The Battle of Lexington.
TThe circling century has broughtTHE day on which our fathers foughtFor 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 sheenLights all the world below.At break of day again we hearThe ringing words of Paul Revere,And beat of drum and bugle near,And shots that shake the throneOf tyranny, across the sea,And wake the sons of LibertyTo strike for freedom and be free:—Ourking is God alone!“Load well with powder and with ball,Stand firmly, like a living wall;But fire not till the foe shall callA shot from every one,”Said Parker to his gallant men.Then Pitcairn dashed across the plain,Discharged an angry threat, and thenThe world heard Lexington!
TThe circling century has broughtTHE day on which our fathers foughtFor 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 sheenLights all the world below.At break of day again we hearThe ringing words of Paul Revere,And beat of drum and bugle near,And shots that shake the throneOf tyranny, across the sea,And wake the sons of LibertyTo strike for freedom and be free:—Ourking is God alone!“Load well with powder and with ball,Stand firmly, like a living wall;But fire not till the foe shall callA shot from every one,”Said Parker to his gallant men.Then Pitcairn dashed across the plain,Discharged an angry threat, and thenThe world heard Lexington!
TThe circling century has broughtTHE day on which our fathers foughtFor 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 sheenLights all the world below.
T
At break of day again we hearThe ringing words of Paul Revere,And beat of drum and bugle near,And shots that shake the throneOf tyranny, across the sea,And wake the sons of LibertyTo strike for freedom and be free:—Ourking is God alone!
“Load well with powder and with ball,Stand firmly, like a living wall;But fire not till the foe shall callA shot from every one,”Said Parker to his gallant men.Then Pitcairn dashed across the plain,Discharged an angry threat, and thenThe world heard Lexington!
Militia and brave minute-menStood 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 flameFrom war’s red winding-sheet!Hancock and Adams glory wonWith yeomen whose best work was doneAt Concord and at Lexington,When first they struck the blow.Long may their children’s children bearUpon wide shoulders, fit to wear,The mantles that fell through the airOne hundred years ago!
Militia and brave minute-menStood 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 flameFrom war’s red winding-sheet!Hancock and Adams glory wonWith yeomen whose best work was doneAt Concord and at Lexington,When first they struck the blow.Long may their children’s children bearUpon wide shoulders, fit to wear,The mantles that fell through the airOne hundred years ago!
Militia and brave minute-menStood 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 flameFrom war’s red winding-sheet!
Hancock and Adams glory wonWith yeomen whose best work was doneAt Concord and at Lexington,When first they struck the blow.Long may their children’s children bearUpon wide shoulders, fit to wear,The mantles that fell through the airOne hundred years ago!
The Brave at Home.
TTHE maid who binds her warrior’s sash,With smile that well her pain dissembles,The while beneath her drooping lashOne 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 dearAs 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 hearThe bolts of death around him rattle,Hath shed as sacred blood as e’erWas 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 GodTo know the pain that weighs upon her,Sheds holy blood as e’er the sodReceived on Freedom’s field of honor!
TTHE maid who binds her warrior’s sash,With smile that well her pain dissembles,The while beneath her drooping lashOne 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 dearAs 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 hearThe bolts of death around him rattle,Hath shed as sacred blood as e’erWas 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 GodTo know the pain that weighs upon her,Sheds holy blood as e’er the sodReceived on Freedom’s field of honor!
TTHE maid who binds her warrior’s sash,With smile that well her pain dissembles,The while beneath her drooping lashOne 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 dearAs e’er bedewed the field of glory.
T
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 hearThe bolts of death around him rattle,Hath shed as sacred blood as e’erWas 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 GodTo know the pain that weighs upon her,Sheds holy blood as e’er the sodReceived on Freedom’s field of honor!
Kane: died February 16, 1857.
AALOFT upon an old basaltic crag,Which, scalped by keen winds that defend the Pole,Gazes with dead face on the seas that rollAround the secret of the mystic zone,A mighty nation’s star-bespangled flagFlutters alone;And underneath, upon the lifeless frontOf 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!
AALOFT upon an old basaltic crag,Which, scalped by keen winds that defend the Pole,Gazes with dead face on the seas that rollAround the secret of the mystic zone,A mighty nation’s star-bespangled flagFlutters alone;And underneath, upon the lifeless frontOf 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!
