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CCCLXX. CHARLES MACKAY, 1812
In the days when earth was young;
The strokes of his hammer rung ;
On the iron glowing clear,
As he fashioned the sword and spear.
Hurra for the spear and sword ! Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well,
For he shall be king and lord !”
As he wrought by his roaring fire,
As the crown of his desire :
Till they shouted loud for glee,
And spoils of the forest free.
Who hath given us strength anew !
And hurra for the metal true!”
For the evil he had done;
Made war upon their kind,
In their lust for carnage blind.
Or that skill of mine should plan,
Is to slay their fellow-man!"
Sat brooding o'er his woe;
And sang :
And his hand forbore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smoulder'd low.
And a bright courageous eye,
While the quick flames mounted high.
“ Hurra for my handiwork !"
And he fashioned the first ploughshare.
In friendship joined their hands,
“ Hurra for Tubal-Cain !
To him our praise shall be.
Or a tyrant would be lord,
West land, best land,
Thy land, my land !
Sea land, free land,
Home of brave men and the girls they adore!
Thy land, my land ! Glory be with her and peace evermore! CCCLXXI. WILL. EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN,
O’er her husband sat Ione bending
Marble-like and marble-hued he lay ;
Paler seem'd his face and ashen grey ;
Husband! Gods! his soul has passed away!
Heap it with the mournful cypress-bough!
And they heaped the mournful cypress too; And they laid the dead On his funeral bed,
And they kindled up the flames below. CCCLXXII. ROBERT NICOLL, 1814–1837
Beautiful things ye are, where'er ye grow!
The wild red-rose—the speedwell's peeping eyesOur own blue-bell-the daisy, that doth rise Wherever sunbeams fall or winds do blow; And thousands more, of blessed forms and dyes
all! Beautiful nurslings of the early dew,
Fanned in your loveliness by every breeze,
And shaded o’er by green and arching trees : I often wished that I were one of you, Dwelling afar upon the grassy leas
all ! Beautiful children of the glen and dell—
The dingle deep--the moorland stretching wide,
I love ye all !
CCCLXXIII. PHILIP JAMES BAILEY, 1816–
1. THE EARTH. 'Tis earth shall lead destruction ; she shall endThe stars shall wonder why she comes no more On her accustomed orbit, and the sun Miss one of his apostle lights ; the
moon, An orphan orb, shall seek for earth for aye, Through time's untrodden depths, and find her not; No more shall morn out of the holy east Stream o'er the ambient air her level light, Nor evening, with her spectral fingers, draw Her star-spread curtain round the head of earth : Her footsteps never thence again shall grace The blue sublime of heaven.
2. RIGHTS AND WRONGS.
A worm hath rights
CCCLXXIV. WILLIS, 1817
Parrhasius stood, gazing forgetfully Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay, Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus, The vulture at his vitals, and the links Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh ; And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim, Rapt mystery, and plucked the shadows wild Forth with its reaching fancy, and with form And colour clad them, his fine, earnest eye Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip, Were like the winged god's, breathing from his flight.
Bring me the captive now ! My hand feels skilful, and the shadows lift From my waked spirit airily and swift; * Parrhasius, the Athenian painter, put to death a slave that he might better represent the agonies of nature in his grand work Prometheus, which he was then painting
And I could paint the bow
Ha! bind him on his back !
Now bend him to the rack !
So-let him writhe! How long
‘Pity'thee! So I do!
I'd rack thee, though I knew
· Hereafter ?' Ay, hereafter !
To check the sceptic's laughter ? Come from the grave to-morrow, with that story, And I
may take some softer path to glory.
No, no, old man; we die
Strain well thy fainting eye;
Yet there's a deathless name--
And though its crown of flame
brain to ashes as it won me, By all the fiery stars! I'd pluck it on me.