Archive)

+

+

+

+

+

+

+Transcriber's Note:

+  Underscores "_" before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_

+    in the original text.

+  Equal signs "=" before and after a word or phrase indicate =bold=

+    in the original text.

+  Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.

+  Illustrations have been moved so they do not break up stanzas.

+  Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved.

+  Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations

+    in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.

+  In TOC, corrected "Excelsior" reference from 137 to 136.

+

+[Illustration]

+

+

+

+

+                         BALLADS OF BRAVERY.

+

+                              EDITED BY

+

+                          GEORGE M. BAKER.

+

+                                WITH

+

+                   FORTY FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.

+

+

+                               BOSTON:

+                    LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.

+                                1877.

+

+

+                             COPYRIGHT.

+

+                          LEE AND SHEPARD.

+

+                                1877.

+

+

+                               BOSTON:

+                ELECTROTYPED BY ALFRED MUDGE AND SON,

+                           SCHOOL STREET.

+

+                    UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE:

+                        WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.

+

+                         BALLADS OF BRAVERY.

+

+                           [Illustration]

+

+

+

+

+                              Contents.

+                                                            PAGE.

+     “CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT.”                         13

+     THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS.--_Leigh Hunt_                   18

+     A YOUNG HERO.                                            21

+     THE BEGGAR MAID.--_Tennyson_                             26

+     BUNKER HILL.--_G. H. Calvert_                            29

+     FASTENING THE BUCKLE.--_Samuel Burnham_                  34

+     HERVÉ RIEL.--_Robert Browning_                           37

+     THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON.--_Geo. W. Bungay_               46

+     THE BRAVE AT HOME.--_T. Buchanan Read_                   50

+     KANE.--_Fitz James O’Brien_                              53

+     THE LIFE-BOAT.--_Alice M. Adams_                         58

+     THE RED JACKET.--_George M. Baker_                       61

+     OTHELLO’S STORY OF HIS LIFE.--_Shakspeare_               66

+     THE BLACKSMITH OF RAGENBACH.--_Frank Marry_              70

+     MARMION AND DOUGLAS.--_Scott_                            75

+     THE LOSS OF THE HORNET.                                  80

+     MAN THE LIFE-BOAT.--_Anon._                              84

+     SIR GALAHAD.--_Tennyson_                                 87

+     KING CANUTE AND HIS NOBLES.--_Dr. Walcott_               92

+     OUTWARD BOUND.--_Anon._                                  96

+     THE BRIDES OF VENICE.--_Samuel Rogers_                   99

+     THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS.--_Mrs. Hemans_             108

+     THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY.--_Anon._                          112

+     THE SONG OF THE CAMP.--_Anon._                          116

+     THE RECANTATION OF GALILEO.--_F. E. Raleigh_            120

+     BELSHAZZAR.-_-Trans. from Heine_                        124

+     LIBERTY.--_From William Tell. By J. Sheridan Knowles_   128

+     THE FISHERMEN.--_Whittier_                              131

+     EXCELSIOR.--_Longfellow_                                136

+     THE SOLDIER.--_Robert Burns_                            140

+     JOHN MAYNARD.                                           143

+     EXCALIBUR.--_Tennyson_                                  148

+     THE DEATH OF ARTHUR.--_Tennyson_                        152

+     A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.--_Allan Cunningham_      156

+     THE LEAP OF CURTIUS.--_Geo. Aspinall_                   159

+     THE RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX.                             164

+     A YARN.--_Mary Howitt._                                 169

+

+                           [Illustration]

+

+                         Ballads of Bravery.

+

+

+    “CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT.”

+

+    England’s sun, bright setting o’er the hills so far away,

+    Filled the land with misty beauty at the close of one sad day;

+    And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,--

+    He with step so slow and weary; she with sunny, floating hair;

+    He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful; she, with lips so cold

+          and white,

+    Struggled to keep back the murmur, “Curfew must not ring to-night.”

+

+    “Sexton,” Bessie’s white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old,

+    With its walls so tall and gloomy, walls so dark and damp

+          and cold,--

+    “I’ve a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die

+    At the ringing of the curfew; and no earthly help is nigh.

+    Cromwell will not come till sunset,” and her face grew

+          strangely white,

+    As she spoke in husky whispers, “Curfew must not ring to-night.”

+

+    “Bessie,” calmly spoke the sexton (every word pierced her

+          young heart

+    Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly poisoned dart),

+    “Long, long years I’ve rung the curfew from that gloomy,

+          shadowed tower;

+    Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour.

+    I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right:

+    Now I’m old, I will not miss it. Girl, the curfew rings to-night!”

+

+    Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her

+          thoughtful brow;

+    And within her heart’s deep centre Bessie made a solemn vow.

+    She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh,--

+    “At the ringing of the curfew Basil Underwood _must die_.”

+    And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large

+          and bright;

+    One low murmur, scarcely spoken, “Curfew _must not_ ring to-night!”

+

+    She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old

+          church-door,

+    Left the old man coming slowly, paths he’d trod so oft before.

+    Not one moment paused the maiden, but, with cheek and brow aglow,

+    Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro;

+    Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of light,

+    Upward still, her pale lips saying, “Curfew _shall not_

+          ring to-night!”

+

+    She has reached the topmost ladder; o’er her hangs the great,

+          dark bell,

+    And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell.

+    See! the ponderous tongue is swinging; ’tis the hour of curfew now,

+    And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath, and paled

+          her brow.

+    Shall she let it ring? No, never! Her eyes flash with sudden light,

+    As she springs, and grasps it firmly: “Curfew _shall not_

+          ring to-night!”

+

+    Out she swung,--far out. The city seemed a tiny speck below,--

+    There ’twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to

+          and fro;

+    And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the bell),

+    And he thought the twilight curfew rang young Basil’s funeral knell.

+    Still the maiden, clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and white,

+    Stilled her frightened heart’s wild beating: _“Curfew shall not

+          ring to-night!”_

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    It was o’er, the bell ceased swaying; and the maiden stepped

+          once more

+    Firmly on the damp old ladder, where, for hundred years before,

+    Human foot had not been planted; and what she this night had done

+    Should be told long ages after. As the rays of setting sun

+    Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires, with heads of white,

+    Tell the children why the curfew did not ring that one sad night.

+

+    O’er the distant hills came Cromwell. Bessie saw him; and her brow,

+    Lately white with sickening horror, glows with sudden beauty now.

+    At his feet she told her story, showed her hands, all bruised

+          and torn;

+    And her sweet young face, so haggard, with a look so sad and worn,

+    Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light.

+    “Go! your lover lives,” cried Cromwell. “Curfew shall not

+          ring to-night!”

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS.

+

+    King Francis was a hearty king and loved a royal sport,

+    And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court.

+    The nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in their pride,

+    And ’mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom

+          he sighed.

+    And truly ’twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show,--

+    Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.

+    Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;

+    They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with

+          their paws;

+    With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another,

+    Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunderous smother;

+    The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air.

+    Said Francis then, “Faith, gentlemen, we’re better here than there.”

+

+    De Lorge’s love o’erheard the king,--a beauteous, lively dame,

+    With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed

+          the same;

+    She thought, “The count, my lover, is brave as brave can be,

+    He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me.

+    King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine;

+    I’ll drop my glove to prove his love. Great glory will be mine!”

+    She dropped her glove to prove his love, then looked on him

+          and smiled;

+    He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild.

+    The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place;

+    Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady’s face.

+    “By Heaven!” said Francis, “rightly done!” rising from where he sat.

+    “No love,” quoth he, “but vanity, sets love a task like that.”

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    A YOUNG HERO.

+

+    On Labrador, like coils of flame

+      That clasp the walls of blazing town,

+    The long, resistless billows came,

+      And swept the craggy headlands down;

+    Till ploughing in strong agonies

+      Their furrows deep into the land,

+      They carried rocks, and bars of sand

+    Past farthest margin of old seas,

+    And in their giant fury bore

+    Full thirty crowded craft ashore.

+    That night they pushed the darkness through,

+    O’er rocks where slippery lichens grew,

+    And swamps of slime and melted snow,

+    And torrents filled to overflow,

+    Through pathless wilds, in showers and wind,

+    Where woe to him who lags behind!

+    Where children slipped in ooze, and lay

+    Half frozen, buried half in clay;

+    Young mothers, with their babes at breast,

+    In chilly stupor dropped to rest.

+

+    A sailor lad of years fourteen

+      Had chanced, as by the waters thrown,

+      On four that made sad cry and moan

+    For parents they had lost between

+      The wreck and shore, or haply missed.

+      Cheerly and kind their cheeks he kissed,

+    And folded each in other’s arm.

+      Upon a sloping mound of moss

+      He dragged a heavy sail across,

+    Close-pinned with bowlders, rough yet warm;

+      And packing it with mosses tight,

+      Kept steadfast watch the livelong night,

+    Nor dared depart, lest e’er again

+      Was found this treasure he had hid,

+      Some sudden treacherous gust had slid

+    Beneath that rugged counterpane.

+      He knew not name or face of one.

+      He saved them. It was nobly done.

+

+    Day dawned at last. The storm had lulled;

+      And these were happy, sleeping yet.

+    A few fresh hands of moss he pulled,

+    Then traced with trembling steps the track

+      Of many footprints deeply set;

+      And pressing forward, early met

+    These children’s parents hasting back,

+      And filled their hearts with boundless joy,

+    As with blanched lips and chattering teeth

+      He told them of his night’s employ;

+      Feigned, too, he was not much distressed,

+    Although his dying heart, beneath

+      His icy-frozen shirt and vest,

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    Beat faint. They went; and o’er his eyes

+    A gathering film beclouded light;

+      And music murmured in his brain,

+      Such respite sang from toil and strain

+    That all his senses, wearied quite,

+      Were lapped to slumber, lulling pain;

+    Whilst soothing visions seemed to rise,

+      That brought him scenes of other times,

+    With cherub faces, beaming bright,

+      Of many children, and the rhymes

+    His mother taught him on her knee,

+    In happy days of infancy.

+    Then gentlest forms, with rustling wings,

+      Were wafting him a world of ease

+      Beneath those downy canopies,

+    Wherewith they shut out angry skies;

+    And they with winning beckonings--

+    Who looked so sweet and saintly wise--

+    His buoyant spirit drew afar

+      From creaking timbers, shivering sails,

+      And ships that strain in autumn gales,

+      And snow-mixed rains, and sleeting hails,

+    And wind and waves at endless war.

+    Oh! who will e’er forget the day,

+      The bitter tears, the voiceless prayer,

+    The thoughts of grief we could not say,

+    The shallow graves within the bay,

+      The fifteen dear ones buried there,

+    The grown, the young, who, side by side,

+      Without or coffin, shroud, or priest,

+      Were laid; and him we mourned not least,--

+    The boy that had so bravely died!

+

+

+    THE BEGGAR MAID.

+

+    Her arms across her breast she laid;

+      She was more fair than words can say;

+    Barefooted came the beggar maid

+      Before the king Cophetua.

+    In robe and crown the king stept down

+      To meet and greet her on her way.

+    “It is no wonder,” said the lords,

+      “She is more beautiful than day.”

+

+    As shines the moon in clouded skies,

+      She in her poor attire was seen;

+    One praised her ankles, one her eyes,

+      One her dark hair and lovesome mien.

+    So sweet a face, such angel grace,

+      In all that land had never been;

+    Cophetua sware a royal oath,--

+      “This beggar maid shall be my queen.”

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    BUNKER HILL.

+

+    “Not yet, not yet! Steady, steady!”

+      On came the foe in even line,

+      Nearer and nearer to thrice paces nine.

+    We looked into their eyes. “Ready!”

+    A sheet of flame, a roll of death!

+    They fell by scores: we held our breath.

+      Then nearer still they came.

+      Another sheet of flame,

+    And brave men fled who never fled before.

+      Immortal fight!

+      Foreshadowing flight

+    Back to the astounded shore.

+

+      Quickly they rallied, re-enforced,

+    ’Mid louder roar of ships’ artillery,

+    And bursting bombs and whistling musketry,

+        And shouts and groans anear, afar,

+        All the new din of dreadful war.

+      Through their broad bosoms calmly coursed

+        The blood of those stout farmers, aiming

+        For freedom, manhood’s birthright claiming.

+    Onward once more they came.

+    Another sheet of deathful flame!

+      Another and another still!

+    They broke, they fled,

+    Again they sped

+      Down the green, bloody hill.

+

+    Howe, Burgoyne, Clinton, Gage,

+    Stormed with commanders’ rage.

+    Into each emptied barge

+    They crowd fresh men for a new charge

+    Up that great hill.

+    Again their gallant blood we spill.

+    That volley was the last:

+      Our powder failed.

+    On three sides fast

+      The foe pressed in, nor quailed

+    A man. Their barrels empty, with musket-stocks

+    They fought, and gave death-dealing knocks,

+    Till Prescott ordered the retreat.

+    Then Warren fell; and through a leaden sleet

+    From Bunker Hill and Breed,

+    Stark, Putnam, Pomeroy, Knowlton, Read,

+    Led off the remnant of those heroes true,

+    The foe too weakened to pursue.

+    The ground they gained; but we

+          The victory.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    The tidings of that chosen band

+      Flowed in a wave of power

+    Over the shaken, anxious land,

+      To men, to man, a sudden dower.

+    History took a fresh, higher start

+      From that stanch, beaming hour;

+    And when the speeding messenger, that bare

+    The news that strengthened every heart,

+    Met near the Delaware

+    The leader, who had just been named,

+    Who was to be so famed,

+      The steadfast, earnest Washington,

+    With hands uplifted, cries,

+    His great soul flashing to his eyes,

+      “Our liberties are safe! The cause is won!”

+    A thankful look he cast to heaven, and then

+    His steed he spurred, in haste to lead such noble men.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    FASTENING THE BUCKLE.

+

+    Stand still, my steed, though the foe is near,

+      And sharp the rattle of hoofs on the hill.

+    And see! there’s the glitter of many a spear,

+      And a wrathful shout that bodes us ill.

+    Stand still! Our way is weary and long,

+      And muscle and foot are put to the test.

+    Buckle and girth must be tightened and strong;

+      And rider and horse are far from rest.

+

+    A moment more, and then we’ll skim

+      Like a driving cloud o’er hill and plain;

+    The vision of horseman will slowly dim,

+      And pursuer seek the pursued in vain.

+    Ha! stirrup is strong and girth is tight!

+      One bound to the saddle, and off we go.

+    I count their spears as they glisten bright

+      In the ruddy beams of the sunset glow.

+

+    ’Tis life or death; but we’re fresh and strong,

+      And buckle and girth are fastened tight.

+    The race is hard and the way is long,

+      But we’ll win as twilight fades into night.

+    Hurrah for rider and horse to-day,

+      For buckle and saddle fastened tight!

+    We’ll win! we’re gaining! They drop away!

+      Our haven of rest is full in sight.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    HERVÉ 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 through 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 harbor, take us quick,--or, quicker still,

+    Here’s the English can and will!”

+

+    Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped 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, Hervé Riel, the Croisickese.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    And “What mockery or malice have we here?” cries Hervé 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 Hervé Riel.

+

+            Not a minute more to wait.

+            “Steer us in, then, small and great!

+    Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!” cried its 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 through 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 harbored to the last;

+    And just as Hervé Riel halloos, “Anchor!”--sure as fate,

+            Up the English come, too late.

+

+            So the storm subsides to calm;

+              They see the green trees wave

+              On the heights o’erlooking Greve.

+            Hearts that bled are stanched with balm.

+            “Just our rapture to enhance,

+              Let the English rake 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,

+              “Hervé 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.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+            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 rack

+    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 Hervé Riel.

+            So, for better and for worse,

+            Hervé Riel, accept my verse!

+    In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more

+    Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!

+

+

+    THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON.

+

+    The circling century has brought

+    The day on which our fathers fought

+    For liberty of deed and thought,

+        One hundred years ago!

+    We crown the day with radiant green,

+    And buds of hope to bloom between,

+    And stars undimmed, whose heavenly sheen

+        Lights all the world below.

+

+    At break of day again we hear

+    The ringing words of Paul Revere,

+    And beat of drum and bugle near,

+        And shots that shake the throne

+    Of tyranny, across the sea,

+    And wake the sons of Liberty

+    To strike for freedom and be free:--

+        _Our_ king is God alone!

+

+    “Load well with powder and with ball,

+    Stand firmly, like a living wall;

+    But fire not till the foe shall call

+        A shot from every one,”

+    Said Parker to his gallant men.

+    Then Pitcairn dashed across the plain,

+    Discharged an angry threat, and then

+        The world heard Lexington!

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    Militia and brave minute-men

+    Stood side by side upon the plain,

+    Unsheltered in the storm of rain,

+        Of fire, and leaden sleet;

+    But through the gray smoke and the flame,

+    Star crowned, a white-winged angel came,

+    To bear aloft the souls of flame

+        From war’s red winding-sheet!

+

+    Hancock and Adams glory won

+    With yeomen whose best work was done

+    At Concord and at Lexington,

+        When first they struck the blow.

+    Long may their children’s children bear

+    Upon wide shoulders, fit to wear,

+    The mantles that fell through the air

+        One hundred years ago!

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE BRAVE AT HOME.

+

+    The maid who binds her warrior’s sash,

+      With smile that well her pain dissembles,

+    The while beneath her drooping lash

+      One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles,

+    Though heaven alone records the tear,

+      And fame shall never know the story,

+    Her heart has shed a drop as dear

+      As e’er bedewed the field of glory.

+

+    The wife who girds her husband’s sword,

+      ’Mid little ones who weep or wonder,

+    And bravely speaks the cheering word,

+      What though her heart be rent asunder,

+    Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear

+      The bolts of death around him rattle,

+    Hath shed as sacred blood as e’er

+      Was poured upon a field of battle!

+

+    The mother who conceals her grief,

+      While to her breast her son she presses,

+    Then breathes a few brave words and brief,

+      Kissing the patriot brow she blesses,

+    With no one but her secret God

+      To know the pain that weighs upon her,

+    Sheds holy blood as e’er the sod

+      Received on Freedom’s field of honor!

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    KANE: DIED FEBRUARY 16, 1857.

+

+    Aloft upon an old basaltic crag,

+    Which, scalped by keen winds that defend the Pole,

+    Gazes with dead face on the seas that roll

+    Around the secret of the mystic zone,

+    A mighty nation’s star-bespangled flag

+              Flutters alone;

+    And underneath, upon the lifeless front

+      Of that drear cliff, a simple name is traced,--

+    Fit type of him who, famishing and gaunt,

+      But with a rocky purpose in his soul,

+              Breasted the gathering snows,

+              Clung to the drifting floes,

+      By want beleaguered and by winter chased,

+      Seeking the brother lost amid that frozen waste.

+

+    Not many months ago we greeted him,

+      Crowned with the icy honors of the North.

+      Across the land his hard-won fame went forth,

+    And Maine’s deep woods were shaken limb by limb;

+    His own mild Keystone State, sedate and prim,

+      Burst from decorous quiet as he came;

+      Hot Southern lips, with eloquence aflame,

+    Sounded his triumph; Texas, wild and grim,

+      Proffered its horny hand; the large-lunged West,

+              From out his giant breast,

+      Yelled its frank welcome; and from main to main,

+              Jubilant to the sky,

+              Thundered the mighty cry,

+                  HONOR TO KANE!

+

+       *       *       *       *       *

+

+    He needs no tears, who lived a noble life!

+      We will not weep for him who died so well,

+      But we will gather round the hearth and tell

+              The story of his strife.

+              Such homage suits him well,--

+      Better than funeral pomp or passing bell.

+

+    What tale of peril and self-sacrifice,

+    Prisoned amid the fastnesses of ice,

+    With hunger howling o’er the wastes of snow;

+    Night lengthening into months; the ravenous floe

+    Crunching the massive ships, as the white bear

+    Crunches his prey. The insufficient share

+              Of loathsome food;

+    The lethargy of famine; the despair

+      Urging to labor, nervelessly pursued;

+      Toil done with skinny arms, and faces hued

+    Like pallid masks, while dolefully behind

+    Glimmered the fading embers of a mind!

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    That awful hour, when through the prostrate band

+    Delirium stalked, laying his burning hand

+    Upon the ghastly foreheads of the crew;

+    The whispers of rebellion, faint and few

+    At first, but deepening ever till they grew

+    Into black thoughts of murder: such the throng

+    Of horrors bound the hero. High the song

+    Should be that hymns the noble part he played!

+    Sinking himself, yet ministering aid

+    To all around him. By a mighty will

+    Living defiant of the wants that kill,

+      Because his death would seal his comrades’ fate;

+    Cheering, with ceaseless and inventive skill,

+      Those Polar waters, dark and desolate.

+      Equal to every trial, every fate,

+    He stands, until spring, tardy with relief,

+              Unlocks the icy gate,

+    And the pale prisoners thread the world once more,

+    To the steep cliffs of Greenland’s pastoral shore,

+              Bearing their dying chief.

+

+    Time was when he should gain his spurs of gold

+      From royal hands, who wooed the knightly state.

+    The knell of old formalities is tolled,

+      And the world’s knights are now self-consecrate.

+    No grander episode doth chivalry hold

+      In all its annals, back to Charlemagne,

+      Than that lone vigil of unceasing pain,

+    Faithfully kept through hunger and through cold,

+      By the good Christian knight, ELISHA KANE!

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE LIFE-BOAT.

+

+    Launch the life-boat! Far on high

+            The fiery rockets gleam,

+    While loud and clear the booming signal gun

+    Says there is work that quickly must be done.

+    A vessel’s in distress: haste, every one,

+            Nor idly stop to dream.

+

+    Launch the life-boat! On the shore

+            The startled people stand,

+    And watch the signal lights that shine on high,

+    And through the pitchy darkness seek to spy

+    The struggling ship, or to their comrades try

+            To lend a helping hand.

+

+    Launch the life-boat! Now the moon

+            Sheds forth her silvery light,

+    And shows the boat is off; one long, loud cheer

+    Breaks from the eager crowd assembled here;

+    The dip of oars comes to the listening ear,

+            Upon the silent night.

+

+    Speed the life-boat and her crew,

+            Speed them on their watery way!

+    As joy and hope they bring to hearts cast down,

+    And waiting ’neath the storm-clouds’ dismal frown,

+    While wind and wave their trembling voices drown,

+            Waiting another day.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE RED JACKET.

+

+    ’Tis a cold, bleak night. With angry roar

+    The north winds beat and clamor at the door;

+    The drifted snow lies heaped along the street,

+    Swept by a blinding storm of hail and sleet;

+    The clouded heavens no guiding starlight lend,

+    But o’er the earth in gloom and darkness bend;

+    Gigantic shadows, by the night-lamps thrown,

+    Dance their weird revels fitfully alone.

+

+    In lofty halls, where fortune takes its ease,

+    Sunk in the treasures of all lands and seas;

+    In happy homes, where warmth and comfort meet

+    The weary traveller with their smiles to greet;

+    In lonely dwellings, where the needy swarm

+    Round starving embers, chilling limbs to warm,--

+    Rises the prayer that makes the sad heart light,

+    “Thank God for home this bitter, bitter night!”

+

+    But hark! above the beating of the storm

+    Peals on the startled ear the fire-alarm!

+    Yon gloomy heaven’s aflame with sudden light;

+    And heart-beats quicken with a strange affright.

+    From tranquil slumber springs, at duty’s call,

+    The ready friend no danger can appall;

+    Fierce for the conflict, sturdy, true, and brave,

+    He hurries forth to battle and to save.

+

+    From yonder dwelling fiercely shooting out,

+    Devouring all they coil themselves about,

+    The flaming furies, mounting high and higher,

+    Wrap the frail structure in a cloak of fire.

+    Strong arms are battling with the stubborn foe,

+    In vain attempts their power to overthrow;

+    With mocking glee they revel with their prey,

+    Defying human skill to check their way.

+

+    And see! far up above the flames’ hot breath,

+    Something that’s human waits a horrid death:

+    A little child, with waving golden hair,

+    Stands like a phantom ’mid the horrid glare,

+    Her pale, sweet face against the window pressed,

+    While sobs of terror shake her tender breast.

+    And from the crowd beneath, in accents wild,

+    A mother screams, “O God! my child, my child!”

+

+    Up goes a ladder! Through the startled throng

+    A hardy fireman swiftly moves along,

+    Mounts sure and fast along the slender way,

+    Fearing no danger, dreading but delay.

+    The stifling smoke-clouds lower in his path,

+    Sharp tongues of flame assail him in their wrath;

+    But up, still up he goes! The goal is won,

+    His strong arm beats the sash, and he is gone,--

+

+    Gone to his death. The wily flames surround,

+    And burn and beat his ladder to the ground;

+    In flaming columns move with quickened beat,

+    To rear a massive wall ’gainst his retreat.

+    Courageous heart, thy mission was so pure,

+    Suffering humanity must thy loss deplore:

+    Henceforth with martyred heroes thou shalt live,

+    Crowned with all honors nobleness can give.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    Nay, not so fast! subdue these gloomy fears!

+    Behold! he quickly on the roof appears,

+    Bearing the tender child, his jacket warm

+    Flung round her shrinking form to guard from harm.

+    Up with your ladders! Quick! ’tis but a chance!

+    Behold how fast the roaring flames advance!

+    Quick! quick! brave spirits to his rescue fly!