AALOFT upon an old basaltic crag,Which, scalped by keen winds that defend the Pole,Gazes with dead face on the seas that rollAround the secret of the mystic zone,A mighty nation’s star-bespangled flagFlutters alone;And underneath, upon the lifeless frontOf 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.
A
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 tellThe 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 floeCrunching the massive ships, as the white bearCrunches his prey. The insufficient shareOf loathsome food;The lethargy of famine; the despairUrging to labor, nervelessly pursued;Toil done with skinny arms, and faces huedLike pallid masks, while dolefully behindGlimmered the fading embers of a mind!
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 tellThe 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 floeCrunching the massive ships, as the white bearCrunches his prey. The insufficient shareOf loathsome food;The lethargy of famine; the despairUrging to labor, nervelessly pursued;Toil done with skinny arms, and faces huedLike pallid masks, while dolefully behindGlimmered the fading embers of a mind!
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 tellThe 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 floeCrunching the massive ships, as the white bearCrunches his prey. The insufficient shareOf loathsome food;The lethargy of famine; the despairUrging to labor, nervelessly pursued;Toil done with skinny arms, and faces huedLike pallid masks, while dolefully behindGlimmered the fading embers of a mind!
That awful hour, when through the prostrate bandDelirium stalked, laying his burning handUpon the ghastly foreheads of the crew;The whispers of rebellion, faint and fewAt first, but deepening ever till they grewInto black thoughts of murder: such the throngOf horrors bound the hero. High the songShould be that hymns the noble part he played!Sinking himself, yet ministering aidTo all around him. By a mighty willLiving 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 goldFrom 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 holdIn 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!
That awful hour, when through the prostrate bandDelirium stalked, laying his burning handUpon the ghastly foreheads of the crew;The whispers of rebellion, faint and fewAt first, but deepening ever till they grewInto black thoughts of murder: such the throngOf horrors bound the hero. High the songShould be that hymns the noble part he played!Sinking himself, yet ministering aidTo all around him. By a mighty willLiving 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 goldFrom 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 holdIn 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!
That awful hour, when through the prostrate bandDelirium stalked, laying his burning handUpon the ghastly foreheads of the crew;The whispers of rebellion, faint and fewAt first, but deepening ever till they grewInto black thoughts of murder: such the throngOf horrors bound the hero. High the songShould be that hymns the noble part he played!Sinking himself, yet ministering aidTo all around him. By a mighty willLiving 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 goldFrom 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 holdIn 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!
The Life-Boat.
LLAUNCH the life-boat! Far on highThe fiery rockets gleam,While loud and clear the booming signal gunSays 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 shoreThe startled people stand,And watch the signal lights that shine on high,And through the pitchy darkness seek to spyThe struggling ship, or to their comrades tryTo lend a helping hand.Launch the life-boat! Now the moonSheds forth her silvery light,And shows the boat is off; one long, loud cheerBreaks 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.
LLAUNCH the life-boat! Far on highThe fiery rockets gleam,While loud and clear the booming signal gunSays 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 shoreThe startled people stand,And watch the signal lights that shine on high,And through the pitchy darkness seek to spyThe struggling ship, or to their comrades tryTo lend a helping hand.Launch the life-boat! Now the moonSheds forth her silvery light,And shows the boat is off; one long, loud cheerBreaks 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.
LLAUNCH the life-boat! Far on highThe fiery rockets gleam,While loud and clear the booming signal gunSays there is work that quickly must be done.A vessel’s in distress: haste, every one,Nor idly stop to dream.
L
Launch the life-boat! On the shoreThe startled people stand,And watch the signal lights that shine on high,And through the pitchy darkness seek to spyThe struggling ship, or to their comrades tryTo lend a helping hand.
Launch the life-boat! Now the moonSheds forth her silvery light,And shows the boat is off; one long, loud cheerBreaks 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.
The Red Jacket.
'TTIS a cold, bleak night. With angry roarThe 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 meetThe weary traveller with their smiles to greet;In lonely dwellings, where the needy swarmRound 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 stormPeals 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 throngA 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.
'TTIS a cold, bleak night. With angry roarThe 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 meetThe weary traveller with their smiles to greet;In lonely dwellings, where the needy swarmRound 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 stormPeals 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 throngA 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.
'TTIS a cold, bleak night. With angry roarThe 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.
'T
In lofty halls, where fortune takes its ease,Sunk in the treasures of all lands and seas;In happy homes, where warmth and comfort meetThe weary traveller with their smiles to greet;In lonely dwellings, where the needy swarmRound 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 stormPeals 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 throngA 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.
Nay, not so fast! subdue these gloomy fears!Behold! he quickly on the roof appears,Bearing the tender child, his jacket warmFlung 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 saveThe 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 prayerWhich grateful thousands with that mother share.Heaven bless the brave who on the war-clad fieldStand fast, stand firm, the nation’s trusty shield!Heaven bless the brave who on the mighty seaFearless uphold the standard of the free!And Heaven’s choicest blessing for the braveWho fearless move our lives and homes to save!
Nay, not so fast! subdue these gloomy fears!Behold! he quickly on the roof appears,Bearing the tender child, his jacket warmFlung 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 saveThe 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 prayerWhich grateful thousands with that mother share.Heaven bless the brave who on the war-clad fieldStand fast, stand firm, the nation’s trusty shield!Heaven bless the brave who on the mighty seaFearless uphold the standard of the free!And Heaven’s choicest blessing for the braveWho fearless move our lives and homes to save!
Nay, not so fast! subdue these gloomy fears!Behold! he quickly on the roof appears,Bearing the tender child, his jacket warmFlung 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 saveThe 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 prayerWhich grateful thousands with that mother share.Heaven bless the brave who on the war-clad fieldStand fast, stand firm, the nation’s trusty shield!Heaven bless the brave who on the mighty seaFearless uphold the standard of the free!And Heaven’s choicest blessing for the braveWho fearless move our lives and homes to save!
Othello’s Story of his Life.
HHER father loved me; oft invited me;Still questioned me the story of my lifeFrom 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.
HHER father loved me; oft invited me;Still questioned me the story of my lifeFrom 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.
HHER father loved me; oft invited me;Still questioned me the story of my lifeFrom 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.
H
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 earDevour up my discourse. Which, I observing,Took once a pliant hour, and found good meansTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heartThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate,Whereof, by parcels, she had something heard,But not distinctly.
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 earDevour up my discourse. Which, I observing,Took once a pliant hour, and found good meansTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heartThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate,Whereof, by parcels, she had something heard,But not distinctly.
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 earDevour up my discourse. Which, I observing,Took once a pliant hour, and found good meansTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heartThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate,Whereof, by parcels, she had something heard,But not distinctly.
I did consent;And often did beguile her of her tears,When I did speak of some distressful strokeThat 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 wishedThat 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.
I did consent;And often did beguile her of her tears,When I did speak of some distressful strokeThat 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 wishedThat 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.
I did consent;And often did beguile her of her tears,When I did speak of some distressful strokeThat 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 wishedThat 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.
The Blacksmith of Ragenbach.
IIN 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 goodnessIn the product of their soil,When a cry rung through the welkin,And appeared upon the sceneA panting dog, with crest erect,Foaming mouth, and savage mien.“He is mad!” was shrieked in chorus.In dismay they all fell back,—Allexcept 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 himTo perform a greater featThan Horatius at the bridge,When he stood on Tiber’s bank;For behind him were his townsfolk,Who, appalled with terror, shrank
IIN 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 goodnessIn the product of their soil,When a cry rung through the welkin,And appeared upon the sceneA panting dog, with crest erect,Foaming mouth, and savage mien.“He is mad!” was shrieked in chorus.In dismay they all fell back,—Allexcept 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 himTo perform a greater featThan Horatius at the bridge,When he stood on Tiber’s bank;For behind him were his townsfolk,Who, appalled with terror, shrank
IIN 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 goodnessIn the product of their soil,
I
When a cry rung through the welkin,And appeared upon the sceneA panting dog, with crest erect,Foaming mouth, and savage mien.“He is mad!” was shrieked in chorus.In dismay they all fell back,—Allexcept 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 himTo perform a greater featThan Horatius at the bridge,When he stood on Tiber’s bank;For behind him were his townsfolk,Who, appalled with terror, shrank
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 himIn the power of his might.“Onemust 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-cloudLeaps to earth with sudden crash,So upon the rabid monsterDid this man and hero dash.In the death-grip then they struggled,Man and dog, with scarce a sound,Till from out the fearful conflictRose 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 inme.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 straightwayWalked erect, with rapid step,While the people followed after,Some with shouts, while others wept;And with nerve as steady as whenHe 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 sufferingsBy his gracious will divine.”Long he suffered, but at lastCame 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.
