'O Mary, go and call the cattle home,And call the cattle home,And call the cattle home,Across the sands o' Dee!'The western wind was wild and dank with foam,And all alone went she.
'O Mary, go and call the cattle home,And call the cattle home,And call the cattle home,Across the sands o' Dee!'The western wind was wild and dank with foam,And all alone went she.
The creeping tide came up along the sand,And o'er and o'er the sand,And round and round the sand,As far as eye could see;The blinding mist came down and hid the land—And never home came she.
The creeping tide came up along the sand,And o'er and o'er the sand,And round and round the sand,As far as eye could see;The blinding mist came down and hid the land—And never home came she.
Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair?—A tress o' golden hair,O' drowned maiden's hair,Above the nets at sea.Was never salmon yet that shone so fairAmong the stakes on Dee.
Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair?—A tress o' golden hair,O' drowned maiden's hair,Above the nets at sea.Was never salmon yet that shone so fairAmong the stakes on Dee.
They row'd her in across the rolling foam,The cruel crawling foam,The cruel hungry foam,To her grave beside the sea:But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,Across the sands o' Dee.
They row'd her in across the rolling foam,The cruel crawling foam,The cruel hungry foam,To her grave beside the sea:But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,Across the sands o' Dee.
C. Kingsley
Toll for the brave!The brave that are no more!All sunk beneath the wave,Fast by their native shore!Eight hundred of the brave,Whose courage well was tried,Had made the vessel heel,And laid her on her side.A land breeze shook the shrouds,And she was overset;Down went the Royal George,With all her crew complete.Toll for the brave!Brave Kempenfelt is gone;His last sea-fight is fought,His work of glory done.It was not in the battle;No tempest gave the shock:She sprang no fatal leak;She ran upon no rock.His sword was in its sheath;His fingers held the pen,When Kempenfelt went down,With twice four hundred men.Weigh the vessel up,Once dreaded by our foes!And mingle with our cupThe tear that England owes.Her timbers yet are sound,And she may float again,Full charged with England's thunder,And plough the distant main.But Kempenfelt is gone,His victories are o'er;And he and his eight hundredShall plough the wave no more.
Toll for the brave!The brave that are no more!All sunk beneath the wave,Fast by their native shore!
Eight hundred of the brave,Whose courage well was tried,Had made the vessel heel,And laid her on her side.
A land breeze shook the shrouds,And she was overset;Down went the Royal George,With all her crew complete.
Toll for the brave!Brave Kempenfelt is gone;His last sea-fight is fought,His work of glory done.
It was not in the battle;No tempest gave the shock:She sprang no fatal leak;She ran upon no rock.
His sword was in its sheath;His fingers held the pen,When Kempenfelt went down,With twice four hundred men.
Weigh the vessel up,Once dreaded by our foes!And mingle with our cupThe tear that England owes.
Her timbers yet are sound,And she may float again,Full charged with England's thunder,And plough the distant main.
But Kempenfelt is gone,His victories are o'er;And he and his eight hundredShall plough the wave no more.
W. Cowper
Full fathom five thy father lies:Of his bones are coral made:Those are pearls that were his eyes;Nothing of him that doth fade,But doth suffer a sea changeInto something rich and strange;Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:Hark! now I hear them,—Ding, dong, bell.
Full fathom five thy father lies:Of his bones are coral made:Those are pearls that were his eyes;Nothing of him that doth fade,But doth suffer a sea changeInto something rich and strange;Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:Hark! now I hear them,—Ding, dong, bell.
W. Shakespeare
It is an ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three."By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?"The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide,And I am next of kin:The guests are met, the feast is set:May'st hear the merry din."He holds him with his glittering eye—The Wedding-Guest stood still,And listens like a three years' child:The Mariner hath his will.The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:He cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner."The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,Merrily did we dropBelow the kirk, below the hill,Below the lighthouse top."The sun came up upon the left,Out of the sea came he,And he shone bright, and on the rightWent down into the sea."Higher and higher every day,Till over the mast at noon"—The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,For he heard the loud bassoon.The Bride hath paced into the hall:Red as a rose is she;Nodding their heads before her goesThe merry minstrelsy.The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,Yet he cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner."And now the storm-blast came, and heWas tyrannous and strong:He struck with his o'er-taking wings,And chased us south along."With sloping masts and dipping prow,As who pursued with yell and blowStill treads the shadow of his foe,And forward bends his head,The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,And southward aye we fled."And now there came both mist and snow,And it grew wondrous cold:And ice, mast-high, came floating by,As green as emerald."And through the drifts the snowy cliftsDid send a dismal sheen:Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—The ice was all between."The ice was here, the ice was there,The ice was all around:It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,Like noises in a swound!"At length did cross an Albatross,Thorough the fog it came;As if it had been a Christian soul,We hailed it in God's name."It ate the food it ne'er had eat,And round and round it flew,The ice did split with a thunder-fit;The helmsman steered us through!"And a good south wind sprung up behind;The Albatross did follow,And every day, for food or play,Came to the mariner's hollo!"In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,It perched for vespers nine;Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke whiteGlimmered the white moonshine.""God save thee, ancient Mariner!From the fiends that plague thee thus!—Why look'st thou so?" "With my cross-bowI shot the Albatross."And I had done a hellish thing,And it would work 'em woe:For all averr'd I had killed the birdThat made the breeze to blow!'Ah wretch!' said they, 'the bird to slay,That made the wind to blow!'"Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,The glorious Sun uprist:Then all averred, I had killed the birdThat brought the fog and mist.'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,That bring the fog and mist."Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,'Twas sad as sad could be;And we did speak only to breakThe silence of the sea."Day after day, day after day,We stuck, nor breath nor motion;As idle as a painted shipUpon a painted ocean."Water, water everywhere,And all the boards did shrink;Water, water everywhere,Nor any drop to drink."About, about, in reel and routThe death-fires danced at night;The water, like a witch's oils,Burnt green, and blue, and white."And every tongue, through utter drought,Was withered at the root;We could not speak, no more than ifWe had been choked with soot."Ah! well-a-day! what evil looksHad I from old and young!Instead of the cross, the AlbatrossAbout my neck was hung."There passed a weary time. Each throatWas parched, and glazed each eye.A weary time! a weary time!How glazed each weary eye,When looking westward, I beheldA something in the sky."At first it seemed a little speck,And then it seemed a mist;It moved and moved, and took at lastA certain shape, I wist."A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!And still it neared and neared:As if it dodged a water-sprite,It plunged, and tacked, and veered."See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!Hither to work us weal;Without a breeze, without a tide,She steadies with upright keel!"The western wave was all a-flame,The day was well nigh done!Almost upon the western waveRested the broad, bright Sun:When that strange shape drove suddenlyBetwixt us and the Sun."And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)As if through a dungeon grate he peeredWith broad and burning face."Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)How fast she nears and nears!Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,Like restless gossameres?"Are those her ribs through which the SunDid peer, as through a grate?And is that Woman all her crew?Is that a Death? and are there two?Is Death that Woman's mate?"The naked hull alongside came,And the twain were casting dice;'The game is done! I've won, I've won!'Quoth she, and whistles thrice."The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:At one stride comes the dark;With far-heard whisper o'er the sea,Off shot the spectre-bark."The stars were dim and thick the night,The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white,From the sails the dew did drip—Till clomb above the eastern barThe horned Moon, with one bright starWithin the nether tip."Four times fifty living men,(And I heard nor sigh nor groan,)With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,They dropped down one by one."The souls did from their bodies fly,—They fled to bliss or woe!And every soul, it passed me by,Like the whizz of my cross-bow!"The many men, so beautiful!And they all dead did lie:And a thousand thousand slimy thingsLived on; and so did I."I looked upon the rotting sea,And drew my eyes away;I looked upon the rotting deck,And there the dead men lay."I looked to heaven, and tried to prayBut or ever a prayer had gusht,A wicked whisper came, and madeMy heart as dry as dust."The moving Moon went up the sky,And nowhere did abide:Softly she was going up,And a star or two beside."Beyond the shadow of the ship,I watched the water-snakes:They moved in tracks of shining white,And when they reared, the elfish lightFell off