+    Up! up! by heavens, this hero must not die!

+

+    Silence! he comes along the burning road,

+    Bearing with tender care his living load.

+    Aha! he totters! Heaven in mercy save

+    The good, true heart that can so nobly brave!

+    He’s up again, and now he’s coming fast!

+    One moment, and the fiery ordeal’s past,

+    And now he’s safe! Bold flames, ye fought in vain!

+    A happy mother clasps her child again.

+

+    “O, Heaven bless you!” ’Tis an earnest prayer

+    Which grateful thousands with that mother share.

+    Heaven bless the brave who on the war-clad field

+    Stand fast, stand firm, the nation’s trusty shield!

+    Heaven bless the brave who on the mighty sea

+    Fearless uphold the standard of the free!

+    And Heaven’s choicest blessing for the brave

+    Who fearless move our lives and homes to save!

+

+

+    OTHELLO’S STORY OF HIS LIFE.

+

+    Her father loved me; oft invited me;

+    Still questioned me the story of my life

+    From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,

+    That I had past.

+    I ran it through, e’en from my boyish days,

+    To the very moment that he bade me tell it.

+    Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,

+    Of moving accidents by flood and field,

+    Of hair-breadth ’scapes, in the imminent deadly breach,

+    Of being taken by the insolent foe,

+    And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,

+    And with it all my travel’s history.

+

+       *       *       *       *       *

+

+                                 All these to hear,

+    Would Desdemona seriously incline;

+    But still the house affairs would draw her thence,

+    Whichever as she could with haste despatch,

+    She’d come again, and with a greedy ear

+    Devour up my discourse. Which, I observing,

+    Took once a pliant hour, and found good means

+    To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart

+    That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,

+    Whereof, by parcels, she had something heard,

+    But not distinctly.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+                                     I did consent;

+    And often did beguile her of her tears,

+    When I did speak of some distressful stroke

+    That my youth suffered. My story being done,

+    She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.

+    She swore in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange;

+    ’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful;

+    She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished

+    That heaven had made her such a man.

+

+                                     She thanked me,

+    And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,

+    I should but teach him how to tell my story,

+    And that would woo her. On this hint I spake;

+    She loved me for the dangers I had passed;

+    And I loved her that she did pity them:

+    This is the only witchcraft which I’ve used.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE BLACKSMITH OF RAGENBACH.

+

+    In a little German village,

+      On the waters of the Rhine,

+    Gay and joyous in their pastimes,

+      In the pleasant vintage-time,

+    Were a group of happy peasants,

+      For the day released from toil,

+    Thanking God for all his goodness

+      In the product of their soil,

+

+    When a cry rung through the welkin,

+      And appeared upon the scene

+    A panting dog, with crest erect,

+      Foaming mouth, and savage mien.

+    “He is mad!” was shrieked in chorus.

+      In dismay they all fell back,--

+    _All_ except one towering figure,--

+      ’Twas the smith of Ragenbach.

+

+    God had given this man his image;

+      Nature stamped him as complete.

+    Now it was incumbent on him

+      To perform a greater feat

+    Than Horatius at the bridge,

+      When he stood on Tiber’s bank;

+    For behind him were his townsfolk,

+      Who, appalled with terror, shrank

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    From the most appalling danger,--

+      That which makes the bravest quail,--

+    While they all were grouped together,

+      Shaking limbs and visage pale.

+    For a moment cowered the beast,

+      Snapping to the left and right,

+    While the blacksmith stood before him

+      In the power of his might.

+

+    “_One_ must die to save the many,

+      Let it then my duty be:

+    I’ve the power. Fear not, neighbors!

+      From this peril you’ll be free.”

+    As the lightning from the storm-cloud

+      Leaps to earth with sudden crash,

+    So upon the rabid monster

+      Did this man and hero dash.

+

+    In the death-grip then they struggled,

+      Man and dog, with scarce a sound,

+    Till from out the fearful conflict

+      Rose the man from off the ground,

+    Gashed and gory from the struggle;

+      But the beast lay stiff and dead.

+    There he stood, while people gathered,

+      And rained blessings on his head.

+

+    “Friends,” he said, “from one great peril,

+      With God’s help, I’ve set you free,

+    But my task is not yet ended,

+      There is danger now in _me_.

+    Yet secure from harm you shall be,

+      None need fear before I die.

+    That my sufferings may be shortened,

+      Ask of Him who rules on high.”

+

+    Then unto his forge he straightway

+      Walked erect, with rapid step,

+    While the people followed after,

+      Some with shouts, while others wept;

+    And with nerve as steady as when

+      He had plied his trade for gain,

+    He selected, without faltering,

+      From his store, the heaviest chain.

+

+    To his anvil first he bound it,

+      Next his limb he shackled fast,

+    Then he said unto his townsfolk,

+      “All your danger now is past.

+    Place within my reach, I pray you,

+      Food and water for a time,

+    Until God shall ease my sufferings

+      By his gracious will divine.”

+

+    Long he suffered, but at last

+      Came a summons from on high,

+    Then his soul, with angel escort,

+      Sought its home beyond the sky;

+    And the people of that village,

+      Those whom he had died to save,

+    Still with grateful hearts assemble,

+      And with flowers bedeck his grave.

+

+

+    MARMION AND DOUGLAS.

+

+    Not far advanced was morning day,

+    When Marmion did his troop array

+      To Surrey’s camp to ride.

+    He had safe-conduct for his band,

+    Beneath the royal seal and hand,

+      And Douglas gave a guide.

+    The ancient earl, with stately grace,

+    Would Clara on her palfrey place,

+    And whispered in an undertone,

+    “Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.”

+    The train from out the castle drew,

+    But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:

+      “Though something I might ’plain,” he said,

+    “Of cold respect to stranger guest,

+    Sent hither by your king’s behest,

+      While in Tantallon’s towers I stayed,

+    Part we in friendship from your land,

+    And, noble earl, receive my hand.”

+    But Douglas round him drew his cloak,

+    Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:

+    “My manors, halls, and bowers shall still

+    Be open, at my sovereign’s will,

+    To each one whom he lists, howe’er

+    Unmeet to be the owner’s peer;

+    My castles are my king’s alone,

+    From turret to foundation-stone,--

+    The hand of Douglas is his own,

+    And never shall in friendly grasp

+    The hand of such as Marmion clasp.”

+

+    Burned Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire,

+    And shook his very frame for ire,

+      And--“This to me!” he said;--

+    “An ’twere not for thy hoary beard,

+    Such hand as Marmion’s had not spared

+    To cleave the Douglas’ head!

+    And first, I tell thee, haughty peer,

+    He who does England’s message here,

+    Although the meanest in her state,

+    May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!

+    And Douglas, more, I tell thee here,

+    Even in thy pitch of pride,

+    Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,

+    (Nay, never look upon your lord,

+    And lay your hands upon your sword,)

+      I tell thee, thou ’rt defied!

+    And if thou saidst I am not peer

+    To any lord in Scotland here,

+    Lowland or Highland, far or near,

+      Lord Angus, thou hast lied!”

+    On the earl’s cheek the flush of rage

+    O’ercame the ashen hue of age:

+    Fierce he broke forth, “And dar’st thou then

+    To beard the lion in his den,

+      The Douglas in his hall?

+    And hop’st thou hence unscathed to go?

+    No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!

+    Up drawbridge, grooms! What, warder, ho!

+      Let the portcullis fall.”

+    Lord Marmion turned,--well was his need!--

+    And dashed the rowels in his steed,

+    Like arrow through the archway sprung;

+    The ponderous grate behind him rung:

+    To pass there was such scanty room,

+    The bars, descending, razed his plume.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    The steed along the drawbridge flies,

+    Just as it trembled on the rise;

+    Not lighter does the swallow skim

+    Along the smooth lake’s level brim;

+    And when Lord Marmion reached his band,

+    He halts, and turns with clinched hand,

+    And shout of loud defiance pours,

+    And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

+    “Horse! horse!” the Douglas cried, “and chase!”

+    But soon he reigned his fury’s pace:

+    “A royal messenger he came,

+    Though most unworthy of the name.

+

+       *       *       *       *       *

+

+    St. Mary mend my fiery mood!

+    Old age ne’er cools the Douglas blood,

+    I thought to slay him where he stood.

+    ’Tis pity of him, too,” he cried;

+    “Bold can he speak and fairly ride,

+    I warrant him a warrior tried.”

+    With this his mandate he recalls,

+    And slowly seeks his castle walls.

+

+

+    THE LOSS OF THE HORNET.

+

+    Call the watch! call the watch!

+      “Ho! the starboard watch, ahoy!” Have you heard

+    How a noble ship so trim, like our own, my hearties, here,

+    All scudding ’fore the gale, disappeared,

+      Where yon southern billows roll o’er their bed so green and clear?

+    Hold the reel! keep her full! hold the reel!

+      How she flew athwart the spray, as, shipmates, we do now,

+    Till her twice a hundred fearless hearts of steel

+      Felt the whirlwind lift its waters aft, and plunge her

+          downward bow!

+                      Bear a hand!

+

+    Strike top-gallants! mind your helm! jump aloft!

+      ’Twas such a night as this, my lads, a rakish bark was drowned,

+    When demons foul, that whisper seamen oft,

+      Scooped a tomb amid the flashing surge that never shall be found.

+    Square the yards! a double reef! Hark the blast!

+      O, fiercely has it fallen on the war-ship of the brave,

+    When its tempest fury stretched the stately mast

+      All along her foamy sides, as they shouted on the wave,

+                      “Bear a hand!”

+

+    Call the watch! call the watch!

+      “Ho! the larboard watch, ahoy!” Have you heard

+    How a vessel, gay and taut, on the mountains of the sea,

+      Went below, with all her warlike crew on board,

+    They who battled for the happy, boys, and perished for the free?

+      Clew, clew up, fore and aft! keep away!

+    How the vulture bird of death, in its black and viewless form,

+      Hovered sure o’er the clamors of his prey,

+    While through all their dripping shrouds yelled the spirit of

+          the storm!

+                      Bear a hand!

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    Now out reefs! brace the yards! lively there!

+      O, no more to homeward breeze shall her swelling bosom spread,

+    But love’s expectant eye bid despair

+      Set her raven watch eternal o’er the wreck in ocean’s bed.

+    Board your tacks! cheerly, boys! But for them,

+      Their last evening gun is fired, their gales are overblown;

+    O’er their smoking deck no starry flag shall stream;

+      They’ll sail no more, they’ll fight no more, for their gallant

+          ship’s gone down.

+                      Bear a hand!

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    MAN THE LIFE-BOAT.

+

+    Man the life-boat! Man the life-boat!

+      Help, or yon ship is lost!

+    Man the life-boat! Man the life-boat!

+      See how she’s tempest-tossed.

+    No human power in such an hour

+      The gallant bark can save;

+    Her mainmast gone, and running on,

+      She seeks her watery grave.

+    Man the life-boat! Man the life-boat!

+      See, the dreaded signal flies!

+    Ha! she’s struck, and from the wreck

+      Despairing shouts arise.

+

+    O, speed the life-boat! Speed the life-boat!

+      O God, their efforts crown!

+    She dashes on; the ship is gone,

+      Full forty fathoms down.

+    And see, the crew are struggling now

+      Amidst the tempest roar.

+    They’re in the boat, they’re all afloat,--

+      Hurrah! they’ve gained the shore.

+    Bless the life-boat! Bless the life-boat!

+      O God, thou’lt hear our prayer!

+    Bless the life-boat! Bless the life-boat!

+      No longer we’ll despair.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    SIR GALAHAD.

+

+    My good blade carves the casques of men,

+      My tough lance thrusteth sure,

+    My strength is as the strength of ten,

+      Because my heart is pure.

+    The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,

+      The hard brands shiver on the steel,

+    The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly,

+      The horse and rider reel:

+    They reel, they roll in clanging lists,

+      And when the tide of combat stands,

+    Perfume and flowers fall in showers,

+      That lightly rain from ladies’ hands.

+

+    How sweet are looks that ladies bend

+      On whom their favors fall!

+    For them I battle till the end,

+      To save from shame and thrall:

+    But all my heart is drawn above,

+      My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine:

+    I never felt the kiss of love,

+      Nor maiden’s hand in mine.

+    More bounteous aspects on me beam,

+      Me mightier transports move and thrill;

+    So keep I fair through faith and prayer

+      A virgin heart in work and will.

+

+    When down the stormy crescent goes,

+      A light before me swims,

+    Between dark stems the forest glows,

+      I hear a noise of hymns:

+    Then by some secret shrine I ride;

+      I hear a voice, but none are there;

+    The stalls are void, the doors are wide,

+      The tapers burning fair.

+    Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,

+      The silver vessels sparkle clean,

+    The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,

+      And solemn chants resound between.

+

+    Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres

+      I find a magic bark;

+    I leap on board: no helmsman steers:

+      I float till all is dark.

+    A gentle sound, an awful light!

+      Three angels bear the holy Grail:

+    With folded feet, in stoles of white,

+      On sleeping wings they sail.

+    Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!

+      My spirit beats her mortal bars,

+    As down dark tides the glory slides,

+      And star-like mingles with the stars.

+

+    When on my goodly charger borne

+      Through dreaming towns I go,

+    The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,

+      The streets are dumb with snow.

+    The tempest crackles on the leads,

+      And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;

+    But o’er the dark a glory spreads,

+      And gilds the driving hail.

+    I leave the plain, I climb the height;

+      No branchy thicket shelter yields;

+    But blessed forms in whistling storms

+      Fly o’er waste fens and windy fields.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    A maiden knight, to me is given

+      Such hope, I know not fear;

+    I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven

+      That often meet me here.

+    I muse on joy that will not cease,

+      Pure spaces clothed in living beams,

+    Pure lilies of eternal peace,

+      Whose odors haunt my dreams;

+    And, stricken by an angel’s hand,

+      This mortal armor that I wear,

+    This weight and size, this heart and eyes,

+      Are touched, are turned to finest air.

+

+    The clouds are broken in the sky,

+      And through the mountain-walls

+    A rolling organ-harmony

+      Swells up, and shakes and falls.

+    Then move the trees, the copses nod,

+      Wings flutter, voices hover clear:

+    “O just and faithful knight of God,

+      Ride on! the prize is near.”

+    So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;

+      By bridge and ford, by park and pale,

+    All armed I ride, whate’er betide,

+      Until I find the holy Grail.

+

+

+    KING CANUTE AND HIS NOBLES.

+

+    Canute was by his nobles taught to fancy

+    That, by a kind of royal necromancy,

+      He had the power old Ocean to control.

+    Down rushed the royal Dane upon the strand,

+      And issued, like a Solomon, command,--poor soul!

+

+    “Go back, ye waves, you blustering rogues,” quoth he;

+    “Touch not your lord and master, Sea;

+      For by my power almighty, if you do--”

+    Then, staring vengeance, out he held a stick,

+    Vowing to drive old Ocean to Old Nick,

+      Should he even wet the latchet of his shoe.

+

+    The sea retired,--the monarch fierce rushed on,

+      And looked as if he’d drive him from the land;

+    But Sea, not caring to be put upon,

+      Made for a moment a bold stand.

+

+    Not only made a stand did Mr. Ocean,

+    But to his waves he made a motion,

+      And bid them give the king a hearty trimming.

+    The order seemed a deal the waves to tickle,

+    For soon they put his Majesty in pickle,

+      And set his royalties, like geese, a swimming.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    All hands aloft, with one tremendous roar,

+    Sound did they make him wish himself on shore;

+      His head and ears they most handsomely doused,--

+    Just like a porpoise, with one general shout,

+    The waves so tumbled the poor king about.

+      No anabaptist e’er was half so soused.

+

+    At length to land he crawled, a half-drowned thing,

+    Indeed, more like a crab than like a king,

+      And found his courtiers making rueful faces;

+    But what said Canute to the lords and gentry,

+    Who hailed him from the water, on his entry,

+      All trembling for their lives or places?

+

+    “My lords and gentlemen, by your advice,

+      I’ve had with Mr. Sea a pretty bustle;

+    My treatment from my foe, not overnice,

+      Just made a jest for every shrimp and mussel.

+

+    “A pretty trick for one of my dominion!

+    My lords, I thank you for your great opinion.

+    You’ll tell me, p’r’aps, I’ve only lost one game

+      And bid me try another,--for the rubber.

+    Permit me to inform you all, with shame,

+      That you’re a set of knaves and I’m a lubber.”

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    OUTWARD BOUND.

+

+    Clink--clink--clink! goes our windlass.

+      “Ahoy!” “Haul in!” “Let go!”

+    Yards braced and sails set,

+      Flags uncurl and flow.

+    Some eyes that watch from shore are wet,

+      (How bright their welcome shone!)

+    While, bending softly to the breeze,

+    And rushing through the parted seas,

+      Our gallant ship glides on.

+    Though one has left a sweetheart,

+      And one has left a wife,

+    ’Twill never do to mope and fret,

+      Or curse a sailor’s life.

+    See, far away they signal yet,--

+      They dwindle--fade--they’re gone:

+    For, dashing outwards, bold and brave,

+    And springing light from wave to wave,

+      Our merry ship flies on.

+    Gay spreads the sparkling ocean;

+      But many a gloomy night

+    And stormy morrow must be met

+      Ere next we heave in sight.

+    The parting look we’ll ne’er forget,

+      The kiss, the benison,

+    As round the rolling world we go.

+    God bless you all! Blow, breezes blow!

+      Sail on, good ship, sail on!

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE BRIDES OF VENICE.

+

+    It was St. Mary’s eve; and all poured forth,

+    As to some grand solemnity. The fisher

+    Came from his islet, bringing o’er the waves

+    His wife and little one; the husbandman

+    From the Firm Land, along the Po, the Brenta,

+    Crowding the common ferry. All arrived;

+    And in his straw the prisoner turned and listened,

+    So great the stir in Venice. Old and young

+    Thronged her three hundred bridges; the grave Turk,

+    Turbaned, long-vested, and the cozening Jew,

+    In yellow hat and threadbare gabardine,

+    Hurrying along. For, as the custom was,

+    The noblest sons and daughters of the state,

+    They of patrician birth, the flower of Venice,

+    Whose names are written in the “Book of Gold,”

+    Were on that day to solemnize their nuptials.

+      At noon, a distant murmur through the crowd,

+    Rising and rolling on, announced their coming;

+    And never from the first was to be seen

+    Such splendor or such beauty. Two and two

+    (The richest tapestry unrolled before them),

+    First came the brides in all their loveliness;

+    Each in her veil, and by two bridemaids followed.

+    Only less lovely, who behind her bore

+    The precious caskets that within contained

+    The dowry and the presents. On she moved,

+    Her eyes cast down, and holding in her hand

+    A fan, that gently waved, of ostrich feathers.

+    Her veil, transparent as the gossamer,

+    Fell from beneath a starry diadem;

+    And on her dazzling neck a jewel shone,

+    Ruby or diamond or dark amethyst;

+    A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreath,

+    Wreathing her gold brocade.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+                              Before the church,

+    That venerable pile on the sea-brink,

+    Another train they met,--no strangers to them,--

+    Brothers to some, and to the rest still dearer,

+    Each in his hand bearing his cap and plume,

+    And, as he walked, with modest dignity

+    Folding his scarlet mantle, his _tabarro._

+      They join, they enter in, and up the aisle

+    Led by the full-voiced choir, in bright procession,

+    Range round the altar. In his vestments there

+    The patriarch stands; and while the anthem flows,

+    Who can look on unmoved? Mothers in secret

+    Rejoicing in the beauty of their daughters;

+    Sons in the thought of making them their own;

+    And they, arrayed in youth and innocence,

+    Their beauty heightened by their hopes and fears.

+      At length the rite is ending. All fall down

+    In earnest prayer, all of all ranks together;

+    And stretching out his hands, the holy man

+    Proceeds to give the general benediction,

+    When hark! a din of voices from without,

+    And shrieks and groans and outcries, as in battle;

+    And lo! the door is burst, the curtain rent,

+    And armed ruffians, robbers from the deep,

+    Savage, uncouth, led on by Barbarigo

+    And his six brothers in their coats of steel,

+    Are standing on the threshold! Statue-like,

+    Awhile they gaze on the fallen multitude,

+    Each with his sabre up, in act to strike;

+    Then, as at once recovering from the spell,

+    Rush forward to the altar, and as soon

+    Are gone again, amid no clash of arms,

+    Bearing away the maidens and the treasures.

+      Where are they now? Ploughing the distant waves,

+    Their sails all set, and they upon the deck

+    Standing triumphant. To the east they go,

+    Steering for Istria, their accursed barks

+    (Well are they known, the galliot and the galley)

+    Freighted with all that gives to life its value

+    The richest argosies were poor to them!

+      Now might you see the matrons running wild

+    Along the beach; the men half armed and arming;

+    One with a shield, one with a casque and spear;

+    One with an axe, hewing the mooring-chain

+    Of some old pinnace. Not a raft, a plank,

+    But on that day was drifting. In an hour

+    Half Venice was afloat. But long before,--

+    Frantic with grief, and scorning all control,--

+    The youths were gone in a light brigantine,

+    Lying at anchor near the arsenal;

+    Each having sworn, and by the holy rood,

+    To slay or to be slain.

+                           And from the tower

+    The watchman gives the signal. In the east

+    A ship is seen, and making for the port;

+    Her flag St. Mark’s. And now she turns the point,

+    Over the waters like a sea-bird flying.

+    Ha! ’tis the same, ’tis theirs! From stern to prow

+    Hung with green boughs, she comes, she comes, restoring

+    All that was lost!

+                     Coasting, with narrow search.

+    Friuli, like a tiger in his spring,

+    They had surprised the corsairs where they lay,

+    Sharing the spoil in blind security,

+    And casting lots; had slain them one and all,--

+    All to the last,--and flung them far and wide

+    Into the sea, their proper element.

+    Him first, as first in rank, whose name so long

+    Had hushed the babes of Venice, and who yet

+    Breathing a little, in his look retained

+    The fierceness of his soul.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+                              Thus were the brides

+    Lost and recovered. And what now remained

+    But to give thanks? Twelve breastplates and twelve crowns,

+    Flaming with gems and gold, the votive offerings

+    Of the young victors to their patron saint,

+    Vowed on the field of battle, were erelong

+    Laid at his feet; and to preserve forever

+    The memory of a day so full of change,

+    From joy to grief, from grief to joy again,

+    Through many an age, as oft as it came round,

+    ’Twas held religiously with all observance.

+    The Doge resigned his crimson for pure ermine;

+    And through the city in a stately barge

+    Of gold were borne, with songs and symphonies,

+    Twelve ladies young and noble. Clad they were

+    In bridal white with bridal ornaments,

+    Each in her glittering veil; and on the deck

+    As on a burnished throne, they glided by.

+    No window or balcony but adorned

+    With hangings of rich texture; not a roof

+    But covered with beholders, and the air

+    Vocal with joy. Onward they went, their oars

+    Moving in concert with the harmony,

+    Through the Rialto to the ducal palace;

+    And at a banquet there, served with due honor,

+    Sat, representing in the eyes of all--

+    Eyes not unwet, I ween, with grateful tears--

+    Their lovely ancestors, the “Brides of Venice.”

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE LANDING OF 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 water 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!

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    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!

+

+    Aye, call it holy ground,

+      The soil where first they trod;

+    They have left unstained what there they found,--

+      Freedom to worship God.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY.

+

+    Alas! The days of chivalry are fled,

+      The brilliant tournament exists no more;

+    Our loves are cold, and dull as ice or lead,

+      And courting is a most enormous bore.

+

+    In those good “olden times,” a “ladye bright”

+      Might sit within her turret or her bower,

+    While lovers sang and played without all night,

+      And deemed themselves rewarded by a flower.

+

+    Yet if one favored swain would persevere,

+      In despite of her haughty scorn and laugh,

+    Perchance she threw him, with the closing year,

+      An old odd glove, or else a worn-out scarf.

+

+    Off then, away he’d ride o’er sea and land,

+      And dragons fell and mighty giants smite

+    With the tough spear he carried in his hand;

+      And all to prove himself her own true knight.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    Meanwhile a thousand more, as wild as he,

+      Were all employed upon the self-same thing;

+    And when each had rode hard for his “ladye,”

+      They all come back and met within a ring.

+

+    Where all the men who were entitled “syr”

+      Appeared with martial air and haughty frown,

+    Bearing “long poles, each other up to stir,”

+      And, in the stir-up, thrust each other down.

+

+    And then they galloped round with dire intent,

+      Each knight resolved another’s pride to humble;

+    And laughter rang around the tournament

+      As oft as any of them had a tumble.

+

+    And when, perchance, some ill-starred wight might die,

+      The victim of a stout, unlucky poke,

+    Mayhap some fair one wiped one beauteous eye,

+      The rest smiled calmly on the deadly joke.

+

+    Soon, then, the lady, whose grim, stalwart swain

+      Had got the strongest horse and toughest pole,

+    Bedecked him, kneeling, with a golden chain,

+      And plighted troth before the motley whole.

+

+    Alas! the days of chivalry are fled,

+      The brilliant tournament exists no more.

+    Men now are cold and dull as ice or lead,

+      And even courtship is a dreadful bore.

+

+

+    THE SONG OF THE CAMP.

+

+    “Give us a song!” the soldiers cried,

+      The outer trenches guarding,

+    When the heated guns of the camps allied

+      Grew weary of bombarding.

+

+    The dark Redan, in silent scoff,

+      Lay grim and threatening under;

+    And the tawny mound of the Malakoff

+      No longer belched its thunder.

+

+    There was a pause. A guardsman said,

+      “We storm the forts to-morrow;

+    Sing while we may, another day

+      Will bring enough of sorrow.”

+

+    They lay along the battery’s side,

+      Below the smoking cannon,

+    Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde,

+      And from the banks of Shannon.

+

+    They sang of love, and not of fame;

+      Forgot was Britain’s glory:

+    Each heart recalled a different name,

+      But all sang “Annie Lawrie.”

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    Voice after voice caught up the song,

+      Until its tender passion

+    Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,--

+      Their battle-eve confession.

+

+    Beyond the darkening ocean burned

+      The bloody sunset’s embers,

+    While the Crimean valleys learned

+      How English love remembers.

+

+    And once again a fire of hell

+      Rained on the Russian quarters,

+    With scream of shot and burst of shell

+      And bellowing of the mortars!

+

+    And Irish Nora’s eyes are dim

+      For a singer dumb and gory;

+    And English Mary mourns for him

+      Who sang of “Annie Lawrie.”

+

+    Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest

+      Your truth and valor wearing.

+    The bravest are the tenderest,

+      The loving are the daring.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE RECANTATION OF GALILEO.

+

+    Far ’neath the glorious light of the noontide,

+      In a damp dungeon a prisoner lay,

+    Aged and feeble, his failing years numbered,

+      Waiting the fate to be brought him that day.

+

+    Silence, oppressive with darkness, held durance;

+      Death in the living, or living in death;

+    Crouched on the granite, and burdened with fetters,

+      Inhaling slow poison with each labored breath.

+

+    O’er the damp floor of his dungeon there glistened

+      Faintly the rays of a swift-nearing light;

+    Then the sweet jingle of keys, that soon opened

+      The door, and revealed a strange scene to his sight.

+

+    In the red glare of the flickering torches,

+      Held by the gray-gowned soldiers of God,

+    Gathered a group that the world will remember

+      Long ages after we sleep ’neath the sod.

+

+    Draped in their robes of bright scarlet and purple,

+      Bearing aloft the gold emblems of Rome,

+    Stood the chief priests of the papal dominion,

+      Under the shadow of Peter’s proud dome,

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    By the infallible pontiff commanded,

+      From his own lips their directions received;

+    Sent to demand of the wise Galileo

+      Denial of all the great truths he believed,--

+

+    Before the whole world to give up his convictions,

+      Because the great church said the world had not moved;

+    Then to swear, before God, that his science was idle,

+      And truth was unknown to the facts he had proved.

+

+    So, loosing his shackles, they bade the sage listen

+      To words from the mouth of the vicar of God:

+    “Recant thy vile doctrines, and life we will give thee:

+      Adhere, and thy road to the grave is soon trod!”

+

+    His doctrines--the truth, as proud Rome has acknowledged--

+      On low, bended knee, in that vault he renounced;

+    Yet with joy in their eyes, the high-priests retiring,

+      “Confinement for life,” as his sentence pronounced.

+

+    But as they left him, their malice rekindled

+      Fires that their threats had subdued in his breast:

+    Clanking his chains, with fierce ardor he muttered,

+      “But it _does_ move, and tyrants can ne’er make it rest.”

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    BELSHAZZAR.

+

+    The midnight hour was drawing on;

+    Flushed in repose lay Babylon;

+    But in the palace of the king

+    The herd of courtiers shout and sing.

+    There, in his royal banquet hall,

+    Belshazzar holds high festival.

+

+    The servants sit in glittering rows,

+    The beakers are drained, the red wine flows;

+    The beakers clash and the servants sing,--

+    A pleasing sound to the moody king.

+    The king’s cheeks flush and his wild eyes shine,

+    His spirit waxes bold with wine,

+    Until, by maddening passion stung,

+    He scoffs at God with impious tongue;

+    And his proud heart swells as he wildly raves,

+    ’Mid shouts of applause from his fawning slaves.

+    He spoke the word, and his eyes flashed flame!

+    The ready servants went and came;

+    Vessels of massive gold they bore,

+    Of Jehovah’s temple the plundered store.

+

+    Then seizing a consecrated cup,

+    The king in his fury fills it up;

+    He fills, and hastily drains it dry;

+    From his foaming lips leaps forth the cry,

+    “Jehovah, at Thee my scorn I fling!

+    I am Belshazzar, Babylon’s king.”

+    Yet scarce had the impious words been said,

+    When the king’s heart shrank with secret dread;

+    Suddenly died the shout and yell,

+    A deathlike hush on the tumult fell.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    And see! and see! on the white wall high

+    The form of a hand went slowly by,

+    And wrote--and wrote in sight of all

+    Letters of fire upon the wall!

+    The king sat still, with a stony look,

+    His trembling knees with terror shook;

+    The menial throng nor spoke nor stirred;

+    Fear froze the blood,--no sound was heard.

+

+    The magicians came, but none of all

+    Could read the writing on the wall.

+    At length to solve those words of flame,

+    Fearless, but meek, the prophet came.

+    One glance he gave, and all was clear.

+    “King! there is reason in thy fear.

+    Those words proclaim, thy empire ends,

+    The day of woe and wrath impends.

+    Weighed in the balance, wanting found,

+    Thou and thy empire strike the ground!”

+

+    That night, by the servants of his train,

+    Belshazzar, the mighty king, was slain!

+

+

+    LIBERTY.

+

+    With what pride I used

+    To walk these hills, and look up to my God,

+    And bless him that it was so! I loved

+    Its very storms. I have sat

+    In my boat at night when, midway o’er the lake,

+    The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge

+    The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed

+    The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled

+    To see him shake his lightnings o’er my head,

+    And think I had no master save his own.

+    You know the jutting cliff round which a track

+    Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow

+    To such another one, with scanty room

+    For two abreast to pass? O’ertaken there

+    By the mountain blast, I’ve laid me flat along,

+    And while gust followed gust more furiously,

+    As if to sweep me o’er the horrid brink,

+    And I have thought of other lands, whose storms

+    Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just

+    Have wished me there--the thought that mine was free

+    Has checked that wish; and I have raised my head,

+    And cried in thraldrom to that furious wind,

+    Blow on! This is the land of liberty!

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE FISHERMEN.

+

+    Hurrah! the seaward breezes

+      Sweep down the bay amain.

+    Heave up, my lads, the anchor!

+      Run up the sail again!

+    Leave to the lubber landsmen

+      The rail-car and the steed;

+    The stars of heaven shall guide us,

+      The breath of heaven shall speed.

+

+    From the hill-top looks the steeple,

+      And the lighthouse from the sand;

+    And the scattered pines are waving

+      Their farewell from the land.

+    One glance, my lads, behind us,

+      For the homes we leave one sigh,

+    Ere we take the change and chances

+      Of the ocean and the sky.

+

+    Now, brothers, for the icebergs

+      Of frozen Labrador,

+    Floating spectral in the moonshine,

+      Along the low, black shore!

+    Where like snow the gannet’s feathers

+      On Brador’s rocks are shed,

+    And the noisy murr are flying,

+      Like black scuds, overhead;

+

+    Where in mist the rock is hiding,

+      And the sharp reef lurks below,

+    And the white squall smites in summer,

+      And the autumn tempests blow;

+    Where, through gray and rolling vapor,

+      From evening unto morn,

+    A thousand boats are hailing,

+      Horn answering unto horn.

+

+    Hurrah for the Red Island,

+      With the white cross on its crown!

+    Hurrah for Meccatina,

+      And its mountains bare and brown!

+    Where the caribou’s tall antlers

+      O’er the dwarf-wood freely toss,

+    And the footstep of the mickmack

+      Has no sound upon the moss.

+

+    There we’ll drop our lines, and gather

+      Old Ocean’s treasures in,

+    Where’er the mottled mackerel

+      Turns up a steel-dark fin.

+    The sea’s our field of harvest,

+      Its scaly tribes our grain;

+    We’ll reap the teeming waters

+      As at home they reap the plain!

+

+    Our wet hands spread the carpet,

+      And light the hearth of home;

+    From our fish, as in the old time,

+      The silver coin shall come.

+    As the demon fled the chamber

+      Where the fish of Tobit lay,

+    So ours from all our dwellings

+      Shall frighten Want away.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    Though the mist upon our jackets

+      In the bitter air congeals,

+    And our lines wind stiff and slowly

+      From off the frozen reels,

+    Though the fog be dark around us,

+      And the storm blow high and loud,

+    We will whistle down the wild wind,

+      And laugh beneath the cloud!

+

+    In the darkness as in daylight,

+      On the water as on land,

+    God’s eye is looking on us,

+      And beneath us is his hand!

+    Death will find us soon or later,

+      On the deck or in the cot;

+    And we cannot meet him better

+      Than in working out our lot.

+

+    Hurrah! hurrah! The west wind

+      Comes freshening down the bay,

+    The rising sails are filling,--

+      Give way, my lads, give way!

+    Leave the coward landsman clinging

+      To the dull earth, like a weed.

+    The stars of heaven shall guide us,

+      The breath of heaven shall speed!

+

+

+    EXCELSIOR.

+

+    The shades of night were falling fast,

+    As through an Alpine village passed

+    A youth, who bore, ’mid snow and ice,

+    A banner, with the strange device,

+                Excelsior!

+

+    His brow was sad; his eye, beneath,

+    Flashed like a falchion from its sheath;

+    And like a silver clarion rung

+    The accents of that unknown tongue,

+                Excelsior!

+

+    In happy homes he saw the light

+    Of household fires gleam warm and bright.

+    Above, the spectral glaciers shone;

+    And from his lips escaped a groan,

+                Excelsior!

+

+    “Try not the pass!” the old man said;

+    “Dark lowers the tempest overhead!

+    The roaring torrent is deep and wide!”

+    And loud that clarion voice replied,

+                Excelsior!

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    “Oh! stay,” the maiden said, “and rest

+    Thy weary head upon this breast!”

+    A tear stood in his bright blue eye;

+    But still he answered, with a sigh,

+                Excelsior!

+

+    “Beware the pine-tree’s withered branch!

+    Beware the awful avalanche!”

+    This was the peasant’s last good-night.

+    A voice replied, far up the height,

+                Excelsior!

+

+    At break of day, as heavenward

+    The pious monks of St. Bernard

+    Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,

+    A voice cried, through the startled air,

+                Excelsior!

+

+    A traveller by the faithful hound,

+    Half buried in the snow, was found,

+    Still grasping in his hand of ice

+    The banner with the strange device,

+                Excelsior!

+

+    There, in the twilight cold and gray,

+    Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay;

+    And from the sky, serene and far,

+    A voice fell, like a falling star,--

+                Excelsior!

+

+

+    THE SOLDIER.

+

+    For gold the merchant ploughs the main,

+      The farmer ploughs the manor;

+    But glory is the soldier’s prize,

+      The soldier’s wealth is honor.

+    The brave poor soldier ne’er despise;

+      Nor count him as a stranger;

+    Remember, he’s his country’s stay

+      In day and hour o’ danger.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    JOHN MAYNARD.

+

+    ’Twas on Lake Erie’s broad expanse,

+      One bright midsummer day,

+    The gallant steamer, Ocean Queen,

+      Swept proudly on her way.

+    Bright faces clustered on the deck,

+      Or, leaning o’er the side,

+    Watched carelessly the feathery foam

+      That flecked the rippling tide.

+

+    A seaman sought the captain’s side,

+      A moment whispered low:

+    The captain’s swarthy face grew pale;

+      He hurried down below.

+    Alas, too late! Though quick and sharp

+      And clear his orders came,

+    No human efforts could avail

+      To quench th’ insidious flame.

+

+    The bad news quickly reached the deck,

+      It sped from lip to lip,

+    And ghastly faces everywhere

+      Looked from the doomed ship.

+    “Is there no hope, no chance of life?”

+      A hundred lips implore.

+    “But one,” the captain made reply;

+      “To run the ship on shore.”

+

+    A sailor whose heroic soul

+      That hour should yet reveal,

+    By name John Maynard, Eastern born,

+      Stood calmly at the wheel.

+    “Head her southeast!” the captain shouts,

+      Above the smothered roar,--

+    “Head her southeast without delay!

+      Make for the nearest shore!”

+

+    John Maynard watched the nearing flames,

+      But still, with steady hand,

+    He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly

+      He steered the ship to land.

+    “John Maynard, can you still hold out?”

+      He heard the captain cry.

+    A voice from out the stifling smoke

+      Faintly responds, “Ay, ay!”

+

+    But half a mile! A hundred hands

+      Stretch eagerly to shore.

+    But half a mile! That distance sped,

+      Peril shall all be o’er.

+    But half a mile! Yet stay! The flames

+      No longer slowly creep,

+    But gather round the helmsman bold

+      With fierce, impetuous sweep.

+

+    “John Maynard,” with an anxious voice,

+      The captain cries once more,

+    “Stand by the wheel five minutes yet,

+      And we will reach the shore.”

+    Through flames and smoke that dauntless heart

+      Responded firmly still,

+    Unawed, though face to face with death,

+      “With God’s good help, I will!”

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    The flames approach with giant strides,

+      They scorch his hands and brow;

+    One arm disabled seeks his side:

+      Ah, he is conquered now!

+    But no; his teeth are firmly set,

+      He crushes down his pain;

+    His knee upon the stanchion pressed,

+      He guides the ship again.

+

+    One moment yet, one moment yet!

+      Brave heart, thy task is o’er!

+    The pebbles grate beneath the keel,

+      The steamer touches shore.

+    Three hundred grateful voices rise

+      In praise to God, that He

+    Hath saved them from the fearful fire

+      And from th’ ingulfing sea.

+

+    But where is he, that helmsman bold?

+      The captain saw him reel;

+    His nerveless hands released their task,

+      He sank beside the wheel.

+    The wave received his lifeless corpse,

+      Blackened with smoke and fire.

+    God rest him! Never hero had

+      A nobler funeral pyre.

+

+

+    EXCALIBUR.

+

+    Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:

+    “The sequel of to-day unsolders all

+    The goodliest fellowship of famous knights

+    Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep

+    They sleep,--the men I loved. I think that we

+    Shall never more, at any future time,

+    Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,

+    Walking about the gardens and the halls

+    Of Camelot, as in the days that were.

+    I perish by this people which I made,--

+    Though Merlin swear that I should come again

+    To rule once more; but let what will be, be:

+    I am so deeply smitten through the helm

+    That without help I cannot last till morn.

+    Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,

+    Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how

+    In those old days, one summer noon, an arm

+    Rose up from out the bosom of the lake,

+    Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

+    Holding the sword; and how I rowed across

+    And took it, and have worn it, like a king:

+    And, wheresoever I am sung or told

+    In after-time, this also shall be known:

+    But now delay not: take Excalibur,

+    And fling him far into the middle mere.

+    Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word.”

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,

+    And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged

+    Among the bulrush beds, and clutched the sword,

+    And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand

+    Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon,

+    And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch,

+    Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,

+    Seen where the moving isles of winter shock

+    By night, with noises of the northern sea.

+    So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur:

+    But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm

+    Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

+    And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him

+    Three times, and drew him under in the mere.

+    And lightly went the other to the king.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE DEATH OF ARTHUR.

+

+    Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge,

+    Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern,

+    Beneath them; and descending they were ware

+    That all the decks were dense with stately forms

+    Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream; by these

+    Three Queens with crowns of gold, and from them rose

+    A cry that shivered to the tingling stars,

+    And, as it were one voice, an agony

+    Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills

+    All night in a waste land, where no one comes,

+    Or hath come since the making of the world.

+

+    Then murmured Arthur, “Place me in the barge.”

+    So to the barge they came. There those three Queens

+    Put forth their hands, and took the king, and wept.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    And slowly answered Arthur from the barge:

+    “The old order changeth, yielding place to new,

+    And God fulfils himself in many ways,

+    Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

+    Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?

+    I have lived my life, and that which I have done

+    May He within himself make pure! but thou,

+    If thou shouldst never see my face again,

+    Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer

+    Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice

+    Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

+    For what are men better than sheep or goats

+    That nourish a blind life within the brain,

+    If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer

+    Both for themselves and those who call them friend?

+    For so the whole round earth is every way

+    Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.

+    But now farewell. I am going a long way

+    With these thou seest--if indeed I go--

+    (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)

+    To the island-valley of Avilion,

+    Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,

+    Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies

+    Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns

+    And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea,

+    Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.”

+

+    So said he, and the barge with oar and sail

+    Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan

+    That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,

+    Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood

+    With swarthy webs.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.

+

+    A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

+      A wind that follows fast,

+    And fills the white and rustling sail,

+      And bends the gallant mast.

+    And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

+      While, like the eagle free,

+    Away the good ship flies, and leaves

+      Old England on the lee.

+

+    O, for a soft and gentle wind!

+      I heard a fair one cry;

+    But give to me the swelling breeze,

+      And white waves heaving high.

+    The white waves heaving high, my lads,

+      The good ship tight and free,--

+    The world of waters is our home,

+      And merry men are we.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE LEAP OF CURTIUS.

+

+    Within Rome’s forum, suddenly, a wide gap opened in a night,

+    Astounding those who gazed on it,--a strange, terrific sight.

+    In Senate all their sages met, and, seated in their chairs of state,

+    Their faces blanched with deadly fear, debated long and late.

+

+    A sign inimical to Rome, they deemed it,--a prognostic dire,

+    A visitation from the gods, in token of their ire.

+    Yet how to have their minds resolved, how ascertain in this

+          their need,

+    Beyond the shadow of a doubt, if thus it were indeed?

+

+    In silence brooded they awhile, unbroken by a single word,

+    While from the capital without the lightest sounds were heard.

+    Then rose the eldest magistrate, a tall old man, with locks

+          like snow,

+    Straight as a dart, and with an eye that oft had quelled the foe.

+

+    And thus, with ripe, sonorous voice, no note or tone of which

+          did shake,

+    Or indicate the wear of time, the aged Nestor spake:

+    “Fathers, the Oracle is nigh: to it then let us promptly send,

+    And at the shrine inquire what this dread marvel doth portend.

+

+    “And if to Rome it augurs ill, then ask we, ere it be too late,

+    How we may best avert the doom, and save the sacred state.--

+    That state to every Roman dear, as dear as brother, friend, or wife,

+    For which each true-born son would give, if needful, even life.

+

+    “For what, O fathers! what were life apart from altar, hearth,

+          and home?

+    Yea, is not all our highest good bound up with that of Rome?

+    And now adjourn we for a space, till three full days have

+          circled round,

+    And on the morning of the fourth, let each one here be found.”

+

+    Then gat they up, and gloomily for such short interval did part,

+    For they were Romans stanch and tried, and sad was every heart.

+    The fourth day dawned, and when they met, the Oracle’s response

+          was known:

+    Something most precious in the chasm to close it must be thrown.

+

+    But if _un_closed it shall remain, thereon shall follow

+          Rome’s decay,

+    And all the splendor of her state shall pale and pass away.

+    Something most precious! What the gift that may prevent the

+          pending fate,

+    What costly offering will the gods indeed propitiate?

+

+    While this they pondered, lo! a sound of footsteps fell on

+          every ear,

+    And in their midst a Roman youth did presently appear.

+    Apollo’s brow, a mien like Mars, in Beauty’s mould he seemed

+          new-made,

+    As on his golden hair the sun with dazzling dalliance played.

+

+    ’Tis Marcus Curtius! Purer blood none there could boast, and none

+          more brave:

+    There stands the youthful patriot, come, a Roman, Rome to save.

+    His own young life, he offers that, yea, volunteers _himself_

+          to throw

+    Within the cleft to make it close, and stay the heavy woe.

+

+    And now on horseback, fully armed, behold him, for the hour

+          hath come.

+    The Roman guards keep watch and ward, and beats the muffled drum.

+    The consuls, proctors, soothsayers, within the forum group around,

+    Young Curtius in the saddle sits,--there yawns the severed ground.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    Each pulse is stayed. He lifts his helm, and bares his forehead

+          to the sky,

+    And to the broad, blue heaven above upturns his flashing eye.

+    “O Rome, O country best beloved, thou land in which I first

+          drew breath,

+    I render back the life thou gav’st, to rescue _thee_

+          from death!”

+

+    Then spurring on his gallant steed, a last and brief farewell

+          he said,

+    And leapt within the gaping gulf, _which closed above his head_.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    THE RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX.

+

+    I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;

+    I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three.

+    “Good speed!” cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;

+    “Speed!” echoed the wall to us galloping through.

+    Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,

+    And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

+

+    Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace

+    Neck by neck, stride for stride, never changing our place.

+    I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,

+    Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,

+    Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,

+    Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

+

+    ’Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near

+    Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;

+    At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;

+    At Düffield, ’twas morning, as plain as could be;

+    And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,

+    So Joris broke the silence with, “Yet there is time!”

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    At Aorschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,

+    And against him the cattle stood black every one.

+    To stare through the mist at us galloping past,

+    And I saw my stout galloper Roland, at last,

+    With resolute shoulders, each butting away

+    The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.

+

+    And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back

+    For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;

+    And one eye’s black intelligence, ever that glance

+    O’er its white edge at me, his own master, askance;

+    And the thick, heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon

+    His fierce lips shook upwards on galloping on.

+

+    By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, “Stay spur!

+    Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault’s not in her.

+    We’ll remember at Aix!”--for one heard the quick wheeze

+    Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,

+    And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

+    As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

+

+    So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

+    Past Looz and past Tongrés, no cloud in the sky;

+    The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,

+    ’Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff,

+    Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,

+    And, “Gallop,” gasped Joris, “for Aix is in sight!”

+

+    “How they’ll greet us!” And all in a moment his roan

+    Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;

+    And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight

+    Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,

+    With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim

+    And with circles of red for his eye-sockets’ rim.

+

+    Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,

+    Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,

+    Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

+    Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer;

+    Clapped my hands, laughed and sang,--any noise, bad or good,

+    Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

+

+    And all I remember is friends flocking around

+    As I sat with his head ’twixt my knees on the ground,

+    And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,

+    As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,

+    Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)

+    Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+

+    A YARN.

+

+    “’Tis Saturday night, and our watch below.

+    What heed we, boys, how the breezes blow,

+    While our cans are brimmed with the sparkling flow?

+    Come, Jack, uncoil, as we pass the grog,

+    And spin us a yarn from memory’s log.”

+

+    Jack’s brawny chest like the broad sea heaved,

+    While his loving lip to the beaker cleaved;

+    And he drew his tarred and well-saved sleeve

+    Across his mouth, as he drained the can,

+    And thus to his listening mates began:--

+

+    “When I sailed, a boy, in the schooner Mike,

+    No bigger, I trow, than a marlinespike--

+    But I’ve told ye the tale ere now, belike?”

+    “Go on!” each voice re-echoed,

+    And the tar thrice hemmed, and thus he said:--

+

+    “A stanch-built craft as the waves e’er bore--

+    We had loosed our sail for home once more,

+    Freighted full deep from Labrador,

+    When a cloud one night rose on our lee,

+    That the heart of the stoutest quailed to see.

+

+    “And voices wild with the winds were blent,

+    As our bark her prow to the waters bent;

+    And the seamen muttered their discontent--

+    Muttered and nodded ominously--

+    But the mate, right carelessly whistled he.

+

+    “‘Our bark may never outride the gale.

+    ’Tis a pitiless night! The pattering hail

+    Hath coated each spar as ’twere in mail;

+    And our sails are riven before the breeze,

+    While our cordage and shrouds into icicles freeze!’

+

+    “Thus spake the skipper beside the mast,

+    While the arrowy sleet fell thick and fast;

+    And our bark drove onward before the blast

+    That goaded the waves, till the angry main

+    Rose up and strove with the hurricane.

+

+    “Up spake the mate, and his tone was gay,--

+    ‘Shall we at this hour to fear give way?

+    We must labor, in sooth, as well as pray.

+    Out, shipmates, and grapple home yonder sail,

+    That flutters in ribbons before the gale!’

+

+    “Loud swelled the tempest, and rose the shriek,

+    ‘Save, save! we are sinking! A leak! a leak!’

+    And the hale old skipper’s tawny cheek

+    Was cold, as ’twere sculptured in marble there,

+    And white as the foam or his own white hair.

+

+    [Illustration]

+

+    “The wind piped shrilly, the wind piped loud,

+    It shrieked ’mong the cordage, it howled in the shroud,

+    And the sleet fell thick from the cold, dun cloud;

+    But high over all, in tones of glee,

+    The voice of the mate rang cheerily,--

+

+    “Now, men, for your wives’ and your sweethearts’ sakes!

+    Cheer, messmates, cheer! Quick! man the brakes!

+    We’ll gain on the leak ere the skipper wakes;

+    And though our peril your hearts appall,

+    Ere dawns the morrow we’ll laugh at the squall.”

+

+    “He railed at the tempest, he laughed at its threats,

+    He played with his fingers like castanets;

+    Yet think not that he, in his mirth, forgets

+    That the plank he is riding this hour at sea

+    May launch him the next to eternity!

+

+    “The white-haired skipper turned away,

+    And lifted his hands, as it were to pray;

+    But his look spoke plainly as look could say,

+    The boastful thought of the Pharisee,--

+    ‘Thank God, I’m not hardened as others be!’

+

+    “But the morning dawned, and the waves sank low,

+    And the winds, o’erwearied, forebore to blow:

+    And our bark lay there in the golden glow.--

+    Flashing she lay in the bright sunshine,

+    _An ice-sheathed hulk_ on the cold, still brine.

+

+    “Well, shipmates, my yarn is almost spun--

+    The cold and the tempest their work had done,

+    And I was the last, lone, living one,

+    Clinging, benumbed, to that wave-girt wreck,

+    While the dead around me bestrewed the deck.

+

+    “Yea, the dead were round me everywhere!

+    The skipper gray, in the sunlight there,

+    Still lifted his paralyzed hands in prayer;

+    And the mate, whose tones through the darkness leapt,

+    In the silent hush of the morning slept.

+

+    “Oh, bravely he perished who sought to save

+    Our storm-tossed bark from the pitiless wave,

+    And her crew from a yawning and fathomless grave,

+    Crying, Messmates, cheer!’ with a bright, glad smile,

+    And praying, ‘Be merciful, God!’ the while.

+

+    “True to his trust, to his last chill gasp,

+    The helm lay clutched in his stiff, cold grasp:

+    You might scarcely in death undo the clasp;

+    And his crisp, brown locks were dank and thin,

+    And the icicles hung from his bearded chin.

+

+    “My timbers have weathered, since, many a gale;

+    And when life’s tempests this hulk assail,

+    And the binnacle-lamp in my breast burns pale,

+    ‘Cheer, messmates, cheer!’ to my heart I say,

+    ‘We must labor, in sooth, as well as pray.’”

+

+

+

+

+

+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballads of Bravery, by Various

+

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+<pre>

+

+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballads of Bravery, by Various

+

+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most

+other parts of the world 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.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have

+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.

+

+

+

+Title: Ballads of Bravery

+

+Author: Various

+

+Editor: George Melville Baker

+

+Release Date: September 26, 2016 [EBook #53148]

+

+Language: English

+

+Character set encoding: UTF-8

+

+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS OF BRAVERY ***

+

+

+

+

+Produced by David Edwards, Paul Marshall and the Online

+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This

+file was produced from images generously made available

+by The Internet Archive)

+

+

+

+

+

+

+</pre>

+

+

+<p class="covernote center space-below3">The cover image was created by the transcriber, and is in the public domain.</p>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="Frontispiece" width="500" height="702" />

+</div>

+

+<h1><span class="smcap">Ballads of Bravery.</span></h1>

+

+<p class="center">EDITED BY<br />GEORGE M. BAKER.<br />WITH<br />FORTY FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.</p>

+

+<p class="center">BOSTON:<br />LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.<br />1877.</p>

+

+<p class="center">COPYRIGHT.<br />LEE AND SHEPARD.<br />1877.

+BOSTON:<br />ELECTROTYPED BY ALFRED MUDGE AND SON,<br />SCHOOL STREET.</p>

+

+<p class="center">UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE:<br />WELCH, BIGELOW, &amp; CO.</p>

+

+<hr class="chap" />

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/title2.jpg" alt="Ballads of Bravery." width="500" height="150" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/contents.jpg" alt="Contents." width="600" height="567" />

+</div>

+

+<table  class="space-above3 space-below3" border="0" cellspacing="2" summary="Table of Contents." cellpadding="2">

+  <tbody><tr>

+      <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>

+      <td class="tdr"><small>PAGE.</small></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">Curfew Must Not Ring To-Night.</span>”</td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_13">&nbsp;13</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Glove and the Lions.</span>&mdash;<i>Leigh Hunt</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_18">&nbsp;18</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Young Hero.</span></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_21">&nbsp;21</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Beggar Maid.</span>&mdash;<i>Tennyson</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_26">&nbsp;26</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Bunker Hill.</span>&mdash;<i>G. H. Calvert</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_29">&nbsp;29</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fastening the Buckle.</span>&mdash;<i>Samuel Burnham</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_34">&nbsp;34</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Hervé Riel.</span>&mdash;<i>Robert Browning</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_37">&nbsp;37</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Battle of Lexington.</span>&mdash;<i>Geo. W. Bungay</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_46">&nbsp;46</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Brave at Home.</span>&mdash;<i>T. Buchanan Read</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_50">&nbsp;50</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Kane.</span>&mdash;<i>Fitz James O’Brien</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_53">&nbsp;53</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Life-Boat.</span>&mdash;<i>Alice M. Adams</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_58">&nbsp;58</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Red Jacket.</span>&mdash;<i>George M. Baker</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_61">&nbsp;61</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Othello’s Story of His Life.</span>&mdash;<i>Shakspeare</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_66">&nbsp;66</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Blacksmith of Ragenbach.</span>&mdash;<i>Frank Marry</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_70">&nbsp;70</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Marmion and Douglas.</span>&mdash;<i>Scott</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_75">&nbsp;75</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Loss of the Hornet.</span></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_80">&nbsp;80</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Man the Life-Boat.</span>&mdash;<i>Anon.</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_84">&nbsp;84</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sir Galahad.</span>&mdash;<i>Tennyson</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_87">&nbsp;87</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">King Canute and His Nobles.</span>&mdash;<i>Dr. Walcott</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_92">&nbsp;92</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Outward Bound.</span>&mdash;<i>Anon.</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_96">&nbsp;96</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Brides of Venice.</span>&mdash;<i>Samuel Rogers</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_99">&nbsp;99</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Landing of the Pilgrims.</span>&mdash;<i>Mrs. Hemans</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Days of Chivalry.</span>&mdash;<i>Anon.</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Song of the Camp.</span>&mdash;<i>Anon.</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Recantation of Galileo.</span>&mdash;<i>F. E. Raleigh</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Belshazzar.</span>-<i>-Trans. from Heine</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Liberty</span>.&mdash;<i>From William Tell. By J. Sheridan Knowles</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Fishermen.</span>&mdash;<i>Whittier</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Excelsior.</span>&mdash;<i>Longfellow</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Soldier.</span>&mdash;<i>Robert Burns</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">John Maynard.</span></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_143">143</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Excalibur.</span>&mdash;<i>Tennyson</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Death of Arthur.</span>&mdash;<i>Tennyson</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.</span>&mdash;<i>Allan Cunningham</i>&nbsp;&emsp;&nbsp;</td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Leap of Curtius.</span>&mdash;<i>Geo. Aspinall</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Ride from Ghent to Aix.</span></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td>

+    </tr><tr>

+      <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Yarn.</span>&mdash;<i>Mary Howitt.</i></td>

+      <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td>

+    </tr>

+ </tbody>

+</table>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_1.jpg" alt="_" width="300" height="244" />

+</div>

+

+<hr class="chap" />

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/title.jpg" alt="Ballads of Bravery." width="500" height="94" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>

+

+    <h2>“<span class="smcap">Curfew must not ring To-night</span>.”</h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p013.jpg" alt="Ballads of Bravery." width="500" height="55" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_e.jpg" width="50" height="68" alt="E" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d drop-cap">ENGLAND’S sun, bright setting o’er the hills so far away,</span>

+<span class="i5">Filled the land with misty beauty at the close of one sad day;</span>

+<span class="i0">And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i1">He with step so slow and weary; she with sunny, floating hair;</span>

+<span class="i1">He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful; she, with lips so cold and white,</span>

+<span class="i1">Struggled to keep back the murmur, “Curfew must not ring to-night.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Sexton,” Bessie’s white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old,</span>

+<span class="i0">With its walls so tall and gloomy, walls so dark and damp and cold,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">“I’ve a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die</span>

+<span class="i0">At the ringing of the curfew; and no earthly help is nigh.</span>

+<span class="i0">Cromwell will not come till sunset,” and her face grew strangely white,</span>

+<span class="i0">As she spoke in husky whispers, “Curfew must not ring to-night.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Bessie,” calmly spoke the sexton (every word pierced her young heart</span>

+<span class="i0">Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly poisoned dart),</span>

+<span class="i0">“Long, long years I’ve rung the curfew from that gloomy, shadowed tower;</span>

+<span class="i0">Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour.</span>

+<span class="i0">I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right:</span>

+<span class="i0">Now I’m old, I will not miss it. Girl, the curfew rings to-night!”</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow;</span>

+<span class="i0">And within her heart’s deep centre Bessie made a solemn vow.</span>

+<span class="i0">She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">“At the ringing of the curfew Basil Underwood <i>must die</i>.”</span>

+<span class="i0">And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright;</span>

+<span class="i0">One low murmur, scarcely spoken, “Curfew <i>must not</i> ring to-night!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old church-door,</span>

+<span class="i0">Left the old man coming slowly, paths he’d trod so oft before.</span>

+<span class="i0">Not one moment paused the maiden, but, with cheek and brow aglow,</span>

+<span class="i0">Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro;</span>

+<span class="i0">Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of light,</span>

+<span class="i0">Upward still, her pale lips saying, “Curfew <i>shall not</i> ring to-night!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">She has reached the topmost ladder; o’er her hangs the great, dark bell,</span>

+<span class="i0">And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell.</span>

+<span class="i0">See! the ponderous tongue is swinging; ’tis the hour of curfew now,</span>

+<span class="i0">And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath, and paled her brow.</span>

+<span class="i0">Shall she let it ring? No, never! Her eyes flash with sudden light,</span>

+<span class="i0">As she springs, and grasps it firmly: “Curfew <i>shall not</i> ring to-night!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Out she swung,&mdash;far out. The city seemed a tiny speck below,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">There ’twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to and fro;</span>

+<span class="i0">And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the bell),</span>

+<span class="i0">And he thought the twilight curfew rang young Basil’s funeral knell.</span>

+<span class="i0">Still the maiden, clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and white,</span>

+<span class="i0 space-below3">Stilled her frightened heart’s wild beating: <i>“Curfew shall not ring to-night!”</i></span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p015.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="642" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p>

+<p><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">It was o’er, the bell ceased swaying; and the maiden stepped once more</span>

+<span class="i0">Firmly on the damp old ladder, where, for hundred years before,</span>

+<span class="i0">Human foot had not been planted; and what she this night had done</span>

+<span class="i0">Should be told long ages after. As the rays of setting sun</span>

+<span class="i0">Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires, with heads of white,</span>

+<span class="i0">Tell the children why the curfew did not ring that one sad night.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">O’er the distant hills came Cromwell. Bessie saw him; and her brow,</span>

+<span class="i0">Lately white with sickening horror, glows with sudden beauty now.</span>

+<span class="i0">At his feet she told her story, showed her hands, all bruised and torn;</span>

+<span class="i0">And her sweet young face, so haggard, with a look so sad and worn,</span>

+<span class="i0">Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light.</span>

+<span class="i0 space-below3">“Go! your lover lives,” cried Cromwell. “Curfew shall not ring to-night!”</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_1.jpg" alt="_" width="300" height="244" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p>

+    <h2><span class="smcap">The Glove and the Lions.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p018.jpg" alt="The Glove and the Lion." width="600" height="71" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_k.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="E" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d drop-cap">KING FRANCIS was a hearty king and loved a royal sport,</span>

+<span class="i6">And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court.</span>

+<span class="i0">The nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in their pride,</span>

+<span class="i0">And ’mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed.</span>

+<span class="i0">And truly ’twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.</span>

+<span class="i0">Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;</span>

+<span class="i0">They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws;</span>

+<span class="i0">With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another,</span>

+<span class="i0">Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunderous smother;</span>

+<span class="i0">The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air.</span>

+<span class="i0">Said Francis then, “Faith, gentlemen, we’re better here than there.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">De Lorge’s love o’erheard the king,&mdash;a beauteous, lively dame,</span>

+<span class="i0">With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same;</span>

+<span class="i0">She thought, “The count, my lover, is brave as brave can be,</span>

+<span class="i0">He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me.</span>

+<span class="i0">King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine;</span>

+<span class="i0">I’ll drop my glove to prove his love. Great glory will be mine!”</span>

+<span class="i0">She dropped her glove to prove his love, then looked on him and smiled;</span>

+<span class="i0">He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild.</span>

+<span class="i0">The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place;</span>

+<span class="i0">Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady’s face.</span>

+<span class="i0">“By Heaven!” said Francis, “rightly done!” rising from where he sat.</span>

+<span class="i0">“No love,” quoth he, “but vanity, sets love a task like that.”</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p019.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="629" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p>

+<p><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">A Young Hero.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p021.jpg" alt="A Young Hero." width="500" height="108" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_o.jpg" width="50" height="68" alt="O" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d drop-cap">ON Labrador, like coils of flame</span>

+<span class="i6">That clasp the walls of blazing town,</span>

+<span class="i0">The long, resistless billows came,</span>

+<span class="i2">And swept the craggy headlands down;</span>

+<span class="i0">Till ploughing in strong agonies</span>

+<span class="i2">Their furrows deep into the land,</span>

+<span class="i2">They carried rocks, and bars of sand</span>

+<span class="i0">Past farthest margin of old seas,</span>

+<span class="i0">And in their giant fury bore</span>

+<span class="i0">Full thirty crowded craft ashore.</span>

+<span class="i0">That night they pushed the darkness through,</span>

+<span class="i0">O’er rocks where slippery lichens grew,</span>

+<span class="i0">And swamps of slime and melted snow,</span>

+<span class="i0">And torrents filled to overflow,</span>

+<span class="i0">Through pathless wilds, in showers and wind,</span>

+<span class="i0">Where woe to him who lags behind!</span>

+<span class="i0">Where children slipped in ooze, and lay</span>

+<span class="i0">Half frozen, buried half in clay;</span>

+<span class="i0">Young mothers, with their babes at breast,</span>

+<span class="i0">In chilly stupor dropped to rest.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">A sailor lad of years fourteen</span>

+<span class="i2">Had chanced, as by the waters thrown,</span>

+<span class="i2">On four that made sad cry and moan</span>

+<span class="i0">For parents they had lost between</span>

+<span class="i2">The wreck and shore, or haply missed.</span>

+<span class="i2">Cheerly and kind their cheeks he kissed,</span>

+<span class="i0">And folded each in other’s arm.</span>

+<span class="i2">Upon a sloping mound of moss</span>

+<span class="i2">He dragged a heavy sail across,</span>

+<span class="i0">Close-pinned with bowlders, rough yet warm;</span>

+<span class="i2">And packing it with mosses tight,</span>

+<span class="i2">Kept steadfast watch the livelong night,</span>

+<span class="i0">Nor dared depart, lest e’er again</span>

+<span class="i2">Was found this treasure he had hid,</span>

+<span class="i2">Some sudden treacherous gust had slid</span>

+<span class="i0">Beneath that rugged counterpane.</span>

+<span class="i2">He knew not name or face of one.</span>

+<span class="i2">He saved them. It was nobly done.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Day dawned at last. The storm had lulled;</span>

+<span class="i2">And these were happy, sleeping yet.</span>

+<span class="i0">A few fresh hands of moss he pulled,</span>

+<span class="i0">Then traced with trembling steps the track</span>

+<span class="i2">Of many footprints deeply set;</span>

+<span class="i2">And pressing forward, early met</span>

+<span class="i0">These children’s parents hasting back,</span>

+<span class="i2">And filled their hearts with boundless joy,</span>

+<span class="i0">As with blanched lips and chattering teeth</span>

+<span class="i2">He told them of his night’s employ;</span>

+<span class="i2">Feigned, too, he was not much distressed,</span>

+<span class="i0">Although his dying heart, beneath</span>

+<span class="i2">His icy-frozen shirt and vest,</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p023.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="698" />

+</div>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Beat faint. They went; and o’er his eyes</span>

+<span class="i0">A gathering film beclouded light;</span>

+<span class="i2">And music murmured in his brain,</span>

+<span class="i2">Such respite sang from toil and strain</span>

+<span class="i0">That all his senses, wearied quite,</span>

+<span class="i2">Were lapped to slumber, lulling pain;</span>

+<span class="i0">Whilst soothing visions seemed to rise,</span>

+<span class="i2">That brought him scenes of other times,</span>

+<span class="i0">With cherub faces, beaming bright,</span>

+<span class="i2">Of many children, and the rhymes</span>

+<span class="i0">His mother taught him on her knee,</span>

+<span class="i0">In happy days of infancy.</span>

+<span class="i0">Then gentlest forms, with rustling wings,</span>

+<span class="i2">Were wafting him a world of ease</span>

+<span class="i2">Beneath those downy canopies,</span>

+<span class="i0">Wherewith they shut out angry skies;</span>

+<span class="i0">And they with winning beckonings&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Who looked so sweet and saintly wise&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">His buoyant spirit drew afar</span>

+<span class="i2">From creaking timbers, shivering sails,</span>

+<span class="i2">And ships that strain in autumn gales,</span>

+<span class="i2">And snow-mixed rains, and sleeting hails,</span>

+<span class="i0">And wind and waves at endless war.</span>

+<span class="i0">Oh! who will e’er forget the day,</span>

+<span class="i2">The bitter tears, the voiceless prayer,</span>

+<span class="i0">The thoughts of grief we could not say,</span>

+<span class="i0">The shallow graves within the bay,</span>

+<span class="i2">The fifteen dear ones buried there,</span>

+<span class="i0">The grown, the young, who, side by side,</span>

+<span class="i2">Without or coffin, shroud, or priest,</span>

+<span class="i2">Were laid; and him we mourned not least,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">The boy that had so bravely died!</span>

+</div></div></div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p>

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Beggar Maid.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p026.jpg" alt="The Beggar Maid." width="500" height="83" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_h.jpg" width="40" height="64" alt="H" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d drop-cap">HER arms across her breast she laid;</span>

+<span class="i8">She was more fair than words can say;</span>

+<span class="i4">Barefooted came the beggar maid</span>

+<span class="i6">Before the king Cophetua.</span>

+<span class="i0">In robe and crown the king stept down</span>

+<span class="i2">To meet and greet her on her way.</span>

+<span class="i0">“It is no wonder,” said the lords,</span>

+<span class="i2">“She is more beautiful than day.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">As shines the moon in clouded skies,</span>

+<span class="i2">She in her poor attire was seen;</span>

+<span class="i0">One praised her ankles, one her eyes,</span>

+<span class="i2">One her dark hair and lovesome mien.</span>

+<span class="i0">So sweet a face, such angel grace,</span>

+<span class="i2">In all that land had never been;</span>

+<span class="i0">Cophetua sware a royal oath,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i2">“This beggar maid shall be my queen.”</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p027.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="657" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Bunker Hill.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p029.jpg" alt="Bunker Hill." width="400" height="88" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_n.jpg" width="50" height="59" alt="N" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">NOT yet, not yet! Steady, steady!”</span>

+<span class="i6">On came the foe in even line,</span>

+<span class="i6">Nearer and nearer to thrice paces nine.</span>

+<span class="i0">We looked into their eyes. “Ready!”</span>

+<span class="i0">A sheet of flame, a roll of death!</span>

+<span class="i0">They fell by scores: we held our breath.</span>

+<span class="i2">Then nearer still they came.</span>

+<span class="i2">Another sheet of flame,</span>

+<span class="i0">And brave men fled who never fled before.</span>

+<span class="i2">Immortal fight!</span>

+<span class="i2">Foreshadowing flight</span>

+<span class="i0">Back to the astounded shore.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i2">Quickly they rallied, re-enforced,</span>

+<span class="i0">’Mid louder roar of ships’ artillery,</span>

+<span class="i0">And bursting bombs and whistling musketry,</span>

+<span class="i4">And shouts and groans anear, afar,</span>

+<span class="i4">All the new din of dreadful war.</span>

+<span class="i2">Through their broad bosoms calmly coursed</span>

+<span class="i4">The blood of those stout farmers, aiming</span>

+<span class="i4">For freedom, manhood’s birthright claiming.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">Onward once more they came.</span>

+<span class="i0">Another sheet of deathful flame!</span>

+<span class="i2">Another and another still!</span>

+<span class="i0">They broke, they fled,</span>

+<span class="i0">Again they sped</span>

+<span class="i2">Down the green, bloody hill.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Howe, Burgoyne, Clinton, Gage,</span>

+<span class="i0">Stormed with commanders’ rage.</span>

+<span class="i0">Into each emptied barge</span>

+<span class="i0">They crowd fresh men for a new charge</span>

+<span class="i0">Up that great hill.</span>

+<span class="i0">Again their gallant blood we spill.</span>

+<span class="i0">That volley was the last:</span>

+<span class="i2">Our powder failed.</span>

+<span class="i0">On three sides fast</span>

+<span class="i2">The foe pressed in, nor quailed</span>

+<span class="i0">A man. Their barrels empty, with musket-stocks</span>

+<span class="i0">They fought, and gave death-dealing knocks,</span>

+<span class="i0">Till Prescott ordered the retreat.</span>

+<span class="i0">Then Warren fell; and through a leaden sleet</span>

+<span class="i0">From Bunker Hill and Breed,</span>

+<span class="i0">Stark, Putnam, Pomeroy, Knowlton, Read,</span>

+<span class="i0">Led off the remnant of those heroes true,</span>

+<span class="i0">The foe too weakened to pursue.</span>

+<span class="i0">The ground they gained; but we</span>

+<span class="i6">The victory.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p031.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="389" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">The tidings of that chosen band</span>

+<span class="i2">Flowed in a wave of power</span>

+<span class="i0">Over the shaken, anxious land,</span>

+<span class="i2">To men, to man, a sudden dower.</span>

+<span class="i0">History took a fresh, higher start</span>

+<span class="i2">From that stanch, beaming hour;</span>

+<span class="i0">And when the speeding messenger, that bare</span>

+<span class="i0">The news that strengthened every heart,</span>

+<span class="i0">Met near the Delaware</span>

+<span class="i0">The leader, who had just been named,</span>

+<span class="i0">Who was to be so famed,</span>

+<span class="i2">The steadfast, earnest Washington,</span>

+<span class="i0">With hands uplifted, cries,</span>

+<span class="i0">His great soul flashing to his eyes,</span>

+<span class="i2">“Our liberties are safe! The cause is won!”</span>

+<span class="i0">A thankful look he cast to heaven, and then</span>

+<span class="i0 space-below3">His steed he spurred, in haste to lead such noble men.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_2.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="108" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Fastening the Buckle.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p034.jpg" alt="Fastening the Buckle." width="500" height="75" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_s.jpg" width="50" height="62" alt="S" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">STAND still, my steed, though the foe &nbsp;&nbsp;is&nbsp;near,</span>

+<span class="i6">And sharp the rattle of hoofs on the hill.</span>

+<span class="i0">And see! there’s the glitter of many a spear,</span>

+<span class="i2">And a wrathful shout that bodes us ill.</span>

+<span class="i0">Stand still! Our way is weary and long,</span>

+<span class="i2">And muscle and foot are put to the test.</span>

+<span class="i0">Buckle and girth must be tightened and strong;</span>

+<span class="i2">And rider and horse are far from rest.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">A moment more, and then we’ll skim</span>

+<span class="i2">Like a driving cloud o’er hill and plain;</span>

+<span class="i0">The vision of horseman will slowly dim,</span>

+<span class="i2">And pursuer seek the pursued in vain.</span>

+<span class="i0">Ha! stirrup is strong and girth is tight!</span>

+<span class="i2">One bound to the saddle, and off we go.</span>

+<span class="i0">I count their spears as they glisten bright</span>

+<span class="i2">In the ruddy beams of the sunset glow.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">’Tis life or death; but we’re fresh and strong,</span>

+<span class="i2">And buckle and girth are fastened tight.</span>

+<span class="i0">The race is hard and the way is long,</span>

+<span class="i2">But we’ll win as twilight fades into night.</span>

+<span class="i0">Hurrah for rider and horse to-day,</span>

+<span class="i2">For buckle and saddle fastened tight!</span>

+<span class="i0">We’ll win! we’re gaining! They drop away!</span>

+<span class="i2">Our haven of rest is full in sight.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p035.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="719" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Hervé Riel.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p037.jpg" alt="Hervé Riel." width="400" height="82" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_o.jpg" width="50" height="68" alt="O" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">ON the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,</span>

+<span class="i6">Did the English fight the French,&mdash;woe to France!</span>

+<span class="i0">And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,</span>

+<span class="i0">Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,</span>

+<span class="i2">Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Rance,</span>

+<span class="i0">With the English fleet in view.</span>

+<span class="i2">’Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase,</span>

+<span class="i0">First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville.</span>

+<span class="i4">Close on him fled, great and small,</span>

+<span class="i4">Twenty-two good ships in all;</span>

+<span class="i4">And they signalled to the place,</span>

+<span class="i4">“Help the winners of a race!</span>

+<span class="i0">Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick,&mdash;or, quicker still,</span>

+<span class="i0">Here’s the English can and will!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on board.</span>

+<span class="i0">“Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?”</span>

+<span class="i6">laughed they.</span>

+<span class="i0">“Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred</span>

+<span class="i6">and scored,</span>

+<span class="i0">Shall the Formidable here, with her twelve and eighty guns,</span>

+<span class="i0">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="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>

+<span class="i8">And with flow at full beside?</span>

+<span class="i8">Now ’tis slackest ebb of tide.</span>

+<span class="i6">Reach the mooring? Rather say,</span>

+<span class="i6">While rock stands or water runs,</span>

+<span class="i6">Not a ship will leave the bay!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i8">Then was called a council straight;</span>

+<span class="i8">Brief and bitter the debate:</span>

+<span class="i0">“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="i8">For a prize to Plymouth Sound?</span>