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 himIn the power of his might.“Onemust 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-cloudLeaps to earth with sudden crash,So upon the rabid monsterDid this man and hero dash.In the death-grip then they struggled,Man and dog, with scarce a sound,Till from out the fearful conflictRose 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 inme.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 straightwayWalked erect, with rapid step,While the people followed after,Some with shouts, while others wept;And with nerve as steady as whenHe 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 sufferingsBy his gracious will divine.”Long he suffered, but at lastCame 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.
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 himIn the power of his might.
“Onemust 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-cloudLeaps to earth with sudden crash,So upon the rabid monsterDid this man and hero dash.
In the death-grip then they struggled,Man and dog, with scarce a sound,Till from out the fearful conflictRose 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 inme.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 straightwayWalked erect, with rapid step,While the people followed after,Some with shouts, while others wept;And with nerve as steady as whenHe 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 sufferingsBy his gracious will divine.”
Long he suffered, but at lastCame 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.
NNOT far advanced was morning day,When Marmion did his troop arrayTo 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 stillBe open, at my sovereign’s will,To each one whom he lists, howe’erUnmeet 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 graspThe hand of such as Marmion clasp.”
NNOT far advanced was morning day,When Marmion did his troop arrayTo 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 stillBe open, at my sovereign’s will,To each one whom he lists, howe’erUnmeet 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 graspThe hand of such as Marmion clasp.”
NNOT far advanced was morning day,When Marmion did his troop arrayTo 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 stillBe open, at my sovereign’s will,To each one whom he lists, howe’erUnmeet 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 graspThe hand of such as Marmion clasp.”
N
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 sparedTo 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 peerTo any lord in Scotland here,Lowland or Highland, far or near,Lord Angus, thou hast lied!”On the earl’s cheek the flush of rageO’ercame the ashen hue of age:Fierce he broke forth, “And dar’st thou thenTo 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.The steed along the drawbridge flies,Just as it trembled on the rise;Not lighter does the swallow skimAlong 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.
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 sparedTo 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 peerTo any lord in Scotland here,Lowland or Highland, far or near,Lord Angus, thou hast lied!”On the earl’s cheek the flush of rageO’ercame the ashen hue of age:Fierce he broke forth, “And dar’st thou thenTo 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.The steed along the drawbridge flies,Just as it trembled on the rise;Not lighter does the swallow skimAlong 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.
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 sparedTo 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 peerTo any lord in Scotland here,Lowland or Highland, far or near,Lord Angus, thou hast lied!”On the earl’s cheek the flush of rageO’ercame the ashen hue of age:Fierce he broke forth, “And dar’st thou thenTo 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.
The steed along the drawbridge flies,Just as it trembled on the rise;Not lighter does the swallow skimAlong 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.
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.
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.
CCALL the watch! call the watch!“Ho! the starboard watch, ahoy!” Have you heardHow 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 steelFelt the whirlwind lift its waters aft, and plunge herdownward 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 mastAll 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 heardHow 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 ofthe storm!Bear a hand!
CCALL the watch! call the watch!“Ho! the starboard watch, ahoy!” Have you heardHow 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 steelFelt the whirlwind lift its waters aft, and plunge herdownward 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 mastAll 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 heardHow 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 ofthe storm!Bear a hand!
CCALL the watch! call the watch!“Ho! the starboard watch, ahoy!” Have you heardHow 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 steelFelt the whirlwind lift its waters aft, and plunge herdownward bow!Bear a hand!
C
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 mastAll 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 heardHow 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 ofthe storm!Bear a hand!
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 despairSet 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 gallantship’s gone down.Bear a hand!
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 despairSet 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 gallantship’s gone down.Bear a hand!
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 despairSet 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 gallantship’s gone down.Bear a hand!
Man the Life-boat.
MMAN 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 hourThe 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 wreckDespairing 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 nowAmidst 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.
MMAN 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 hourThe 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 wreckDespairing 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 nowAmidst 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.
MMAN 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 hourThe 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 wreckDespairing shouts arise.
M
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 nowAmidst 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.
Sir Galahad.
MMY 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 bendOn 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 prayerA 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-meresI 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 borneThrough 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 stormsFly o’er waste fens and windy fields.
MMY 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 bendOn 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 prayerA 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-meresI 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 borneThrough 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 stormsFly o’er waste fens and windy fields.
MMY 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.
M
How sweet are looks that ladies bendOn 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 prayerA 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-meresI 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 borneThrough 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 stormsFly o’er waste fens and windy fields.