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That palsy shook, grasping the yellow earth
1. MASKS OF RELIGION.
From schemes with a religious willy-nilly,
The peccadillos of all Piccadilly.
And will not, dare not, fancy in accord
The Lord of Hosts with an exclusive lord
As thinking that the rich by easy trips
Must work their passage, as they do in ships.
Where all mankind are equalized by death : Another place there is—the fane of God
Where all are equal who draw living breath.
He who can come beneath that awful cope,
One even measure of immortal hope-
With soul unbowed by that pure Spirit-level,
Might sit for bell and represent the Devil !
2. BOYISH DAYB.
The house where I was born,
Came peeping in at morn;
Nor brought too long a day;-
Had borne my breath away!
The roses red and white,
Those flowers made of light;
And where my brother set
The tree is living yet!
Where I was used to swing,
As swallows on the wing;
That is so heavy now,
The fever on my brow!
The fir trees dark and high;
Were close against the sky !
But now 'tis little joy
Than when I was a boy.
1. THE BEACON. Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple
— Such night in England ne'er had been, nor o'er again From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to
Milford Bay, That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; For swift to east and swift to west the warning radiance
spread; High on St Michael's Mount it shone it shone on
Beachy Head. Far on the deep the Spaniards saw, along each southern
shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling
points of fire; The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves, The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless
O’er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourn's oaks, the fiery
herald flew ; He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of
Beaulieu. Right sharp and quick tie bells all night rang out from
Bristol town, And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton
down; The sentinel on Whitehall Gate looked forth into the
night, And saw o’erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood
red light; The bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like silence
broke, and with one start and with one cry, the royal city
woke : At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires, at once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling
spires; From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice
of fear; And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a
louder cheer : And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hur
rying feet, And the broad streams of flags and pikes dashed down
each roaring street:
And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the
din, As fast from every village round the horse came spur
ring in : And eastward straight, from wild Blackheath, the war
like errand went, And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant ’squires
of Kent. Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright
couriers forth; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started
for the north; And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded
still, All night from tower to tower they sprang—they sprang
from hill to hill, Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwen's
rocky dalesTill like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of
WalesTill twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's
lonely heightTill streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest
of lightTill broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately
fane, And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the bound
less plain, Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of
Trent; Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's em
battled pile, And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of
2. THE BATTLE OF THE LEAGUE. The King is come to marshal us, all in his armour drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He look'd upon the traitors, and his glance was stern
and high. Right graciously he smiled on us, as rollid from wing to
wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, “God save our
Lord the King !" “And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the
ranks of war, And be your Oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre." Hurrah ! the foes are coming. Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring
culverin! The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St Andre’s plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now by the lips of those we love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the Golden Lilies, upon them with the
lance! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears
in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow
white crest; And in they burst, and on they rush’d, while, like a
guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of
Navarre. Now, God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath
turn’d his rein. D’Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count
is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a
Biscay gale; The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, and
cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our
van, “ Remember St Bartholomew !" was passed from man
to man :