+<span class="i8">Better run the ships aground!”</span>

+<span class="i8">(Ended Damfreville his speech.)</span>

+<span class="i8">“Not a minute more to wait!</span>

+<span class="i8">Let the captains all and each</span>

+<span class="i0">Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!</span>

+<span class="i8">France must undergo her fate.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i8">“Give the word!” But no such word</span>

+<span class="i8">Was ever spoke or heard;</span>

+<span class="i0">For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these,</span>

+<span class="i0">A captain? A lieutenant? A mate,&mdash;first, second, third?</span>

+<span class="i8">No such man of mark, and meet</span>

+<span class="i8">With his betters to compete,</span>

+<span class="i0">But a simple Breton sailor, pressed by Tourville for the fleet,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">A poor coasting-pilot he, Hervé Riel, the Croisickese.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p039.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="663" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And “What mockery or malice have we here?” cries Hervé Riel.</span>

+<span class="i2">“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>

+<span class="i2">’Twixt the offing here and Greve, where the river disembogues?</span>

+<span class="i0">Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying’s for?</span>

+<span class="i8">Morn and eve, night and day,</span>

+<span class="i8">Have I piloted your bay,</span>

+<span class="i0">Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.</span>

+<span class="i2">Burn the fleet, and ruin France? That were worse than</span>

+<span class="i6">fifty Hogues!</span>

+<span class="i0">Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me, there’s a way!</span>

+<span class="i8">Only let me lead the line,</span>

+<span class="i10">Have the biggest ship to steer,</span>

+<span class="i10">Get this Formidable clear,</span>

+<span class="i8">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="i8">Right to Solidor, past Greve,</span>

+<span class="i10">And there lay them safe and sound;</span>

+<span class="i8">And if one ship misbehave,</span>

+<span class="i10">Keel so much as grate the ground,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Why, I’ve nothing but my life; here’s my head!” cries Hervé Riel.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i8">Not a minute more to wait.</span>

+<span class="i8">“Steer us in, then, small and great!</span>

+<span class="i0">Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!” cried its chief.</span>

+<span class="i8">“Captains, give the sailor place!”</span>

+<span class="i10">He is admiral, in brief.</span>

+<span class="i8">Still the north-wind, by God’s grace.</span>

+<span class="i8">See the noble fellow’s face</span>

+<span class="i8">As the big ship, with a bound,</span>

+<span class="i8">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="i8">See, safe through shoal and rock,</span>

+<span class="i8">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="i10">Not a spar that comes to grief!</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>

+<span class="i8">The peril, see, is past,</span>

+<span class="i8">All are harbored to the last;</span>

+<span class="i0">And just as Hervé Riel halloos, “Anchor!”&mdash;sure as fate,</span>

+<span class="i8">Up the English come, too late.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i8">So the storm subsides to calm;</span>

+<span class="i10">They see the green trees wave</span>

+<span class="i10">On the heights o’erlooking Greve.</span>

+<span class="i8">Hearts that bled are stanched with balm.</span>

+<span class="i8">“Just our rapture to enhance,</span>

+<span class="i10">Let the English rake the bay,</span>

+<span class="i8">Gnash their teeth and glare askance</span>

+<span class="i10">As they cannonade away!</span>

+<span class="i0">’Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!”</span>

+<span class="i0">How hope succeeds despair on each captain’s countenance!</span>

+<span class="i8">Out burst all with one accord,</span>

+<span class="i10">“This is Paradise for Hell!</span>

+<span class="i10">Let France, let France’s king,</span>

+<span class="i10">Thank the man that did the thing!”</span>

+<span class="i8">What a shout, and all one word,</span>

+<span class="i10">“Hervé Riel!”</span>

+<span class="i8">As he stepped in front once more,</span>

+<span class="i10">Not a symptom of surprise</span>

+<span class="i10">In the frank blue Breton eyes,</span>

+<span class="i8">Just the same man as before.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p043.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="423" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i8">Then said Damfreville, “My friend,</span>

+<span class="i8">I must speak out at the end,</span>

+<span class="i10">Though I find the speaking hard:</span>

+<span class="i8">Praise is deeper than the lips.</span>

+<span class="i8">You have saved the king his ships,</span>

+<span class="i10">You must name your own reward.</span>

+<span class="i8">Faith, our sun was near eclipse!</span>

+<span class="i8">Demand whate’er you will,</span>

+<span class="i8">France remains your debtor still.</span>

+<span class="i0">Ask to heart’s content, and have, or my name’s not Damfreville.”</span>

+<span class="i8">Then a beam of fun outbroke</span>

+<span class="i8">On the bearded mouth that spoke,</span>

+<span class="i8">As the honest heart laughed through</span>

+<span class="i8">Those frank eyes of Breton blue:</span>

+<span class="i10">“Since I needs must say my say,</span>

+<span class="i8">Since on board the duty’s done,</span>

+<span class="i0">And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?</span>

+<span class="i10">Since ’tis ask and have I may,</span>

+<span class="i8">Since the others go ashore,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i10">Come, a good whole holiday!</span>

+<span class="i0">Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!”</span>

+<span class="i0">That he asked, and that he got,&mdash;nothing more.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i8">Name and deed alike are lost;</span>

+<span class="i8">Not a pillar nor a post</span>

+<span class="i0">In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell;</span>

+<span class="i8">Not a head in white and black</span>

+<span class="i8">On a single fishing-smack</span>

+<span class="i0">In memory of the man but for whom had gone to rack</span>

+<span class="i0">All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell.</span>

+<span class="i8">Go to Paris; rank on rank</span>

+<span class="i10">Search the heroes flung pell-mell</span>

+<span class="i8">On the Louvre, face and flank,</span>

+<span class="i0">You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel.</span>

+<span class="i8">So, for better and for worse,</span>

+<span class="i8">Hervé Riel, accept my verse!</span>

+<span class="i0">In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more</span>

+<span class="i0">Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Battle of Lexington.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p046.jpg" alt="The Battle of Lexington." width="500" height="67" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="T" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">The circling century has brought</span>

+<span class="i6">THE day on which our fathers fought</span>

+<span class="i6">For liberty of deed and thought,</span>

+<span class="i10">One hundred years ago!</span>

+<span class="i0">We crown the day with radiant green,</span>

+<span class="i0">And buds of hope to bloom between,</span>

+<span class="i0">And stars undimmed, whose heavenly sheen</span>

+<span class="i4">Lights all the world below.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">At break of day again we hear</span>

+<span class="i0">The ringing words of Paul Revere,</span>

+<span class="i0">And beat of drum and bugle near,</span>

+<span class="i4">And shots that shake the throne</span>

+<span class="i0">Of tyranny, across the sea,</span>

+<span class="i0">And wake the sons of Liberty</span>

+<span class="i0">To strike for freedom and be free:&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i4"><i>Our</i> king is God alone!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Load well with powder and with ball,</span>

+<span class="i0">Stand firmly, like a living wall;</span>

+<span class="i0">But fire not till the foe shall call</span>

+<span class="i4">A shot from every one,”</span>

+<span class="i0">Said Parker to his gallant men.</span>

+<span class="i0">Then Pitcairn dashed across the plain,</span>

+<span class="i0">Discharged an angry threat, and then</span>

+<span class="i4">The world heard Lexington!</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p047.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="394" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Militia and brave minute-men</span>

+<span class="i0">Stood side by side upon the plain,</span>

+<span class="i0">Unsheltered in the storm of rain,</span>

+<span class="i4">Of fire, and leaden sleet;</span>

+<span class="i0">But through the gray smoke and the flame,</span>

+<span class="i0">Star crowned, a white-winged angel came,</span>

+<span class="i0">To bear aloft the souls of flame</span>

+<span class="i4">From war’s red winding-sheet!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Hancock and Adams glory won</span>

+<span class="i0">With yeomen whose best work was done</span>

+<span class="i0">At Concord and at Lexington,</span>

+<span class="i4">When first they struck the blow.</span>

+<span class="i0">Long may their children’s children bear</span>

+<span class="i0">Upon wide shoulders, fit to wear,</span>

+<span class="i0">The mantles that fell through the air</span>

+<span class="i4 space-below3">One hundred years ago!</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_5.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="56" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p>

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Brave at Home.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p050.jpg" alt="The Brave at Home." width="500" height="78" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="T" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">THE maid who binds her warrior’s sash,</span>

+<span class="i6">With smile that well her pain dissembles,</span>

+<span class="i0">The while beneath her drooping lash</span>

+<span class="i6">One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles,</span>

+<span class="i0">Though heaven alone records the tear,</span>

+<span class="i2">And fame shall never know the story,</span>

+<span class="i0">Her heart has shed a drop as dear</span>

+<span class="i2">As e’er bedewed the field of glory.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">The wife who girds her husband’s sword,</span>

+<span class="i2">’Mid little ones who weep or wonder,</span>

+<span class="i0">And bravely speaks the cheering word,</span>

+<span class="i2">What though her heart be rent asunder,</span>

+<span class="i0">Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear</span>

+<span class="i2">The bolts of death around him rattle,</span>

+<span class="i0">Hath shed as sacred blood as e’er</span>

+<span class="i2">Was poured upon a field of battle!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">The mother who conceals her grief,</span>

+<span class="i2">While to her breast her son she presses,</span>

+<span class="i0">Then breathes a few brave words and brief,</span>

+<span class="i2">Kissing the patriot brow she blesses,</span>

+<span class="i0">With no one but her secret God</span>

+<span class="i2">To know the pain that weighs upon her,</span>

+<span class="i0">Sheds holy blood as e’er the sod</span>

+<span class="i2">Received on Freedom’s field of honor!</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p051.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="657" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Kane: died February 16, 1857.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p053.jpg" alt="Kane: died February 16, 1857." width="500" height="72" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_a.jpg" width="50" height="59" alt="A" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">ALOFT upon an old basaltic crag,</span>

+<span class="i6">Which, scalped by keen winds that defend the Pole,</span>

+<span class="i6">Gazes with dead face on the seas that roll</span>

+<span class="i6">Around the secret of the mystic zone,</span>

+<span class="i0">A mighty nation’s star-bespangled flag</span>

+<span class="i10">Flutters alone;</span>

+<span class="i0">And underneath, upon the lifeless front</span>

+<span class="i2">Of that drear cliff, a simple name is traced,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Fit type of him who, famishing and gaunt,</span>

+<span class="i2">But with a rocky purpose in his soul,</span>

+<span class="i10">Breasted the gathering snows,</span>

+<span class="i10">Clung to the drifting floes,</span>

+<span class="i2">By want beleaguered and by winter chased,</span>

+<span class="i2">Seeking the brother lost amid that frozen waste.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Not many months ago we greeted him,</span>

+<span class="i2">Crowned with the icy honors of the North.</span>

+<span class="i2">Across the land his hard-won fame went forth,</span>

+<span class="i0">And Maine’s deep woods were shaken limb by limb;</span>

+<span class="i0">His own mild Keystone State, sedate and prim,</span>

+<span class="i2">Burst from decorous quiet as he came;</span>

+<span class="i2">Hot Southern lips, with eloquence aflame,</span>

+<span class="i0">Sounded his triumph; Texas, wild and grim,</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>

+<span class="i2">Proffered its horny hand; the large-lunged West,</span>

+<span class="i10">From out his giant breast,</span>

+<span class="i2">Yelled its frank welcome; and from main to main,</span>

+<span class="i10">Jubilant to the sky,</span>

+<span class="i10">Thundered the mighty cry,</span>

+<span class="i14"><span class="smcap">Honor to Kane</span>!</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r5" />

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">He needs no tears, who lived a noble life!</span>

+<span class="i2">We will not weep for him who died so well,</span>

+<span class="i2">But we will gather round the hearth and tell</span>

+<span class="i10">The story of his strife.</span>

+<span class="i10">Such homage suits him well,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i2">Better than funeral pomp or passing bell.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">What tale of peril and self-sacrifice,</span>

+<span class="i0">Prisoned amid the fastnesses of ice,</span>

+<span class="i0">With hunger howling o’er the wastes of snow;</span>

+<span class="i0">Night lengthening into months; the ravenous floe</span>

+<span class="i0">Crunching the massive ships, as the white bear</span>

+<span class="i0">Crunches his prey. The insufficient share</span>

+<span class="i10">Of loathsome food;</span>

+<span class="i0">The lethargy of famine; the despair</span>

+<span class="i2">Urging to labor, nervelessly pursued;</span>

+<span class="i2">Toil done with skinny arms, and faces hued</span>

+<span class="i0">Like pallid masks, while dolefully behind</span>

+<span class="i0">Glimmered the fading embers of a mind!</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p055.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="371" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">That awful hour, when through the prostrate band</span>

+<span class="i0">Delirium stalked, laying his burning hand</span>

+<span class="i0">Upon the ghastly foreheads of the crew;</span>

+<span class="i0">The whispers of rebellion, faint and few</span>

+<span class="i0">At first, but deepening ever till they grew</span>

+<span class="i0">Into black thoughts of murder: such the throng</span>

+<span class="i0">Of horrors bound the hero. High the song</span>

+<span class="i0">Should be that hymns the noble part he played!</span>

+<span class="i0">Sinking himself, yet ministering aid</span>

+<span class="i0">To all around him. By a mighty will</span>

+<span class="i0">Living defiant of the wants that kill,</span>

+<span class="i2">Because his death would seal his comrades’ fate;</span>

+<span class="i0">Cheering, with ceaseless and inventive skill,</span>

+<span class="i2">Those Polar waters, dark and desolate.</span>

+<span class="i2">Equal to every trial, every fate,</span>

+<span class="i0">He stands, until spring, tardy with relief,</span>

+<span class="i10">Unlocks the icy gate,</span>

+<span class="i0">And the pale prisoners thread the world once more,</span>

+<span class="i0">To the steep cliffs of Greenland’s pastoral shore,</span>

+<span class="i10">Bearing their dying chief.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Time was when he should gain his spurs of gold</span>

+<span class="i2">From royal hands, who wooed the knightly state.</span>

+<span class="i0">The knell of old formalities is tolled,</span>

+<span class="i2">And the world’s knights are now self-consecrate.</span>

+<span class="i0">No grander episode doth chivalry hold</span>

+<span class="i2">In all its annals, back to Charlemagne,</span>

+<span class="i2">Than that lone vigil of unceasing pain,</span>

+<span class="i0">Faithfully kept through hunger and through cold,</span>

+<span class="i2 space-below3">By the good Christian knight, <span class="smcap">Elisha Kane</span>!</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_3.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="57" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Life-Boat.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p058.jpg" alt="The Life-Boat." width="450" height="95" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_l.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="L" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">LAUNCH the life-boat! Far on high</span>

+<span class="i8">The fiery rockets gleam,</span>

+<span class="i6">While loud and clear the booming signal gun</span>

+<span class="i0">Says there is work that quickly must be done.</span>

+<span class="i0">A vessel’s in distress: haste, every one,</span>

+<span class="i8">Nor idly stop to dream.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Launch the life-boat! On the shore</span>

+<span class="i8">The startled people stand,</span>

+<span class="i0">And watch the signal lights that shine on high,</span>

+<span class="i0">And through the pitchy darkness seek to spy</span>

+<span class="i0">The struggling ship, or to their comrades try</span>

+<span class="i8">To lend a helping hand.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Launch the life-boat! Now the moon</span>

+<span class="i8">Sheds forth her silvery light,</span>

+<span class="i0">And shows the boat is off; one long, loud cheer</span>

+<span class="i0">Breaks from the eager crowd assembled here;</span>

+<span class="i0">The dip of oars comes to the listening ear,</span>

+<span class="i8">Upon the silent night.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Speed the life-boat and her crew,</span>

+<span class="i8">Speed them on their watery way!</span>

+<span class="i0">As joy and hope they bring to hearts cast down,</span>

+<span class="i0">And waiting ’neath the storm-clouds’ dismal frown,</span>

+<span class="i0">While wind and wave their trembling voices drown,</span>

+<span class="i8">Waiting another day.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p059.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="659" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Red Jacket.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+      <img src="images/p061.jpg" alt="The Red Jacket." width="400" height="88" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="'T" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">TIS a cold, bleak night. With angry roar</span>

+<span class="i5">The north winds beat and clamor at the door;</span>

+<span class="i5">The drifted snow lies heaped along the street,</span>

+<span class="i5">Swept by a blinding storm of hail and sleet;</span>

+<span class="i0">The clouded heavens no guiding starlight lend,</span>

+<span class="i0">But o’er the earth in gloom and darkness bend;</span>

+<span class="i0">Gigantic shadows, by the night-lamps thrown,</span>

+<span class="i0">Dance their weird revels fitfully alone.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">In lofty halls, where fortune takes its ease,</span>

+<span class="i0">Sunk in the treasures of all lands and seas;</span>

+<span class="i0">In happy homes, where warmth and comfort meet</span>

+<span class="i0">The weary traveller with their smiles to greet;</span>

+<span class="i0">In lonely dwellings, where the needy swarm</span>

+<span class="i0">Round starving embers, chilling limbs to warm,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Rises the prayer that makes the sad heart light,</span>

+<span class="i0">“Thank God for home this bitter, bitter night!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">But hark! above the beating of the storm</span>

+<span class="i0">Peals on the startled ear the fire-alarm!</span>

+<span class="i0">Yon gloomy heaven’s aflame with sudden light;</span>

+<span class="i0">And heart-beats quicken with a strange affright.</span>

+<span class="i0">From tranquil slumber springs, at duty’s call,</span>

+<span class="i0">The ready friend no danger can appall;</span>

+<span class="i0">Fierce for the conflict, sturdy, true, and brave,</span>

+<span class="i0">He hurries forth to battle and to save.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">From yonder dwelling fiercely shooting out,</span>

+<span class="i0">Devouring all they coil themselves about,</span>

+<span class="i0">The flaming furies, mounting high and higher,</span>

+<span class="i0">Wrap the frail structure in a cloak of fire.</span>

+<span class="i0">Strong arms are battling with the stubborn foe,</span>

+<span class="i0">In vain attempts their power to overthrow;</span>

+<span class="i0">With mocking glee they revel with their prey,</span>

+<span class="i0">Defying human skill to check their way.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And see! far up above the flames’ hot breath,</span>

+<span class="i0">Something that’s human waits a horrid death:</span>

+<span class="i0">A little child, with waving golden hair,</span>

+<span class="i0">Stands like a phantom ’mid the horrid glare,</span>

+<span class="i0">Her pale, sweet face against the window pressed,</span>

+<span class="i0">While sobs of terror shake her tender breast.</span>

+<span class="i0">And from the crowd beneath, in accents wild,</span>

+<span class="i0">A mother screams, “O God! my child, my child!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Up goes a ladder! Through the startled throng</span>

+<span class="i0">A hardy fireman swiftly moves along,</span>

+<span class="i0">Mounts sure and fast along the slender way,</span>

+<span class="i0">Fearing no danger, dreading but delay.</span>

+<span class="i0">The stifling smoke-clouds lower in his path,</span>

+<span class="i0">Sharp tongues of flame assail him in their wrath;</span>

+<span class="i0">But up, still up he goes! The goal is won,</span>

+<span class="i0">His strong arm beats the sash, and he is gone,&mdash;</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Gone to his death. The wily flames surround,</span>

+<span class="i0">And burn and beat his ladder to the ground;</span>

+<span class="i0">In flaming columns move with quickened beat,</span>

+<span class="i0">To rear a massive wall ’gainst his retreat.</span>

+<span class="i0">Courageous heart, thy mission was so pure,</span>

+<span class="i0">Suffering humanity must thy loss deplore:</span>

+<span class="i0">Henceforth with martyred heroes thou shalt live,</span>

+<span class="i0">Crowned with all honors nobleness can give.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p063.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="711" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Nay, not so fast! subdue these gloomy fears!</span>

+<span class="i0">Behold! he quickly on the roof appears,</span>

+<span class="i0">Bearing the tender child, his jacket warm</span>

+<span class="i0">Flung round her shrinking form to guard from harm.</span>

+<span class="i0">Up with your ladders! Quick! ’tis but a chance!</span>

+<span class="i0">Behold how fast the roaring flames advance!</span>

+<span class="i0">Quick! quick! brave spirits to his rescue fly!</span>

+<span class="i0">Up! up! by heavens, this hero must not die!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Silence! he comes along the burning road,</span>

+<span class="i0">Bearing with tender care his living load.</span>

+<span class="i0">Aha! he totters! Heaven in mercy save</span>

+<span class="i0">The good, true heart that can so nobly brave!</span>

+<span class="i0">He’s up again, and now he’s coming fast!</span>

+<span class="i0">One moment, and the fiery ordeal’s past,</span>

+<span class="i0">And now he’s safe! Bold flames, ye fought in vain!</span>

+<span class="i0">A happy mother clasps her child again.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“O, Heaven bless you!” ’Tis an earnest prayer</span>

+<span class="i0">Which grateful thousands with that mother share.</span>

+<span class="i0">Heaven bless the brave who on the war-clad field</span>

+<span class="i0">Stand fast, stand firm, the nation’s trusty shield!</span>

+<span class="i0">Heaven bless the brave who on the mighty sea</span>

+<span class="i0">Fearless uphold the standard of the free!</span>

+<span class="i0">And Heaven’s choicest blessing for the brave</span>

+<span class="i0">Who fearless move our lives and homes to save!</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Othello’s Story of his Life.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p066.jpg" alt="Othello’s Story of his Life." width="500" height="67" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_h.jpg" width="40" height="64" alt="H" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">HER father loved me; oft invited me;</span>

+<span class="i6">Still questioned me the story of my life</span>

+<span class="i6">From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,</span>

+<span class="i6">That I had past.</span>

+<span class="i0">I ran it through, e’en from my boyish days,</span>

+<span class="i0">To the very moment that he bade me tell it.</span>

+<span class="i0">Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,</span>

+<span class="i0">Of moving accidents by flood and field,</span>

+<span class="i0">Of hair-breadth ’scapes, in the imminent deadly breach,</span>

+<span class="i0">Of being taken by the insolent foe,</span>

+<span class="i0">And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,</span>

+<span class="i0">And with it all my travel’s history.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r5" />

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i29">All these to hear,</span>

+<span class="i0">Would Desdemona seriously incline;</span>

+<span class="i0">But still the house affairs would draw her thence,</span>

+<span class="i0">Whichever as she could with haste despatch,</span>

+<span class="i0">She’d come again, and with a greedy ear</span>

+<span class="i0">Devour up my discourse. Which, I observing,</span>

+<span class="i0">Took once a pliant hour, and found good means</span>

+<span class="i0">To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart</span>

+<span class="i0">That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,</span>

+<span class="i0">Whereof, by parcels, she had something heard,</span>

+<span class="i0">But not distinctly.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p067.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="479" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i33">I did consent;</span>

+<span class="i0">And often did beguile her of her tears,</span>

+<span class="i0">When I did speak of some distressful stroke</span>

+<span class="i0">That my youth suffered. My story being done,</span>

+<span class="i0">She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.</span>

+<span class="i0">She swore in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange;</span>

+<span class="i0">’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful;</span>

+<span class="i0">She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished</span>

+<span class="i0">That heaven had made her such a man.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i33">She thanked me,</span>

+<span class="i0">And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,</span>

+<span class="i0">I should but teach him how to tell my story,</span>

+<span class="i0">And that would woo her. On this hint I spake;</span>

+<span class="i0">She loved me for the dangers I had passed;</span>

+<span class="i0">And I loved her that she did pity them:</span>

+<span class="i0 space-below3">This is the only witchcraft which I’ve used.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_2.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="108" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Blacksmith of Ragenbach.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p070.jpg" alt="The Blacksmith of Ragenbach." width="500" height="70" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_i.jpg" width="50" height="60" alt="I" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d drop-cap">IN a little German village,</span>

+<span class="i8">On the waters of the Rhine,</span>

+<span class="i5">Gay and joyous in their pastimes,</span>

+<span class="i8">In the pleasant vintage-time,</span>

+<span class="i0">Were a group of happy peasants,</span>

+<span class="i2">For the day released from toil,</span>

+<span class="i0">Thanking God for all his goodness</span>

+<span class="i2">In the product of their soil,</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">When a cry rung through the welkin,</span>

+<span class="i2">And appeared upon the scene</span>

+<span class="i0">A panting dog, with crest erect,</span>

+<span class="i2">Foaming mouth, and savage mien.</span>

+<span class="i0">“He is mad!” was shrieked in chorus.</span>

+<span class="i2">In dismay they all fell back,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0"><i>All</i> except one towering figure,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i2">’Twas the smith of Ragenbach.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">God had given this man his image;</span>

+<span class="i2">Nature stamped him as complete.</span>

+<span class="i0">Now it was incumbent on him</span>

+<span class="i2">To perform a greater feat</span>

+<span class="i0">Than Horatius at the bridge,</span>

+<span class="i2">When he stood on Tiber’s bank;</span>

+<span class="i0">For behind him were his townsfolk,</span>

+<span class="i2">Who, appalled with terror, shrank</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p071.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="713" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">From the most appalling danger,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i2">That which makes the bravest quail,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">While they all were grouped together,</span>

+<span class="i2">Shaking limbs and visage pale.</span>

+<span class="i0">For a moment cowered the beast,</span>

+<span class="i2">Snapping to the left and right,</span>

+<span class="i0">While the blacksmith stood before him</span>

+<span class="i2">In the power of his might.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“<i>One</i> must die to save the many,</span>

