Page images
PDF
EPUB

But come thy ways; we'll go along together,
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee,
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
But at fourscore it is too late a week:

Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
Than to die well and not my master's debtor.
W. Shakespeare.

XCIX.

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

I.

F Nelson and the North,

Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone ;
By each gun the lighted brand,

In a bold determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land

Led them on.

II.

Like leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;

While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line :

It was ten of April morn by the chime :

As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.

III.

But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene ;

And her van the fleeter rushed

O'er the deadly space between.

'Hearts of oak!' our captains cried; when each gun From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun.

IV.

Again! again! again!

And the havoc did not slack,

Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back ;—

Their shots along the deep slowly boom ;-
Then cease-and all is wail,

As they strike the shattered sail;

Or, in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.

V.

Out spoke the victor then

As he hailed them o'er the wave, 'Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save :—

So peace instead of death let us bring:

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet

With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet

To our king.'

VI.

Then Denmark blest our chief
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,

As Death withdrew his shades from the day :
While the sun looked smiling bright
O'er a wide and woeful sight,

Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.

VII.

Now joy, Old England, raise!
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,

Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ;
And yet, amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,

Full many a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !

VIII.

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died;
With the gallant good Riou ;-

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,

And the mermaid's song condoles,

Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave!

T. Campbell.

S

C.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.

HE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes :

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

* 'Captain Riou, justly entitled "the gallant and the good" by Lord Nelson when he wrote home his despatches.'

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace,
Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Byron.

CI.

A WEST HIGHLANDER.

E stands among the fields of corn,
Beside the reapers and the stooks,
And, through the breezy autumn, looks

Towards the morn.

His watchful eyes are fierce yet soft
As falcon's o'er her harried nest;
His curving horns and shaggy crest
Are swept aloft.

Slowly the heaped wain drags along;
The reapers move with even feet;
Sweet is the breath of morn, and sweet

The gleaner's song.

But not the song of lowland bards,

Nor morning light 'mong autumn leaves,
Nor hoarded wealth of yellow sheaves,

His soul regards.

Where the stag looks across the walls
That gird the west, and with the dawn
The plover wakes, and the wild swan
At midnight calls,-

Beyond the snow of Ben-y-Gloe

He sees upon the mountain's face,
The birth-place of his hardy race,
His own Glencoe.

CII.

COWPER'S GRAVE.

Anon.

T is a place where poets crowned may feel the heart's decaying;

It is a place where happy saints may weep amid their praying:

Yet let the grief and humbleness as low as silence languish :

Earth surely now may give her calm to whom she gave her anguish.

O Poets, from a maniac's tongue, was poured the deathless singing!

O Christians, at your cross of hope a hopeless hand was

clinging!

O Men, this man in brotherhood your weary paths be

guiling,

Groaned inly while he taught you peace, and died while ye were smiling!

And now, what time ye all may read through dimming tears his story,

How discord on the music fell and darkness on the

glory,

And how when, one by one, sweet sounds and wandering lights departed,

He wore no less a loving face because so brokenhearted,

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »