But that thundering at the gate
From morn to midnight late
Knew no rest,
And a boding cry of fate,
Like an owlet's cry of hate,
Chill'd his breast.
Yet he raised the palsied hand,
And, eager, gave command
To repel the threatening guest.
So the Esculapian band,
In their armour old and tried,
Were summon'd to his side;
And the watchful nurses came,
Whose lamp, like vestal flame,
Never died.
But the tottering bulwarks their trust betray'd,
And the old man groan'd as a breach was made;
Then through the chasm a skeleton foot
Forced its way,
And a fleshless hand to a shaft was put,
And he was clay.
THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING.
THE time I've lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing
The light that lies
In woman's eyes,
Has been my heart's undoing.
Tho' Wisdom oft has sought me,
I scorn the love she brought me ;
My only books
Were woman's looks,
And folly's all they've taught me.
Her smile when Beauty granted,
I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him the sprite
Whom maids by night
Oft meet in the glen that's haunted.
Like him, too, Beauty won me,
But while her smile was on me,
If once their ray
Was turn'd away,
O winds could not outrun me.
And are those follies going?
And is my proud heart growing
Too cold or wise
For brilliant eyes
Again to set it glowing?
No-vain, alas! th' endeavour
From bonds so sweet to sever;
Poor Wisdom's chance
Against a glance
Is now as weak as ever.
No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was as still as she could be ;
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.
Without either sign or sound of their shock,
The waves flow'd over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape bell.
The good Abbot of Aberbrothok
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
And over the waves its warning rung.
When the rock was hid by the surge's swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous rock,
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.
The sun in heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds scream'd as they wheel'd around,
And there was joyance in their sound.
The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen,
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd his deck,
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.
He felt the cheering power of spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess-
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.
His eyes were on the Inchcape float:
Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok."
The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.
Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound-
The bubbles rose and burst around;
Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the Rock
Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."
Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away;
He scoured the seas for many a day;
And, now grown rich with plunder'd store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.
So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky,
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.
On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."
"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? For methinks we should be near the shore. Now where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape bell."
They hear no sound-the swell is strong;
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock-
"Mercy! it is the Inchcape Rock!"
Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
And beat his breast in his despair:
The waves rush in on every side,
And the ship sinks down beneath the tide.
OFT has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark,
With eyes that hardly served at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post.
Yet round the world the blade had been
To see whatever could be seen;
Returning from his finish'd tour,
Grown ten times perter than before.
Whatever words you chance to drop,
The travell'd fool your mouth will stop-
Sir, if my judgment you'll allow,
I've seen, and sure I ought to know :"
So begs you'll pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.
Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabian wilds they pass'd,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talk'd of this, and then of that,
Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the Chameleon's form and nature.
"A stranger animal," cries one,
"Sure never lived beneath the sun!
A lizard's body, lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its foot with triple claw disjoin'd;
And what a length of tail behind!
How slow it's pace! and then its hue—
Who ever saw so fine a blue ?"
"Hold there!" the other quick replies,
""Tis green-I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warm'd it in the sunny ray;
Stretch'd at its ease, the beast I view'd,
And saw it eat the air for food."
"I've seen it, sir, as well as you, And must again affirm it blue : At leisure I the beast survey'd, Extended in the cooling shade." ""Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye." "Green!" cries the other, in a fury ;
Why, sir-d'ye think I've lost my eyes?" ""Twere no great loss," the friend replies; "For if they always serve you thus, "You'll find 'em but of little use
So high at last the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows;
When luckily came by a third.
To him the question they referr'd,
And begged he'd tell 'em if he knew
Whether the thing was green or blue.
"Sirs," cries the umpire, 66
cease your pother;
The creature's neither one nor t'other.
I caught the animal last night,
And view'd it o'er by candle-light;
I mark'd it well-'twas black as jet.
You stare; but, sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it." Pray, sir, do:
I'll lay my life the thing is blue.'
"And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green.”
"Well, then at once to end the doubt,"
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