+<span class="i2">Let it then my duty be:</span>

+<span class="i0">I’ve the power. Fear not, neighbors!</span>

+<span class="i2">From this peril you’ll be free.”</span>

+<span class="i0">As the lightning from the storm-cloud</span>

+<span class="i2">Leaps to earth with sudden crash,</span>

+<span class="i0">So upon the rabid monster</span>

+<span class="i2">Did this man and hero dash.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">In the death-grip then they struggled,</span>

+<span class="i2">Man and dog, with scarce a sound,</span>

+<span class="i0">Till from out the fearful conflict</span>

+<span class="i2">Rose the man from off the ground,</span>

+<span class="i0">Gashed and gory from the struggle;</span>

+<span class="i2">But the beast lay stiff and dead.</span>

+<span class="i0">There he stood, while people gathered,</span>

+<span class="i2">And rained blessings on his head.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Friends,” he said, “from one great peril,</span>

+<span class="i2">With God’s help, I’ve set you free,</span>

+<span class="i0">But my task is not yet ended,</span>

+<span class="i2">There is danger now in <i>me</i>.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">Yet secure from harm you shall be,</span>

+<span class="i2">None need fear before I die.</span>

+<span class="i0">That my sufferings may be shortened,</span>

+<span class="i2">Ask of Him who rules on high.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Then unto his forge he straightway</span>

+<span class="i2">Walked erect, with rapid step,</span>

+<span class="i0">While the people followed after,</span>

+<span class="i2">Some with shouts, while others wept;</span>

+<span class="i0">And with nerve as steady as when</span>

+<span class="i2">He had plied his trade for gain,</span>

+<span class="i0">He selected, without faltering,</span>

+<span class="i2">From his store, the heaviest chain.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">To his anvil first he bound it,</span>

+<span class="i2">Next his limb he shackled fast,</span>

+<span class="i0">Then he said unto his townsfolk,</span>

+<span class="i2">“All your danger now is past.</span>

+<span class="i0">Place within my reach, I pray you,</span>

+<span class="i2">Food and water for a time,</span>

+<span class="i0">Until God shall ease my sufferings</span>

+<span class="i2">By his gracious will divine.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Long he suffered, but at last</span>

+<span class="i2">Came a summons from on high,</span>

+<span class="i0">Then his soul, with angel escort,</span>

+<span class="i2">Sought its home beyond the sky;</span>

+<span class="i0">And the people of that village,</span>

+<span class="i2">Those whom he had died to save,</span>

+<span class="i0">Still with grateful hearts assemble,</span>

+<span class="i2">And with flowers bedeck his grave.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Marmion and Douglas.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p075.jpg" alt="Marmion and Douglas." width="450" height="70" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_n.jpg" width="50" height="59" alt="N" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">NOT far advanced was morning day,</span>

+<span class="i5">When Marmion did his troop array</span>

+<span class="i7">To Surrey’s camp to ride.</span>

+<span class="i0">He had safe-conduct for his band,</span>

+<span class="i0">Beneath the royal seal and hand,</span>

+<span class="i2">And Douglas gave a guide.</span>

+<span class="i0">The ancient earl, with stately grace,</span>

+<span class="i0">Would Clara on her palfrey place,</span>

+<span class="i0">And whispered in an undertone,</span>

+<span class="i0">“Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.”</span>

+<span class="i0">The train from out the castle drew,</span>

+<span class="i0">But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:</span>

+<span class="i2">“Though something I might ’plain,” he said,</span>

+<span class="i0">“Of cold respect to stranger guest,</span>

+<span class="i0">Sent hither by your king’s behest,</span>

+<span class="i2">While in Tantallon’s towers I stayed,</span>

+<span class="i0">Part we in friendship from your land,</span>

+<span class="i0">And, noble earl, receive my hand.”</span>

+<span class="i0">But Douglas round him drew his cloak,</span>

+<span class="i0">Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:</span>

+<span class="i0">“My manors, halls, and bowers shall still</span>

+<span class="i0">Be open, at my sovereign’s will,</span>

+<span class="i0">To each one whom he lists, howe’er</span>

+<span class="i0">Unmeet to be the owner’s peer;</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">My castles are my king’s alone,</span>

+<span class="i0">From turret to foundation-stone,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">The hand of Douglas is his own,</span>

+<span class="i0">And never shall in friendly grasp</span>

+<span class="i0">The hand of such as Marmion clasp.”</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p076.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="639" />

+</div>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Burned Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire,</span>

+<span class="i0">And shook his very frame for ire,</span>

+<span class="i2">And&mdash;“This to me!” he said;&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">“An ’twere not for thy hoary beard,</span>

+<span class="i0">Such hand as Marmion’s had not spared</span>

+<span class="i0">To cleave the Douglas’ head!</span>

+<span class="i0">And first, I tell thee, haughty peer,</span>

+<span class="i0">He who does England’s message here,</span>

+<span class="i0">Although the meanest in her state,</span>

+<span class="i0">May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!</span>

+<span class="i0">And Douglas, more, I tell thee here,</span>

+<span class="i0">Even in thy pitch of pride,</span>

+<span class="i0">Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,</span>

+<span class="i0">(Nay, never look upon your lord,</span>

+<span class="i0">And lay your hands upon your sword,)</span>

+<span class="i2">I tell thee, thou ’rt defied!</span>

+<span class="i0">And if thou saidst I am not peer</span>

+<span class="i0">To any lord in Scotland here,</span>

+<span class="i0">Lowland or Highland, far or near,</span>

+<span class="i2">Lord Angus, thou hast lied!”</span>

+<span class="i0">On the earl’s cheek the flush of rage</span>

+<span class="i0">O’ercame the ashen hue of age:</span>

+<span class="i0">Fierce he broke forth, “And dar’st thou then</span>

+<span class="i0">To beard the lion in his den,</span>

+<span class="i2">The Douglas in his hall?</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">And hop’st thou hence unscathed to go?</span>

+<span class="i0">No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!</span>

+<span class="i0">Up drawbridge, grooms! What, warder, ho!</span>

+<span class="i2">Let the portcullis fall.”</span>

+<span class="i0">Lord Marmion turned,&mdash;well was his need!&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">And dashed the rowels in his steed,</span>

+<span class="i0">Like arrow through the archway sprung;</span>

+<span class="i0">The ponderous grate behind him rung:</span>

+<span class="i0">To pass there was such scanty room,</span>

+<span class="i0">The bars, descending, razed his plume.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">The steed along the drawbridge flies,</span>

+<span class="i0">Just as it trembled on the rise;</span>

+<span class="i0">Not lighter does the swallow skim</span>

+<span class="i0">Along the smooth lake’s level brim;</span>

+<span class="i0">And when Lord Marmion reached his band,</span>

+<span class="i0">He halts, and turns with clinched hand,</span>

+<span class="i0">And shout of loud defiance pours,</span>

+<span class="i0">And shook his gauntlet at the towers.</span>

+<span class="i0">“Horse! horse!” the Douglas cried, “and chase!”</span>

+<span class="i0">But soon he reigned his fury’s pace:</span>

+<span class="i0">“A royal messenger he came,</span>

+<span class="i0">Though most unworthy of the name.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r5" />

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">St. Mary mend my fiery mood!</span>

+<span class="i0">Old age ne’er cools the Douglas blood,</span>

+<span class="i0">I thought to slay him where he stood.</span>

+<span class="i0">’Tis pity of him, too,” he cried;</span>

+<span class="i0">“Bold can he speak and fairly ride,</span>

+<span class="i0">I warrant him a warrior tried.”</span>

+<span class="i0">With this his mandate he recalls,</span>

+<span class="i0">And slowly seeks his castle walls.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p>

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Loss of the Hornet.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p080.jpg" alt="The Loss of the Hornet." width="500" height="61" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_c.jpg" width="50" height="61" alt="C" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">CALL the watch! call the watch!</span>

+<span class="i7">“Ho! the starboard watch, ahoy!” Have you heard</span>

+<span class="i5">How a noble ship so trim, like our own, my hearties, here,</span>

+<span class="i0">All scudding ’fore the gale, disappeared,</span>

+<span class="i2">Where yon southern billows roll o’er their bed so green and clear?</span>

+<span class="i0">Hold the reel! keep her full! hold the reel!</span>

+<span class="i2">How she flew athwart the spray, as, shipmates, we do now,</span>

+<span class="i0">Till her twice a hundred fearless hearts of steel</span>

+<span class="i2">Felt the whirlwind lift its waters aft, and plunge her</span>

+<span class="i6">downward bow!</span>

+<span class="i18">Bear a hand!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Strike top-gallants! mind your helm! jump aloft!</span>

+<span class="i2">’Twas such a night as this, my lads, a rakish bark was drowned,</span>

+<span class="i0">When demons foul, that whisper seamen oft,</span>

+<span class="i2">Scooped a tomb amid the flashing surge that never shall be found.</span>

+<span class="i0">Square the yards! a double reef! Hark the blast!</span>

+<span class="i2">O, fiercely has it fallen on the war-ship of the brave,</span>

+<span class="i0">When its tempest fury stretched the stately mast</span>

+<span class="i2">All along her foamy sides, as they shouted on the wave,</span>

+<span class="i18">“Bear a hand!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Call the watch! call the watch!</span>

+<span class="i2">“Ho! the larboard watch, ahoy!” Have you heard</span>

+<span class="i0">How a vessel, gay and taut, on the mountains of the sea,</span>

+<span class="i2">Went below, with all her warlike crew on board,</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">They who battled for the happy, boys, and perished for the free?</span>

+<span class="i2">Clew, clew up, fore and aft! keep away!</span>

+<span class="i0">How the vulture bird of death, in its black and viewless form,</span>

+<span class="i2">Hovered sure o’er the clamors of his prey,</span>

+<span class="i0">While through all their dripping shrouds yelled the spirit of</span>

+<span class="i6">the storm!</span>

+<span class="i18">Bear a hand!</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p082.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="625" />

+</div>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">Now out reefs! brace the yards! lively there!</span>

+<span class="i2">O, no more to homeward breeze shall her swelling bosom spread,</span>

+<span class="i0">But love’s expectant eye bid despair</span>

+<span class="i2">Set her raven watch eternal o’er the wreck in ocean’s bed.</span>

+<span class="i0">Board your tacks! cheerly, boys! But for them,</span>

+<span class="i2">Their last evening gun is fired, their gales are overblown;</span>

+<span class="i0">O’er their smoking deck no starry flag shall stream;</span>

+<span class="i2">They’ll sail no more, they’ll fight no more, for their gallant</span>

+<span class="i6">ship’s gone down.</span>

+<span class="i18 space-below3">Bear a hand!</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_4.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="108" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Man the Life-boat.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p084.jpg" alt="Man the Life-boat." width="450" height="77" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_m.jpg" width="50" height="60" alt="M" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">MAN the life-boat! Man the life-boat!</span>

+<span class="i7">Help, or yon ship is lost!</span>

+<span class="i5">Man the life-boat! Man the life-boat!</span>

+<span class="i7">See how she’s tempest-tossed.</span>

+<span class="i0">No human power in such an hour</span>

+<span class="i2">The gallant bark can save;</span>

+<span class="i0">Her mainmast gone, and running on,</span>

+<span class="i2">She seeks her watery grave.</span>

+<span class="i0">Man the life-boat! Man the life-boat!</span>

+<span class="i2">See, the dreaded signal flies!</span>

+<span class="i0">Ha! she’s struck, and from the wreck</span>

+<span class="i2">Despairing shouts arise.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">O, speed the life-boat! Speed the life-boat!</span>

+<span class="i2">O God, their efforts crown!</span>

+<span class="i0">She dashes on; the ship is gone,</span>

+<span class="i2">Full forty fathoms down.</span>

+<span class="i0">And see, the crew are struggling now</span>

+<span class="i2">Amidst the tempest roar.</span>

+<span class="i0">They’re in the boat, they’re all afloat,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i2">Hurrah! they’ve gained the shore.</span>

+<span class="i0">Bless the life-boat! Bless the life-boat!</span>

+<span class="i2">O God, thou’lt hear our prayer!</span>

+<span class="i0">Bless the life-boat! Bless the life-boat!</span>

+<span class="i2">No longer we’ll despair.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p085.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="316" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p>

+<hr class="r25" />

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Sir Galahad.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p087.jpg" alt="Sir Galahad." width="500" height="91" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_m.jpg" width="50" height="60" alt="M" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">MY good blade carves the casques of &nbsp;&nbsp;men,</span>

+<span class="i5">My tough lance thrusteth sure,</span>

+<span class="i0">My strength is as the strength of ten,</span>

+<span class="i2">Because my heart is pure.</span>

+<span class="i0">The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,</span>

+<span class="i2">The hard brands shiver on the steel,</span>

+<span class="i0">The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly,</span>

+<span class="i2">The horse and rider reel:</span>

+<span class="i0">They reel, they roll in clanging lists,</span>

+<span class="i2">And when the tide of combat stands,</span>

+<span class="i0">Perfume and flowers fall in showers,</span>

+<span class="i2">That lightly rain from ladies’ hands.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">How sweet are looks that ladies bend</span>

+<span class="i2">On whom their favors fall!</span>

+<span class="i0">For them I battle till the end,</span>

+<span class="i2">To save from shame and thrall:</span>

+<span class="i0">But all my heart is drawn above,</span>

+<span class="i2">My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine:</span>

+<span class="i0">I never felt the kiss of love,</span>

+<span class="i2">Nor maiden’s hand in mine.</span>

+<span class="i0">More bounteous aspects on me beam,</span>

+<span class="i2">Me mightier transports move and thrill;</span>

+<span class="i0">So keep I fair through faith and prayer</span>

+<span class="i2">A virgin heart in work and will.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">When down the stormy crescent goes,</span>

+<span class="i2">A light before me swims,</span>

+<span class="i0">Between dark stems the forest glows,</span>

+<span class="i2">I hear a noise of hymns:</span>

+<span class="i0">Then by some secret shrine I ride;</span>

+<span class="i2">I hear a voice, but none are there;</span>

+<span class="i0">The stalls are void, the doors are wide,</span>

+<span class="i2">The tapers burning fair.</span>

+<span class="i0">Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,</span>

+<span class="i2">The silver vessels sparkle clean,</span>

+<span class="i0">The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,</span>

+<span class="i2">And solemn chants resound between.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres</span>

+<span class="i2">I find a magic bark;</span>

+<span class="i0">I leap on board: no helmsman steers:</span>

+<span class="i2">I float till all is dark.</span>

+<span class="i0">A gentle sound, an awful light!</span>

+<span class="i2">Three angels bear the holy Grail:</span>

+<span class="i0">With folded feet, in stoles of white,</span>

+<span class="i2">On sleeping wings they sail.</span>

+<span class="i0">Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!</span>

+<span class="i2">My spirit beats her mortal bars,</span>

+<span class="i0">As down dark tides the glory slides,</span>

+<span class="i2">And star-like mingles with the stars.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">When on my goodly charger borne</span>

+<span class="i2">Through dreaming towns I go,</span>

+<span class="i0">The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,</span>

+<span class="i2">The streets are dumb with snow.</span>

+<span class="i0">The tempest crackles on the leads,</span>

+<span class="i2">And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;</span>

+<span class="i0">But o’er the dark a glory spreads,</span>

+<span class="i2">And gilds the driving hail.</span>

+<span class="i0">I leave the plain, I climb the height;</span>

+<span class="i2">No branchy thicket shelter yields;</span>

+<span class="i0">But blessed forms in whistling storms</span>

+<span class="i2">Fly o’er waste fens and windy fields.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p089.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="625" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">A maiden knight, to me is given</span>

+<span class="i2">Such hope, I know not fear;</span>

+<span class="i0">I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven</span>

+<span class="i2">That often meet me here.</span>

+<span class="i0">I muse on joy that will not cease,</span>

+<span class="i2">Pure spaces clothed in living beams,</span>

+<span class="i0">Pure lilies of eternal peace,</span>

+<span class="i2">Whose odors haunt my dreams;</span>

+<span class="i0">And, stricken by an angel’s hand,</span>

+<span class="i2">This mortal armor that I wear,</span>

+<span class="i0">This weight and size, this heart and eyes,</span>

+<span class="i2">Are touched, are turned to finest air.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">The clouds are broken in the sky,</span>

+<span class="i2">And through the mountain-walls</span>

+<span class="i0">A rolling organ-harmony</span>

+<span class="i2">Swells up, and shakes and falls.</span>

+<span class="i0">Then move the trees, the copses nod,</span>

+<span class="i2">Wings flutter, voices hover clear:</span>

+<span class="i0">“O just and faithful knight of God,</span>

+<span class="i2">Ride on! the prize is near.”</span>

+<span class="i0">So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;</span>

+<span class="i2">By bridge and ford, by park and pale,</span>

+<span class="i0">All armed I ride, whate’er betide,</span>

+<span class="i2">Until I find the holy Grail.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">King Canute and his Nobles.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p092.jpg" alt="King Canute and his Nobles." width="600" height="63" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_c.jpg" width="50" height="60" alt="C" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">CANUTE was by his nobles taught to fancy</span>

+<span class="i5">That, by a kind of royal necromancy,</span>

+<span class="i7">He had the power old Ocean to control.</span>

+<span class="i0">Down rushed the royal Dane upon the strand,</span>

+<span class="i2">And issued, like a Solomon, command,&mdash;poor soul!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Go back, ye waves, you blustering rogues,” quoth he;</span>

+<span class="i0">“Touch not your lord and master, Sea;</span>

+<span class="i2">For by my power almighty, if you do&mdash;”</span>

+<span class="i0">Then, staring vengeance, out he held a stick,</span>

+<span class="i0">Vowing to drive old Ocean to Old Nick,</span>

+<span class="i2">Should he even wet the latchet of his shoe.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">The sea retired,&mdash;the monarch fierce rushed on,</span>

+<span class="i2">And looked as if he’d drive him from the land;</span>

+<span class="i0">But Sea, not caring to be put upon,</span>

+<span class="i2">Made for a moment a bold stand.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Not only made a stand did Mr. Ocean,</span>

+<span class="i0">But to his waves he made a motion,</span>

+<span class="i2">And bid them give the king a hearty trimming.</span>

+<span class="i0">The order seemed a deal the waves to tickle,</span>

+<span class="i0">For soon they put his Majesty in pickle,</span>

+<span class="i2">And set his royalties, like geese, a swimming.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p093.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="724" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">All hands aloft, with one tremendous roar,</span>

+<span class="i0">Sound did they make him wish himself on shore;</span>

+<span class="i2">His head and ears they most handsomely doused,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Just like a porpoise, with one general shout,</span>

+<span class="i0">The waves so tumbled the poor king about.</span>

+<span class="i2">No anabaptist e’er was half so soused.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">At length to land he crawled, a half-drowned thing,</span>

+<span class="i0">Indeed, more like a crab than like a king,</span>

+<span class="i2">And found his courtiers making rueful faces;</span>

+<span class="i0">But what said Canute to the lords and gentry,</span>

+<span class="i0">Who hailed him from the water, on his entry,</span>

+<span class="i2">All trembling for their lives or places?</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“My lords and gentlemen, by your advice,</span>

+<span class="i2">I’ve had with Mr. Sea a pretty bustle;</span>

+<span class="i0">My treatment from my foe, not overnice,</span>

+<span class="i2">Just made a jest for every shrimp and mussel.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“A pretty trick for one of my dominion!</span>

+<span class="i0">My lords, I thank you for your great opinion.</span>

+<span class="i0">You’ll tell me, p’r’aps, I’ve only lost one game</span>

+<span class="i2">And bid me try another,&mdash;for the rubber.</span>

+<span class="i0">Permit me to inform you all, with shame,</span>

+<span class="i2 space-below3">That you’re a set of knaves and I’m a lubber.”</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_3.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="57" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Outward Bound.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p096.jpg" alt="Outward Bound." width="400" height="91" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_c.jpg" width="50" height="60" alt="C" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">CLINK&mdash;clink&mdash;clink! goes our windlass.</span>

+<span class="i7">“Ahoy!” “Haul in!” “Let go!”</span>

+<span class="i5">Yards braced and sails set,</span>

+<span class="i7">Flags uncurl and flow.</span>

+<span class="i0">Some eyes that watch from shore are wet,</span>

+<span class="i2">(How bright their welcome shone!)</span>

+<span class="i0">While, bending softly to the breeze,</span>

+<span class="i0">And rushing through the parted seas,</span>

+<span class="i2">Our gallant ship glides on.</span>

+<span class="i0">Though one has left a sweetheart,</span>

+<span class="i2">And one has left a wife,</span>

+<span class="i0">’Twill never do to mope and fret,</span>

+<span class="i2">Or curse a sailor’s life.</span>

+<span class="i0">See, far away they signal yet,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i2">They dwindle&mdash;fade&mdash;they’re gone:</span>

+<span class="i0">For, dashing outwards, bold and brave,</span>

+<span class="i0">And springing light from wave to wave,</span>

+<span class="i2">Our merry ship flies on.</span>

+<span class="i0">Gay spreads the sparkling ocean;</span>

+<span class="i2">But many a gloomy night</span>

+<span class="i0">And stormy morrow must be met</span>

+<span class="i2">Ere next we heave in sight.</span>

+<span class="i0">The parting look we’ll ne’er forget,</span>

+<span class="i2">The kiss, the benison,</span>

+<span class="i0">As round the rolling world we go.</span>

+<span class="i0">God bless you all! Blow, breezes blow!</span>

+<span class="i2">Sail on, good ship, sail on!</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p097.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="626" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Brides of Venice.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p099.jpg" alt="The Brides of Venice" width="450" height="78" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_i.jpg" width="50" height="60" alt="I" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">It was St. Mary’s eve; and all poured forth,</span>

+<span class="i5">As to some grand solemnity. The fisher</span>

+<span class="i5">Came from his islet, bringing o’er the waves</span>

+<span class="i0">His wife and little one; the husbandman</span>

+<span class="i0">From the Firm Land, along the Po, the Brenta,</span>

+<span class="i0">Crowding the common ferry. All arrived;</span>

+<span class="i0">And in his straw the prisoner turned and listened,</span>

+<span class="i0">So great the stir in Venice. Old and young</span>

+<span class="i0">Thronged her three hundred bridges; the grave Turk,</span>

+<span class="i0">Turbaned, long-vested, and the cozening Jew,</span>

+<span class="i0">In yellow hat and threadbare gabardine,</span>

+<span class="i0">Hurrying along. For, as the custom was,</span>

+<span class="i0">The noblest sons and daughters of the state,</span>

+<span class="i0">They of patrician birth, the flower of Venice,</span>

+<span class="i0">Whose names are written in the “Book of Gold,”</span>

+<span class="i0">Were on that day to solemnize their nuptials.</span>

+<span class="i2">At noon, a distant murmur through the crowd,</span>

+<span class="i0">Rising and rolling on, announced their coming;</span>

+<span class="i0">And never from the first was to be seen</span>

+<span class="i0">Such splendor or such beauty. Two and two</span>

+<span class="i0">(The richest tapestry unrolled before them),</span>

+<span class="i0">First came the brides in all their loveliness;</span>

+<span class="i0">Each in her veil, and by two bridemaids followed.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">Only less lovely, who behind her bore</span>

+<span class="i0">The precious caskets that within contained</span>

+<span class="i0">The dowry and the presents. On she moved,</span>

+<span class="i0">Her eyes cast down, and holding in her hand</span>

+<span class="i0">A fan, that gently waved, of ostrich feathers.</span>

+<span class="i0">Her veil, transparent as the gossamer,</span>

+<span class="i0">Fell from beneath a starry diadem;</span>

+<span class="i0">And on her dazzling neck a jewel shone,</span>

+<span class="i0">Ruby or diamond or dark amethyst;</span>

+<span class="i0">A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreath,</span>

+<span class="i0">Wreathing her gold brocade.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p100.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="405" />

+</div>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i26">Before the church,</span>

+<span class="i0">That venerable pile on the sea-brink,</span>

+<span class="i0">Another train they met,&mdash;no strangers to them,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Brothers to some, and to the rest still dearer,</span>

+<span class="i0">Each in his hand bearing his cap and plume,</span>

+<span class="i0">And, as he walked, with modest dignity</span>

+<span class="i0">Folding his scarlet mantle, his <i>tabarro.</i></span>

+<span class="i2">They join, they enter in, and up the aisle</span>

+<span class="i0">Led by the full-voiced choir, in bright procession,</span>

+<span class="i0">Range round the altar. In his vestments there</span>

+<span class="i0">The patriarch stands; and while the anthem flows,</span>

+<span class="i0">Who can look on unmoved? Mothers in secret</span>

+<span class="i0">Rejoicing in the beauty of their daughters;</span>

+<span class="i0">Sons in the thought of making them their own;</span>

+<span class="i0">And they, arrayed in youth and innocence,</span>

+<span class="i0">Their beauty heightened by their hopes and fears.</span>

+<span class="i2">At length the rite is ending. All fall down</span>

+<span class="i0">In earnest prayer, all of all ranks together;</span>

+<span class="i0">And stretching out his hands, the holy man</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">Proceeds to give the general benediction,</span>

+<span class="i0">When hark! a din of voices from without,</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">And shrieks and groans and outcries, as in battle;</span>

+<span class="i0">And lo! the door is burst, the curtain rent,</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">And armed ruffians, robbers from the deep,</span>

+<span class="i0">Savage, uncouth, led on by Barbarigo</span>

+<span class="i0">And his six brothers in their coats of steel,</span>

+<span class="i0">Are standing on the threshold! Statue-like,</span>

+<span class="i0">Awhile they gaze on the fallen multitude,</span>

+<span class="i0">Each with his sabre up, in act to strike;</span>

+<span class="i0">Then, as at once recovering from the spell,</span>

+<span class="i0">Rush forward to the altar, and as soon</span>

+<span class="i0">Are gone again, amid no clash of arms,</span>

+<span class="i0">Bearing away the maidens and the treasures.</span>

+<span class="i2">Where are they now? Ploughing the distant waves,</span>

+<span class="i0">Their sails all set, and they upon the deck</span>

+<span class="i0">Standing triumphant. To the east they go,</span>

+<span class="i0">Steering for Istria, their accursed barks</span>

+<span class="i0">(Well are they known, the galliot and the galley)</span>

+<span class="i0">Freighted with all that gives to life its value</span>

+<span class="i0">The richest argosies were poor to them!</span>

+<span class="i2">Now might you see the matrons running wild</span>

+<span class="i0">Along the beach; the men half armed and arming;</span>

+<span class="i0">One with a shield, one with a casque and spear;</span>

+<span class="i0">One with an axe, hewing the mooring-chain</span>

+<span class="i0">Of some old pinnace. Not a raft, a plank,</span>

+<span class="i0">But on that day was drifting. In an hour</span>

+<span class="i0">Half Venice was afloat. But long before,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Frantic with grief, and scorning all control,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">The youths were gone in a light brigantine,</span>

+<span class="i0">Lying at anchor near the arsenal;</span>

+<span class="i0">Each having sworn, and by the holy rood,</span>

+<span class="i0">To slay or to be slain.</span>

+<span class="i23">And from the tower</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">The watchman gives the signal. In the east</span>

+<span class="i0">A ship is seen, and making for the port;</span>

+<span class="i0">Her flag St. Mark’s. And now she turns the point,</span>

+<span class="i0">Over the waters like a sea-bird flying.</span>

+<span class="i0">Ha! ’tis the same, ’tis theirs! From stern to prow</span>

+<span class="i0">Hung with green boughs, she comes, she comes, restoring</span>

+<span class="i0">All that was lost!</span>

+<span class="i17">Coasting, with narrow search.</span>

+<span class="i0">Friuli, like a tiger in his spring,</span>

+<span class="i0">They had surprised the corsairs where they lay,</span>

+<span class="i0">Sharing the spoil in blind security,</span>

+<span class="i0">And casting lots; had slain them one and all,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">All to the last,&mdash;and flung them far and wide</span>

+<span class="i0">Into the sea, their proper element.</span>

+<span class="i0">Him first, as first in rank, whose name so long</span>

+<span class="i0">Had hushed the babes of Venice, and who yet</span>

+<span class="i0">Breathing a little, in his look retained</span>

+<span class="i0">The fierceness of his soul.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p105.jpg" alt="_" width="400" height="615" />

+</div>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i26">Thus were the brides</span>

+<span class="i0">Lost and recovered. And what now remained</span>

+<span class="i0">But to give thanks? Twelve breastplates and twelve crowns,</span>

+<span class="i0">Flaming with gems and gold, the votive offerings</span>

+<span class="i0">Of the young victors to their patron saint,</span>

+<span class="i0">Vowed on the field of battle, were erelong</span>

+<span class="i0">Laid at his feet; and to preserve forever</span>

+<span class="i0">The memory of a day so full of change,</span>

+<span class="i0">From joy to grief, from grief to joy again,</span>

+<span class="i0">Through many an age, as oft as it came round,</span>

+<span class="i0">’Twas held religiously with all observance.</span>

+<span class="i0">The Doge resigned his crimson for pure ermine;</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">And through the city in a stately barge</span>

+<span class="i0">Of gold were borne, with songs and symphonies,</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">Twelve ladies young and noble. Clad they were</span>

+<span class="i0">In bridal white with bridal ornaments,</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">Each in her glittering veil; and on the deck</span>

+<span class="i0">As on a burnished throne, they glided by.</span>

+<span class="i0">No window or balcony but adorned</span>

+<span class="i0">With hangings of rich texture; not a roof</span>

+<span class="i0">But covered with beholders, and the air</span>

+<span class="i0">Vocal with joy. Onward they went, their oars</span>

+<span class="i0">Moving in concert with the harmony,</span>

+<span class="i0">Through the Rialto to the ducal palace;</span>

+<span class="i0">And at a banquet there, served with due honor,</span>

+<span class="i0">Sat, representing in the eyes of all&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Eyes not unwet, I ween, with grateful tears&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0 space-below3">Their lovely ancestors, the “Brides of Venice.”</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_1.jpg" alt="_" width="300" height="244" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p108.jpg" alt="The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers." width="600" height="76" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="T" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">THE breaking waves dashed high</span>

+<span class="i7">On a stern and rock-bound coast,</span>

+<span class="i5">And the woods against a stormy sky</span>

+<span class="i7">Their giant branches tossed;</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And the heavy night hung dark</span>

+<span class="i2">The hills and water o’er,</span>

+<span class="i0">When a band of exiles moored their bark</span>

+<span class="i2">On the wild New England shore.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Not as the conqueror comes,</span>

+<span class="i2">They, the true-hearted, came;</span>

+<span class="i0">Not with the roll of the stirring drums,</span>

+<span class="i2">And the trumpet that sings of fame;</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Not as the flying come,</span>

+<span class="i2">In silence and in fear;</span>

+<span class="i0">They shook the depths of the desert gloom</span>

+<span class="i2">With their hymns of lofty cheer.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Amidst the storm they sang,</span>

+<span class="i2">And the stars heard, and the sea;</span>

+<span class="i0">And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang</span>

+<span class="i2">To the anthem of the free!</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p109.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="389" />

+</div>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>

+<span class="i0">The ocean eagle soared</span>

+<span class="i2">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="i2">This was their welcome home.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">There were men with hoary hair</span>

+<span class="i2">Amidst that pilgrim band:</span>

+<span class="i0">Why had they come to wither there,</span>

+<span class="i2">Away from their childhood’s land?</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">There was woman’s fearless eye,</span>

+<span class="i2">Lit by her deep love’s truth;</span>

+<span class="i0">There was manhood’s brow, serenely high,</span>

+<span class="i2">And the fiery heart of youth.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">What sought they thus afar?</span>

+<span class="i2">Bright jewels of the mine,</span>

+<span class="i0">The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?</span>

+<span class="i2">They sought a faith’s pure shrine!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Aye, call it holy ground,</span>

+<span class="i2">The soil where first they trod;</span>

+<span class="i0">They have left unstained what there they found,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i2 space-below3">Freedom to worship God.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_5.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="56" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Days of Chivalry.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p112.jpg" alt="The Days of Chivalry." width="500" height="88" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_a.jpg" width="50" height="59" alt="A" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">ALAS! The days of chivalry are fled,</span>

+<span class="i7">The brilliant tournament exists no more;</span>

+<span class="i5">Our loves are cold, and dull as ice or lead,</span>

+<span class="i7">And courting is a most enormous bore.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">In those good “olden times,” a “ladye bright”</span>

+<span class="i2">Might sit within her turret or her bower,</span>

+<span class="i0">While lovers sang and played without all night,</span>

+<span class="i2">And deemed themselves rewarded by a flower.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Yet if one favored swain would persevere,</span>

+<span class="i2">In despite of her haughty scorn and laugh,</span>

+<span class="i0">Perchance she threw him, with the closing year,</span>

+<span class="i2">An old odd glove, or else a worn-out scarf.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Off then, away he’d ride o’er sea and land,</span>

+<span class="i2">And dragons fell and mighty giants smite</span>

+<span class="i0">With the tough spear he carried in his hand;</span>

+<span class="i2">And all to prove himself her own true knight.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p113.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="473" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Meanwhile a thousand more, as wild as he,</span>

+<span class="i2">Were all employed upon the self-same thing;</span>

+<span class="i0">And when each had rode hard for his “ladye,”</span>

+<span class="i2">They all come back and met within a ring.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Where all the men who were entitled “syr”</span>

+<span class="i2">Appeared with martial air and haughty frown,</span>

+<span class="i0">Bearing “long poles, each other up to stir,”</span>

+<span class="i2">And, in the stir-up, thrust each other down.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And then they galloped round with dire intent,</span>

+<span class="i2">Each knight resolved another’s pride to humble;</span>

+<span class="i0">And laughter rang around the tournament</span>

+<span class="i2">As oft as any of them had a tumble.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And when, perchance, some ill-starred wight might die,</span>

+<span class="i2">The victim of a stout, unlucky poke,</span>

+<span class="i0">Mayhap some fair one wiped one beauteous eye,</span>

+<span class="i2">The rest smiled calmly on the deadly joke.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Soon, then, the lady, whose grim, stalwart swain</span>

+<span class="i2">Had got the strongest horse and toughest pole,</span>

+<span class="i0">Bedecked him, kneeling, with a golden chain,</span>

+<span class="i2">And plighted troth before the motley whole.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Alas! the days of chivalry are fled,</span>

+<span class="i2">The brilliant tournament exists no more.</span>

+<span class="i0">Men now are cold and dull as ice or lead,</span>

+<span class="i2">And even courtship is a dreadful bore.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p>

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Song of the Camp.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p116.jpg" alt="The Song of the Camp." width="500" height="71" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_g_apos.jpg" width="60" height="65" alt="G" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">GIVE us a song!” the soldiers cried,</span>

+<span class="i7">The outer trenches guarding,</span>

+<span class="i5">When the heated guns of the camps allied</span>

+<span class="i7">Grew weary of bombarding.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">The dark Redan, in silent scoff,</span>

+<span class="i2">Lay grim and threatening under;</span>

+<span class="i0">And the tawny mound of the Malakoff</span>

+<span class="i2">No longer belched its thunder.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">There was a pause. A guardsman said,</span>

+<span class="i2">“We storm the forts to-morrow;</span>

+<span class="i0">Sing while we may, another day</span>

+<span class="i2">Will bring enough of sorrow.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">They lay along the battery’s side,</span>

+<span class="i2">Below the smoking cannon,</span>

+<span class="i0">Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde,</span>

+<span class="i2">And from the banks of Shannon.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">They sang of love, and not of fame;</span>

+<span class="i2">Forgot was Britain’s glory:</span>

+<span class="i0">Each heart recalled a different name,</span>

+<span class="i2">But all sang “Annie Lawrie.”</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p117.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="649" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Voice after voice caught up the song,</span>

+<span class="i2">Until its tender passion</span>

+<span class="i0">Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i2">Their battle-eve confession.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Beyond the darkening ocean burned</span>

+<span class="i2">The bloody sunset’s embers,</span>

+<span class="i0">While the Crimean valleys learned</span>

+<span class="i2">How English love remembers.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And once again a fire of hell</span>

+<span class="i2">Rained on the Russian quarters,</span>

+<span class="i0">With scream of shot and burst of shell</span>

+<span class="i2">And bellowing of the mortars!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And Irish Nora’s eyes are dim</span>

+<span class="i2">For a singer dumb and gory;</span>

+<span class="i0">And English Mary mourns for him</span>

+<span class="i2">Who sang of “Annie Lawrie.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest</span>

+<span class="i2">Your truth and valor wearing.</span>

+<span class="i0">The bravest are the tenderest,</span>

+<span class="i2 space-below3">The loving are the daring.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_6.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="55" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Recantation of Galileo.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p120.jpg" alt="The Recantation of Galileo." width="600" height="80" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_f.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="F" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">FAR ’neath the glorious light of the noontide,</span>

+<span class="i7">In a damp dungeon a prisoner lay,</span>

+<span class="i5">Aged and feeble, his failing years numbered,</span>

+<span class="i7">Waiting the fate to be brought him that day.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Silence, oppressive with darkness, held durance;</span>

+<span class="i2">Death in the living, or living in death;</span>

+<span class="i0">Crouched on the granite, and burdened with fetters,</span>

+<span class="i2">Inhaling slow poison with each labored breath.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">O’er the damp floor of his dungeon there glistened</span>

+<span class="i2">Faintly the rays of a swift-nearing light;</span>

+<span class="i0">Then the sweet jingle of keys, that soon opened</span>

+<span class="i2">The door, and revealed a strange scene to his sight.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">In the red glare of the flickering torches,</span>

+<span class="i2">Held by the gray-gowned soldiers of God,</span>

+<span class="i0">Gathered a group that the world will remember</span>

+<span class="i2">Long ages after we sleep ’neath the sod.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Draped in their robes of bright scarlet and purple,</span>

+<span class="i2">Bearing aloft the gold emblems of Rome,</span>

+<span class="i0">Stood the chief priests of the papal dominion,</span>

+<span class="i2">Under the shadow of Peter’s proud dome,</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p121.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="455" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">By the infallible pontiff commanded,</span>

+<span class="i2">From his own lips their directions received;</span>

+<span class="i0">Sent to demand of the wise Galileo</span>

+<span class="i2">Denial of all the great truths he believed,&mdash;</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Before the whole world to give up his convictions,</span>

+<span class="i2">Because the great church said the world had not moved;</span>

+<span class="i0">Then to swear, before God, that his science was idle,</span>

+<span class="i2">And truth was unknown to the facts he had proved.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">So, loosing his shackles, they bade the sage listen</span>

+<span class="i2">To words from the mouth of the vicar of God:</span>

+<span class="i0">“Recant thy vile doctrines, and life we will give thee:</span>

+<span class="i2">Adhere, and thy road to the grave is soon trod!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">His doctrines&mdash;the truth, as proud Rome has acknowledged&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i2">On low, bended knee, in that vault he renounced;</span>

+<span class="i0">Yet with joy in their eyes, the high-priests retiring,</span>

+<span class="i2">“Confinement for life,” as his sentence pronounced.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">But as they left him, their malice rekindled</span>

+<span class="i2">Fires that their threats had subdued in his breast:</span>

+<span class="i0">Clanking his chains, with fierce ardor he muttered,</span>

+<span class="i2 space-below3">“But it <i>does</i> move, and tyrants can ne’er make it rest.”</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_7.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="58" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Belshazzar.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p124.jpg" alt="Belshazzar." width="300" height="89" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="T" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">THE midnight hour was drawing on;</span>

+<span class="i6">Flushed in repose lay Babylon;</span>

+<span class="i6">But in the palace of the king</span>

+<span class="i6">The herd of courtiers shout and sing.</span>

+<span class="i0">There, in his royal banquet hall,</span>

+<span class="i0">Belshazzar holds high festival.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">The servants sit in glittering rows,</span>

+<span class="i0">The beakers are drained, the red wine flows;</span>

+<span class="i0">The beakers clash and the servants sing,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">A pleasing sound to the moody king.</span>

+<span class="i0">The king’s cheeks flush and his wild eyes shine,</span>

+<span class="i0">His spirit waxes bold with wine,</span>

+<span class="i0">Until, by maddening passion stung,</span>

+<span class="i0">He scoffs at God with impious tongue;</span>

+<span class="i0">And his proud heart swells as he wildly raves,</span>

+<span class="i0">’Mid shouts of applause from his fawning slaves.</span>

+<span class="i0">He spoke the word, and his eyes flashed flame!</span>

+<span class="i0">The ready servants went and came;</span>

+<span class="i0">Vessels of massive gold they bore,</span>

+<span class="i0">Of Jehovah’s temple the plundered store.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Then seizing a consecrated cup,</span>

+<span class="i0">The king in his fury fills it up;</span>

+<span class="i0">He fills, and hastily drains it dry;</span>

+<span class="i0">From his foaming lips leaps forth the cry,</span>

+<span class="i0">“Jehovah, at Thee my scorn I fling!</span>

+<span class="i0">I am Belshazzar, Babylon’s king.”</span>

+<span class="i0">Yet scarce had the impious words been said,</span>

+<span class="i0">When the king’s heart shrank with secret dread;</span>

+<span class="i0">Suddenly died the shout and yell,</span>

+<span class="i0">A deathlike hush on the tumult fell.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p125.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="576" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And see! and see! on the white wall high</span>

+<span class="i0">The form of a hand went slowly by,</span>

+<span class="i0">And wrote&mdash;and wrote in sight of all</span>

+<span class="i0">Letters of fire upon the wall!</span>

+<span class="i0">The king sat still, with a stony look,</span>

+<span class="i0">His trembling knees with terror shook;</span>

+<span class="i0">The menial throng nor spoke nor stirred;</span>

+<span class="i0">Fear froze the blood,&mdash;no sound was heard.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">The magicians came, but none of all</span>

+<span class="i0">Could read the writing on the wall.</span>

+<span class="i0">At length to solve those words of flame,</span>

+<span class="i0">Fearless, but meek, the prophet came.</span>

+<span class="i0">One glance he gave, and all was clear.</span>

+<span class="i0">“King! there is reason in thy fear.</span>

+<span class="i0">Those words proclaim, thy empire ends,</span>

+<span class="i0">The day of woe and wrath impends.</span>

+<span class="i0">Weighed in the balance, wanting found,</span>

+<span class="i0">Thou and thy empire strike the ground!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">That night, by the servants of his train,</span>

+<span class="i0">Belshazzar, the mighty king, was slain!</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Liberty.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p128.jpg" alt="Liberty." width="250" height="103" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_w.jpg" width="50" height="61" alt="W" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">WITH what pride I used</span>

+<span class="i6">To walk these hills, and look up to my God,</span>

+<span class="i0">And bless him that it was so! I loved</span>

+<span class="i0">Its very storms. I have sat</span>

+<span class="i0">In my boat at night when, midway o’er the lake,</span>

+<span class="i0">The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge</span>

+<span class="i0">The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed</span>

+<span class="i0">The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled</span>

+<span class="i0">To see him shake his lightnings o’er my head,</span>

+<span class="i0">And think I had no master save his own.</span>

+<span class="i0">You know the jutting cliff round which a track</span>

+<span class="i0">Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow</span>

+<span class="i0">To such another one, with scanty room</span>

+<span class="i0">For two abreast to pass? O’ertaken there</span>

+<span class="i0">By the mountain blast, I’ve laid me flat along,</span>

+<span class="i0">And while gust followed gust more furiously,</span>

+<span class="i0">As if to sweep me o’er the horrid brink,</span>

+<span class="i0">And I have thought of other lands, whose storms</span>

+<span class="i0">Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just</span>

+<span class="i0">Have wished me there&mdash;the thought that mine was free</span>

+<span class="i0">Has checked that wish; and I have raised my head,</span>

+<span class="i0">And cried in thraldrom to that furious wind,</span>

+<span class="i0">Blow on! This is the land of liberty!</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p129.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="595" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Fishermen.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p131.jpg" alt="The Fishermen." width="350" height="75" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_h.jpg" width="40" height="64" alt="H" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">HURRAH! the seaward breezes</span>

+<span class="i7">Sweep down the bay amain.</span>

+<span class="i5">Heave up, my lads, the anchor!</span>

+<span class="i7">Run up the sail again!</span>

+<span class="i0">Leave to the lubber landsmen</span>

+<span class="i2">The rail-car and the steed;</span>

+<span class="i0">The stars of heaven shall guide us,</span>

+<span class="i2">The breath of heaven shall speed.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">From the hill-top looks the steeple,</span>

+<span class="i2">And the lighthouse from the sand;</span>

+<span class="i0">And the scattered pines are waving</span>

+<span class="i2">Their farewell from the land.</span>

+<span class="i0">One glance, my lads, behind us,</span>

+<span class="i2">For the homes we leave one sigh,</span>

+<span class="i0">Ere we take the change and chances</span>

+<span class="i2">Of the ocean and the sky.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Now, brothers, for the icebergs</span>

+<span class="i2">Of frozen Labrador,</span>

+<span class="i0">Floating spectral in the moonshine,</span>

+<span class="i2">Along the low, black shore!</span>

+<span class="i0">Where like snow the gannet’s feathers</span>

+<span class="i2">On Brador’s rocks are shed,</span>

+<span class="i0">And the noisy murr are flying,</span>

+<span class="i2">Like black scuds, overhead;</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Where in mist the rock is hiding,</span>

+<span class="i2">And the sharp reef lurks below,</span>

+<span class="i0">And the white squall smites in summer,</span>

+<span class="i2">And the autumn tempests blow;</span>

+<span class="i0">Where, through gray and rolling vapor,</span>

+<span class="i2">From evening unto morn,</span>

+<span class="i0">A thousand boats are hailing,</span>

+<span class="i2">Horn answering unto horn.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Hurrah for the Red Island,</span>

+<span class="i2">With the white cross on its crown!</span>

+<span class="i0">Hurrah for Meccatina,</span>

+<span class="i2">And its mountains bare and brown!</span>

+<span class="i0">Where the caribou’s tall antlers</span>

+<span class="i2">O’er the dwarf-wood freely toss,</span>

+<span class="i0">And the footstep of the mickmack</span>

+<span class="i2">Has no sound upon the moss.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">There we’ll drop our lines, and gather</span>

+<span class="i2">Old Ocean’s treasures in,</span>

+<span class="i0">Where’er the mottled mackerel</span>

+<span class="i2">Turns up a steel-dark fin.</span>

+<span class="i0">The sea’s our field of harvest,</span>

+<span class="i2">Its scaly tribes our grain;</span>

+<span class="i0">We’ll reap the teeming waters</span>

+<span class="i2">As at home they reap the plain!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Our wet hands spread the carpet,</span>

+<span class="i2">And light the hearth of home;</span>

+<span class="i0">From our fish, as in the old time,</span>

+<span class="i2">The silver coin shall come.</span>

+<span class="i0">As the demon fled the chamber</span>

+<span class="i2">Where the fish of Tobit lay,</span>

+<span class="i0">So ours from all our dwellings</span>

+<span class="i2">Shall frighten Want away.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p133.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="405" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Though the mist upon our jackets</span>

+<span class="i2">In the bitter air congeals,</span>

+<span class="i0">And our lines wind stiff and slowly</span>

+<span class="i2">From off the frozen reels,</span>

+<span class="i0">Though the fog be dark around us,</span>

+<span class="i2">And the storm blow high and loud,</span>

+<span class="i0">We will whistle down the wild wind,</span>

+<span class="i2">And laugh beneath the cloud!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">In the darkness as in daylight,</span>

+<span class="i2">On the water as on land,</span>

+<span class="i0">God’s eye is looking on us,</span>

+<span class="i2">And beneath us is his hand!</span>

+<span class="i0">Death will find us soon or later,</span>

+<span class="i2">On the deck or in the cot;</span>

+<span class="i0">And we cannot meet him better</span>

+<span class="i2">Than in working out our lot.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Hurrah! hurrah! The west wind</span>

+<span class="i2">Comes freshening down the bay,</span>

+<span class="i0">The rising sails are filling,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i2">Give way, my lads, give way!</span>

+<span class="i0">Leave the coward landsman clinging</span>

+<span class="i2">To the dull earth, like a weed.</span>

+<span class="i0">The stars of heaven shall guide us,</span>

+<span class="i2">The breath of heaven shall speed!</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">Excelsior.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p136.jpg" alt="Excelsior." width="250" height="82" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="T" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">THE shades of night were falling fast,</span>

+<span class="i5">As through an Alpine village passed</span>

+<span class="i5">A youth, who bore, ’mid snow and ice,</span>

+<span class="i5">A banner, with the strange device,</span>

+<span class="i12">Excelsior!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">His brow was sad; his eye, beneath,</span>

+<span class="i0">Flashed like a falchion from its sheath;</span>

+<span class="i0">And like a silver clarion rung</span>

+<span class="i0">The accents of that unknown tongue,</span>

+<span class="i12">Excelsior!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">In happy homes he saw the light</span>

+<span class="i0">Of household fires gleam warm and bright.</span>

+<span class="i0">Above, the spectral glaciers shone;</span>

+<span class="i0">And from his lips escaped a groan,</span>

+<span class="i12">Excelsior!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Try not the pass!” the old man said;</span>

+<span class="i0">“Dark lowers the tempest overhead!</span>

+<span class="i0">The roaring torrent is deep and wide!”</span>

+<span class="i0">And loud that clarion voice replied,</span>

+<span class="i12">Excelsior!</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p137.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="619" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Oh! stay,” the maiden said, “and rest</span>

+<span class="i0">Thy weary head upon this breast!”</span>

+<span class="i0">A tear stood in his bright blue eye;</span>

+<span class="i0">But still he answered, with a sigh,</span>

+<span class="i12">Excelsior!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Beware the pine-tree’s withered branch!</span>

+<span class="i0">Beware the awful avalanche!”</span>

+<span class="i0">This was the peasant’s last good-night.</span>

+<span class="i0">A voice replied, far up the height,</span>

+<span class="i12">Excelsior!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">At break of day, as heavenward</span>

+<span class="i0">The pious monks of St. Bernard</span>

+<span class="i0">Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,</span>

+<span class="i0">A voice cried, through the startled air,</span>

+<span class="i12">Excelsior!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">A traveller by the faithful hound,</span>

+<span class="i0">Half buried in the snow, was found,</span>

+<span class="i0">Still grasping in his hand of ice</span>

+<span class="i0">The banner with the strange device,</span>

+<span class="i12">Excelsior!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">There, in the twilight cold and gray,</span>

+<span class="i0">Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay;</span>

+<span class="i0">And from the sky, serene and far,</span>

+<span class="i0">A voice fell, like a falling star,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i12">Excelsior!</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r25" />

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Soldier.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p140.jpg" alt="The Soldier." width="250" height="63" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_f.jpg" width="50" height="62" alt="F" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">FOR gold the merchant ploughs &nbsp;&nbsp;the&nbsp;main,</span>

+<span class="i5">The farmer ploughs the manor;</span>

+<span class="i3">But glory is the soldier’s prize,</span>

+<span class="i5">The soldier’s wealth is honor.</span>

+<span class="i0">The brave poor soldier ne’er despise;</span>

+<span class="i2">Nor count him as a stranger;</span>

+<span class="i0">Remember, he’s his country’s stay</span>

+<span class="i2">In day and hour o’ danger.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p141.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="378" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">John Maynard.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p143.jpg" alt="John Maynard." width="300" height="69" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t_apos.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="'T" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">TWAS on Lake Erie’s broad expanse,</span>

+<span class="i7">One bright midsummer day,</span>

+<span class="i5">The gallant steamer, Ocean Queen,</span>

+<span class="i7">Swept proudly on her way.</span>

+<span class="i0">Bright faces clustered on the deck,</span>

+<span class="i2">Or, leaning o’er the side,</span>

+<span class="i0">Watched carelessly the feathery foam</span>

+<span class="i2">That flecked the rippling tide.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">A seaman sought the captain’s side,</span>

+<span class="i2">A moment whispered low:</span>

+<span class="i0">The captain’s swarthy face grew pale;</span>

+<span class="i2">He hurried down below.</span>

+<span class="i0">Alas, too late! Though quick and sharp</span>

+<span class="i2">And clear his orders came,</span>

+<span class="i0">No human efforts could avail</span>

+<span class="i2">To quench th’ insidious flame.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">The bad news quickly reached the deck,</span>

+<span class="i2">It sped from lip to lip,</span>

+<span class="i0">And ghastly faces everywhere</span>

+<span class="i2">Looked from the doomed ship.</span>

+<span class="i0">“Is there no hope, no chance of life?”</span>

+<span class="i2">A hundred lips implore.</span>

+<span class="i0">“But one,” the captain made reply;</span>

+<span class="i2">“To run the ship on shore.”</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">A sailor whose heroic soul</span>

+<span class="i2">That hour should yet reveal,</span>

+<span class="i0">By name John Maynard, Eastern born,</span>

+<span class="i2">Stood calmly at the wheel.</span>

+<span class="i0">“Head her southeast!” the captain shouts,</span>

+<span class="i2">Above the smothered roar,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">“Head her southeast without delay!</span>

+<span class="i2">Make for the nearest shore!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">John Maynard watched the nearing flames,</span>

+<span class="i2">But still, with steady hand,</span>

+<span class="i0">He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly</span>

+<span class="i2">He steered the ship to land.</span>

+<span class="i0">“John Maynard, can you still hold out?”</span>

+<span class="i2">He heard the captain cry.</span>

+<span class="i0">A voice from out the stifling smoke</span>

+<span class="i2">Faintly responds, “Ay, ay!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">But half a mile! A hundred hands</span>

+<span class="i2">Stretch eagerly to shore.</span>

+<span class="i0">But half a mile! That distance sped,</span>

+<span class="i2">Peril shall all be o’er.</span>

+<span class="i0">But half a mile! Yet stay! The flames</span>

+<span class="i2">No longer slowly creep,</span>

+<span class="i0">But gather round the helmsman bold</span>

+<span class="i2">With fierce, impetuous sweep.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“John Maynard,” with an anxious voice,</span>

+<span class="i2">The captain cries once more,</span>

+<span class="i0">“Stand by the wheel five minutes yet,</span>

+<span class="i2">And we will reach the shore.”</span>

+<span class="i0">Through flames and smoke that dauntless heart</span>

+<span class="i2">Responded firmly still,</span>

+<span class="i0">Unawed, though face to face with death,</span>

+<span class="i2">“With God’s good help, I will!”</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p145.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="587" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">The flames approach with giant strides,</span>

+<span class="i2">They scorch his hands and brow;</span>

+<span class="i0">One arm disabled seeks his side:</span>

+<span class="i2">Ah, he is conquered now!</span>

+<span class="i0">But no; his teeth are firmly set,</span>

+<span class="i2">He crushes down his pain;</span>

+<span class="i0">His knee upon the stanchion pressed,</span>

+<span class="i2">He guides the ship again.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">One moment yet, one moment yet!</span>

+<span class="i2">Brave heart, thy task is o’er!</span>

+<span class="i0">The pebbles grate beneath the keel,</span>

+<span class="i2">The steamer touches shore.</span>

+<span class="i0">Three hundred grateful voices rise</span>

+<span class="i2">In praise to God, that He</span>

+<span class="i0">Hath saved them from the fearful fire</span>

+<span class="i2">And from th’ ingulfing sea.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">But where is he, that helmsman bold?</span>

+<span class="i2">The captain saw him reel;</span>

+<span class="i0">His nerveless hands released their task,</span>

+<span class="i2">He sank beside the wheel.</span>

+<span class="i0">The wave received his lifeless corpse,</span>

+<span class="i2">Blackened with smoke and fire.</span>

+<span class="i0">God rest him! Never hero had</span>

+<span class="i2">A nobler funeral pyre.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p>

+<h2><span class="smcap">Excalibur.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p148.jpg" alt="Excalibur." width="200" height="64" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="T" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">THEN spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:</span>

+<span class="i5">“The sequel of to-day unsolders all</span>

+<span class="i5">The goodliest fellowship of famous knights</span>

+<span class="i0">Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep</span>

+<span class="i0">They sleep,&mdash;the men I loved. I think that we</span>

+<span class="i0">Shall never more, at any future time,</span>

+<span class="i0">Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,</span>

+<span class="i0">Walking about the gardens and the halls</span>

+<span class="i0">Of Camelot, as in the days that were.</span>

+<span class="i0">I perish by this people which I made,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Though Merlin swear that I should come again</span>

+<span class="i0">To rule once more; but let what will be, be:</span>

+<span class="i0">I am so deeply smitten through the helm</span>

+<span class="i0">That without help I cannot last till morn.</span>

+<span class="i0">Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,</span>

+<span class="i0">Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how</span>

+<span class="i0">In those old days, one summer noon, an arm</span>

+<span class="i0">Rose up from out the bosom of the lake,</span>

+<span class="i0">Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,</span>

+<span class="i0">Holding the sword; and how I rowed across</span>

+<span class="i0">And took it, and have worn it, like a king:</span>

+<span class="i0">And, wheresoever I am sung or told</span>

+<span class="i0">In after-time, this also shall be known:</span>

+<span class="i0">But now delay not: take Excalibur,</span>

+<span class="i0">And fling him far into the middle mere.</span>

+<span class="i0">Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word.”</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p151.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="490" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,</span>

+<span class="i0">And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged</span>

+<span class="i0">Among the bulrush beds, and clutched the sword,</span>

+<span class="i0">And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand</span>

+<span class="i0">Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon,</span>

+<span class="i0">And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch,</span>

+<span class="i0">Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,</span>

+<span class="i0">Seen where the moving isles of winter shock</span>

+<span class="i0">By night, with noises of the northern sea.</span>

+<span class="i0">So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur:</span>

+<span class="i0">But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm</span>

+<span class="i0">Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,</span>

+<span class="i0">And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him</span>

+<span class="i0">Three times, and drew him under in the mere.</span>

+<span class="i0 space-below3">And lightly went the other to the king.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_3.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="57" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Death of Arthur.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p152.jpg" alt="The Death of Arthur." width="450" height="80" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="50" height="63" alt="T" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">THEN saw they how there hove a dusky barge,</span>

+<span class="i5">Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern,</span>

+<span class="i5">Beneath them; and descending they were ware</span>

+<span class="i0">That all the decks were dense with stately forms</span>

+<span class="i0">Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream; by these</span>

+<span class="i0">Three Queens with crowns of gold, and from them rose</span>

+<span class="i0">A cry that shivered to the tingling stars,</span>

+<span class="i0">And, as it were one voice, an agony</span>

+<span class="i0">Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills</span>

+<span class="i0">All night in a waste land, where no one comes,</span>

+<span class="i0">Or hath come since the making of the world.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Then murmured Arthur, “Place me in the barge.”</span>

+<span class="i0">So to the barge they came. There those three Queens</span>

+<span class="i0">Put forth their hands, and took the king, and wept.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p153.jpg" alt="_" width="600" height="478" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And slowly answered Arthur from the barge:</span>

+<span class="i0">“The old order changeth, yielding place to new,</span>

+<span class="i0">And God fulfils himself in many ways,</span>

+<span class="i0">Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.</span>

+<span class="i0">Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?</span>

+<span class="i0">I have lived my life, and that which I have done</span>

+<span class="i0">May He within himself make pure! but thou,</span>

+<span class="i0">If thou shouldst never see my face again,</span>

+<span class="i0">Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer</span>

+<span class="i0">Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice</span>

+<span class="i0">Rise like a fountain for me night and day.</span>

+<span class="i0">For what are men better than sheep or goats</span>

+<span class="i0">That nourish a blind life within the brain,</span>

+<span class="i0">If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer</span>

+<span class="i0">Both for themselves and those who call them friend?</span>

+<span class="i0">For so the whole round earth is every way</span>

+<span class="i0">Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.</span>

+<span class="i0">But now farewell. I am going a long way</span>

+<span class="i0">With these thou seest&mdash;if indeed I go&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)</span>

+<span class="i0">To the island-valley of Avilion,</span>

+<span class="i0">Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,</span>

+<span class="i0">Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies</span>

+<span class="i0">Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns</span>

+<span class="i0">And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea,</span>

+<span class="i0">Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">So said he, and the barge with oar and sail</span>

+<span class="i0">Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan</span>

+<span class="i0">That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,</span>

+<span class="i0">Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood</span>

+<span class="i0 space-below3">With swarthy webs.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_6.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="55" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p156.jpg" alt="A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea." width="550" height="68" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_a.jpg" width="50" height="59" alt="A" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">A WET sheet and a flowing sea,</span>

+<span class="i7">A wind that follows fast,</span>

+<span class="i5">And fills the white and rustling sail,</span>

+<span class="i7">And bends the gallant mast.</span>

+<span class="i0">And bends the gallant mast, my boys,</span>

+<span class="i2">While, like the eagle free,</span>

+<span class="i0">Away the good ship flies, and leaves</span>

+<span class="i2">Old England on the lee.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">O, for a soft and gentle wind!</span>

+<span class="i2">I heard a fair one cry;</span>

+<span class="i0">But give to me the swelling breeze,</span>

+<span class="i2">And white waves heaving high.</span>

+<span class="i0">The white waves heaving high, my lads,</span>

+<span class="i2">The good ship tight and free,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">The world of waters is our home,</span>

+<span class="i2">And merry men are we.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p157.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="644" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Leap of Curtius.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p159.jpg" alt="The Leap of Curtius." width="500" height="84" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_w.jpg" width="50" height="61" alt="W" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">WITHIN Rome’s forum, suddenly, a wide gap opened in a night,</span>

+<span class="i6">Astounding those who gazed on it,&mdash;a strange, terrific sight.</span>

+<span class="i6">In Senate all their sages met, and, seated in their chairs of state,</span>

+<span class="i6">Their faces blanched with deadly fear, debated long and late.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">A sign inimical to Rome, they deemed it,&mdash;a prognostic dire,</span>

+<span class="i0">A visitation from the gods, in token of their ire.</span>

+<span class="i0">Yet how to have their minds resolved, how ascertain in this their need,</span>

+<span class="i0">Beyond the shadow of a doubt, if thus it were indeed?</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">In silence brooded they awhile, unbroken by a single word,</span>

+<span class="i0">While from the capital without the lightest sounds were heard.</span>

+<span class="i0">Then rose the eldest magistrate, a tall old man, with locks like snow,</span>

+<span class="i0">Straight as a dart, and with an eye that oft had quelled the foe.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And thus, with ripe, sonorous voice, no note or tone of which did shake,</span>

+<span class="i0">Or indicate the wear of time, the aged Nestor spake:</span>

+<span class="i0">“Fathers, the Oracle is nigh: to it then let us promptly send,</span>

+<span class="i0">And at the shrine inquire what this dread marvel doth portend.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“And if to Rome it augurs ill, then ask we, ere it be too late,</span>

+<span class="i0">How we may best avert the doom, and save the sacred state.&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">That state to every Roman dear, as dear as brother, friend, or wife,</span>

+<span class="i0">For which each true-born son would give, if needful, even life.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“For what, O fathers! what were life apart from altar, hearth, and home?</span>

+<span class="i0">Yea, is not all our highest good bound up with that of Rome?</span>

+<span class="i0">And now adjourn we for a space, till three full days have circled round,</span>

+<span class="i0">And on the morning of the fourth, let each one here be found.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Then gat they up, and gloomily for such short interval did part,</span>

+<span class="i0">For they were Romans stanch and tried, and sad was every heart.</span>

+<span class="i0">The fourth day dawned, and when they met, the Oracle’s response was known:</span>

+<span class="i0">Something most precious in the chasm to close it must be thrown.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">But if <i>un</i>closed it shall remain, thereon shall follow Rome’s decay,</span>

+<span class="i0">And all the splendor of her state shall pale and pass away.</span>

+<span class="i0">Something most precious! What the gift that may prevent the pending fate,</span>

+<span class="i0">What costly offering will the gods indeed propitiate?</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">While this they pondered, lo! a sound of footsteps fell on every ear,</span>

+<span class="i0">And in their midst a Roman youth did presently appear.</span>

+<span class="i0">Apollo’s brow, a mien like Mars, in Beauty’s mould he seemed new-made,</span>

+<span class="i0">As on his golden hair the sun with dazzling dalliance played.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">’Tis Marcus Curtius! Purer blood none there could boast, and none more brave:</span>

+<span class="i0">There stands the youthful patriot, come, a Roman, Rome to save.</span>

+<span class="i0">His own young life, he offers that, yea, volunteers <i>himself</i> to throw</span>

+<span class="i0">Within the cleft to make it close, and stay the heavy woe.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And now on horseback, fully armed, behold him, for the hour hath come.</span>

+<span class="i0">The Roman guards keep watch and ward, and beats the muffled drum.</span>

+<span class="i0">The consuls, proctors, soothsayers, within the forum group around,</span>

+<span class="i0">Young Curtius in the saddle sits,&mdash;there yawns the severed ground.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p161.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="650" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Each pulse is stayed. He lifts his helm, and bares his forehead to the sky,</span>

+<span class="i0">And to the broad, blue heaven above upturns his flashing eye.</span>

+<span class="i0">“O Rome, O country best beloved, thou land in which I first drew breath,</span>

+<span class="i0">I render back the life thou gav’st, to rescue <i>thee</i>from death!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Then spurring on his gallant steed, a last and brief farewell he said,</span>

+<span class="i0 space-below3">And leapt within the gaping gulf, <i>which closed above his head</i>.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_1.jpg" alt="_" width="300" height="244" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">The Ride from Ghent to Aix.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p164.jpg" alt="The Ride from Ghent to Aix." width="600" height="60" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_i.jpg" width="50" height="60" alt="I" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;</span>

+<span class="i6">I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three.</span>

+<span class="i6">“Good speed!” cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;</span>

+<span class="i6">“Speed!” echoed the wall to us galloping through.</span>

+<span class="i0">Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,</span>

+<span class="i0">And into the midnight we galloped abreast.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace</span>

+<span class="i0">Neck by neck, stride for stride, never changing our place.</span>

+<span class="i0">I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,</span>

+<span class="i0">Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,</span>

+<span class="i0">Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,</span>

+<span class="i0">Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">’Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near</span>

+<span class="i0">Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;</span>

+<span class="i0">At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;</span>

+<span class="i0">At Düffield, ’twas morning, as plain as could be;</span>

+<span class="i0">And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,</span>

+<span class="i0">So Joris broke the silence with, “Yet there is time!”</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p165.jpg" alt="_" width="450" height="582" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">At Aorschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,</span>

+<span class="i0">And against him the cattle stood black every one.</span>

+<span class="i0">To stare through the mist at us galloping past,</span>

+<span class="i0">And I saw my stout galloper Roland, at last,</span>

+<span class="i0">With resolute shoulders, each butting away</span>

+<span class="i0">The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back</span>

+<span class="i0">For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;</span>

+<span class="i0">And one eye’s black intelligence, ever that glance</span>

+<span class="i0">O’er its white edge at me, his own master, askance;</span>

+<span class="i0">And the thick, heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon</span>

+<span class="i0">His fierce lips shook upwards on galloping on.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, “Stay spur!</span>

+<span class="i0">Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault’s not in her.</span>

+<span class="i0">We’ll remember at Aix!”&mdash;for one heard the quick wheeze</span>

+<span class="i0">Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,</span>

+<span class="i0">And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,</span>

+<span class="i0">As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">So we were left galloping, Joris and I,</span>

+<span class="i0">Past Looz and past Tongrés, no cloud in the sky;</span>

+<span class="i0">The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,</span>

+<span class="i0">’Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff,</span>

+<span class="i0">Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,</span>

+<span class="i0">And, “Gallop,” gasped Joris, “for Aix is in sight!”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“How they’ll greet us!” And all in a moment his roan</span>

+<span class="i0">Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;</span>

+<span class="i0">And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight</span>

+<span class="i0">Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,</span>

+<span class="i0">With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim</span>

+<span class="i0">And with circles of red for his eye-sockets’ rim.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,</span>

+<span class="i0">Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,</span>

+<span class="i0">Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,</span>

+<span class="i0">Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer;</span>

+<span class="i0">Clapped my hands, laughed and sang,&mdash;any noise, bad or good,</span>

+<span class="i0">Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">And all I remember is friends flocking around</span>

+<span class="i0">As I sat with his head ’twixt my knees on the ground,</span>

+<span class="i0">And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,</span>

+<span class="i0">As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,</span>

+<span class="i0">Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)</span>

+<span class="i0 space-below3">Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.</span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/detail_2.jpg" alt="_" width="150" height="108" />

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p>

+

+<h2><span class="smcap">A Yarn.</span></h2>

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p169.jpg" alt="A Yarn." width="200" height="77" />

+</div><hr class="r25" />

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<div>

+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t_apos.jpg" width="50" height="62" alt="'T" />

+  <p><br /></p>

+</div>

+<span class="i0-d0 drop-cap">TIS Saturday night, and our watch below.</span>

+<span class="i5">What heed we, boys, how the breezes blow,</span>

+<span class="i5">While our cans are brimmed with the sparkling flow?</span>

+<span class="i0">Come, Jack, uncoil, as we pass the grog,</span>

+<span class="i0">And spin us a yarn from memory’s log.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">Jack’s brawny chest like the broad sea heaved,</span>

+<span class="i0">While his loving lip to the beaker cleaved;</span>

+<span class="i0">And he drew his tarred and well-saved sleeve</span>

+<span class="i0">Across his mouth, as he drained the can,</span>

+<span class="i0">And thus to his listening mates began:&mdash;</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“When I sailed, a boy, in the schooner Mike,</span>

+<span class="i0">No bigger, I trow, than a marlinespike&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">But I’ve told ye the tale ere now, belike?”</span>

+<span class="i0">“Go on!” each voice re-echoed,</span>

+<span class="i0">And the tar thrice hemmed, and thus he said:&mdash;</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“A stanch-built craft as the waves e’er bore&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">We had loosed our sail for home once more,</span>

+<span class="i0">Freighted full deep from Labrador,</span>

+<span class="i0">When a cloud one night rose on our lee,</span>

+<span class="i0">That the heart of the stoutest quailed to see.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“And voices wild with the winds were blent,</span>

+<span class="i0">As our bark her prow to the waters bent;</span>

+<span class="i0">And the seamen muttered their discontent&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Muttered and nodded ominously&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">But the mate, right carelessly whistled he.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“‘Our bark may never outride the gale.</span>

+<span class="i0">’Tis a pitiless night! The pattering hail</span>

+<span class="i0">Hath coated each spar as ’twere in mail;</span>

+<span class="i0">And our sails are riven before the breeze,</span>

+<span class="i0">While our cordage and shrouds into icicles freeze!’</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Thus spake the skipper beside the mast,</span>

+<span class="i0">While the arrowy sleet fell thick and fast;</span>

+<span class="i0">And our bark drove onward before the blast</span>

+<span class="i0">That goaded the waves, till the angry main</span>

+<span class="i0">Rose up and strove with the hurricane.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Up spake the mate, and his tone was gay,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">‘Shall we at this hour to fear give way?</span>

+<span class="i0">We must labor, in sooth, as well as pray.</span>

+<span class="i0">Out, shipmates, and grapple home yonder sail,</span>

+<span class="i0">That flutters in ribbons before the gale!’</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Loud swelled the tempest, and rose the shriek,</span>

+<span class="i0">‘Save, save! we are sinking! A leak! a leak!’</span>

+<span class="i0">And the hale old skipper’s tawny cheek</span>

+<span class="i0">Was cold, as ’twere sculptured in marble there,</span>

+<span class="i0">And white as the foam or his own white hair.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>

+</div></div></div>

+

+<div class="figcenter">

+    <img src="images/p171.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="629" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p>

+<p><span class="pagenum"><br /><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“The wind piped shrilly, the wind piped loud,</span>

+<span class="i0">It shrieked ’mong the cordage, it howled in the shroud,</span>

+<span class="i0">And the sleet fell thick from the cold, dun cloud;</span>

+<span class="i0">But high over all, in tones of glee,</span>

+<span class="i0">The voice of the mate rang cheerily,&mdash;</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Now, men, for your wives’ and your sweethearts’ sakes!</span>

+<span class="i0">Cheer, messmates, cheer! Quick! man the brakes!</span>

+<span class="i0">We’ll gain on the leak ere the skipper wakes;</span>

+<span class="i0">And though our peril your hearts appall,</span>

+<span class="i0">Ere dawns the morrow we’ll laugh at the squall.”</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“He railed at the tempest, he laughed at its threats,</span>

+<span class="i0">He played with his fingers like castanets;</span>

+<span class="i0">Yet think not that he, in his mirth, forgets</span>

+<span class="i0">That the plank he is riding this hour at sea</span>

+<span class="i0">May launch him the next to eternity!</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“The white-haired skipper turned away,</span>

+<span class="i0">And lifted his hands, as it were to pray;</span>

+<span class="i0">But his look spoke plainly as look could say,</span>

+<span class="i0">The boastful thought of the Pharisee,&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">‘Thank God, I’m not hardened as others be!’</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“But the morning dawned, and the waves sank low,</span>

+<span class="i0">And the winds, o’erwearied, forebore to blow:</span>

+<span class="i0">And our bark lay there in the golden glow.&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">Flashing she lay in the bright sunshine,</span>

+<span class="i0"><i>An ice-sheathed hulk</i> on the cold, still brine.</span>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Well, shipmates, my yarn is almost spun&mdash;</span>

+<span class="i0">The cold and the tempest their work had done,</span>

+<span class="i0">And I was the last, lone, living one,</span>

+<span class="i0">Clinging, benumbed, to that wave-girt wreck,</span>

+<span class="i0">While the dead around me bestrewed the deck.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Yea, the dead were round me everywhere!</span>

+<span class="i0">The skipper gray, in the sunlight there,</span>

+<span class="i0">Still lifted his paralyzed hands in prayer;</span>

+<span class="i0">And the mate, whose tones through the darkness leapt,</span>

+<span class="i0">In the silent hush of the morning slept.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“Oh, bravely he perished who sought to save</span>

+<span class="i0">Our storm-tossed bark from the pitiless wave,</span>

+<span class="i0">And her crew from a yawning and fathomless grave,</span>

+<span class="i0">Crying, Messmates, cheer!’ with a bright, glad smile,</span>

+<span class="i0">And praying, ‘Be merciful, God!’ the while.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“True to his trust, to his last chill gasp,</span>

+<span class="i0">The helm lay clutched in his stiff, cold grasp:</span>

+<span class="i0">You might scarcely in death undo the clasp;</span>

+<span class="i0">And his crisp, brown locks were dank and thin,</span>

+<span class="i0">And the icicles hung from his bearded chin.</span>

+</div><div class="stanza">

+<span class="i0">“My timbers have weathered, since, many a gale;</span>

+<span class="i0">And when life’s tempests this hulk assail,</span>

+<span class="i0">And the binnacle-lamp in my breast burns pale,</span>

+<span class="i0">‘Cheer, messmates, cheer!’ to my heart I say,</span>

+<span class="i0">‘We must labor, in sooth, as well as pray.’”</span>

+</div></div></div>

+<hr class="full" />

+<div class="transnote bbox">

+<p class="f120 space-above1">Transcriber Notes:</p>

+<hr class="r5" />

+<p class="indent">Uncertain or antiquated spellings or ancient words were not corrected.</p>

+<p class="indent">The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up stanzas.</p>

+<p class="indent">Errors in punctuation and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected

+                  unless otherwise noted.</p>

+<p class="indent">Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations

+    in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.</p>

+<p class="indent">In TOC, corrected "Excelsior" reference from 137 to 136.</p>

+</div>

+<hr class="r25" />

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+<pre>

+

+

+

+

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