in hoary flakes."Within the shadow of the shipI watched their rich attire:Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,They coiled and swam; and every trackWas a flash of golden fire."O happy living things! no tongueTheir beauty might declare:A spring of love gushed from my heart,And I blessed them unaware:Sure my kind Saint took pity on me,And I blessed them unaware."The selfsame moment I could pray;And from my neck so freeThe Albatross fell off, and sankLike lead into the sea."And soon I heard a roaring wind:It did not come anear;But with its sound it shook the sails,That were so thin and sere."The loud wind never reached the ship,Yet now the ship moved on!Beneath the lightning and the moonThe dead men gave a groan."They groaned, they stirred, they all uproseNor spake, nor moved their eyes;It had been strange, even in a dream,To have seen those dead men rise."The helmsman steered, the ship moved on,Yet never a breeze up blew;The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,Where they were wont to do;They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—We were a ghastly crew.""I fear thee, ancient Mariner!""Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,Which to their corses came again,But a troop of spirits blest."Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,Yet she sailed softly too:Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—On me alone it blew."Oh! dream of joy! is this indeedThe light-house top I see?Is this the hill? is this the kirk?Is this mine own countree?"Since then, at an uncertain hour,My agony returns:And till my ghastly tale is told,This heart within me burns."I pass, like night, from land to land;I have strange power of speech;That moment that his face I see,I know the man that must hear me:To him my tale I teach."What loud uproar bursts from that door!The wedding-guests are there:But in the garden-bower the brideAnd bride-maids singing are:And hark the little vesper bell,Which biddeth me to prayer!"O sweeter than the marriage-feast,'Tis sweeter far to me,To walk together to the kirkWith a goodly company!"To walk together to the kirk,And altogether pray,While each to his great Father bends,Old men, and babes, and loving friends,And youths and maidens gay!"Farewell, farewell! but this I tellTo thee, thou Wedding-Guest!He prayeth well, who loveth wellBoth man and bird and beast."He prayeth best, who loveth bestAll things both great and small;For the dear God who loveth us,He made and loveth all."
It is an ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three."By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
"The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide,And I am next of kin:The guests are met, the feast is set:May'st hear the merry din."
He holds him with his glittering eye—The Wedding-Guest stood still,And listens like a three years' child:The Mariner hath his will.
The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:He cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner.
"The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,Merrily did we dropBelow the kirk, below the hill,Below the lighthouse top.
"The sun came up upon the left,Out of the sea came he,And he shone bright, and on the rightWent down into the sea.
"Higher and higher every day,Till over the mast at noon"—The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,For he heard the loud bassoon.
The Bride hath paced into the hall:Red as a rose is she;Nodding their heads before her goesThe merry minstrelsy.
The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,Yet he cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner.
"And now the storm-blast came, and heWas tyrannous and strong:He struck with his o'er-taking wings,And chased us south along.
"With sloping masts and dipping prow,As who pursued with yell and blowStill treads the shadow of his foe,And forward bends his head,The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,And southward aye we fled.
"And now there came both mist and snow,And it grew wondrous cold:And ice, mast-high, came floating by,As green as emerald.
"And through the drifts the snowy cliftsDid send a dismal sheen:Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—The ice was all between.
"The ice was here, the ice was there,The ice was all around:It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,Like noises in a swound!
"At length did cross an Albatross,Thorough the fog it came;As if it had been a Christian soul,We hailed it in God's name.
"It ate the food it ne'er had eat,And round and round it flew,The ice did split with a thunder-fit;The helmsman steered us through!
"And a good south wind sprung up behind;The Albatross did follow,And every day, for food or play,Came to the mariner's hollo!
"In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,It perched for vespers nine;Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke whiteGlimmered the white moonshine."
"God save thee, ancient Mariner!From the fiends that plague thee thus!—Why look'st thou so?" "With my cross-bowI shot the Albatross.
"And I had done a hellish thing,And it would work 'em woe:For all averr'd I had killed the birdThat made the breeze to blow!'Ah wretch!' said they, 'the bird to slay,That made the wind to blow!'
"Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,The glorious Sun uprist:Then all averred, I had killed the birdThat brought the fog and mist.'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,That bring the fog and mist.
"Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,'Twas sad as sad could be;And we did speak only to breakThe silence of the sea.
"Day after day, day after day,We stuck, nor breath nor motion;As idle as a painted shipUpon a painted ocean.
"Water, water everywhere,And all the boards did shrink;Water, water everywhere,Nor any drop to drink.
"About, about, in reel and routThe death-fires danced at night;The water, like a witch's oils,Burnt green, and blue, and white.
"And every tongue, through utter drought,Was withered at the root;We could not speak, no more than ifWe had been choked with soot.
"Ah! well-a-day! what evil looksHad I from old and young!Instead of the cross, the AlbatrossAbout my neck was hung.
"There passed a weary time. Each throatWas parched, and glazed each eye.A weary time! a weary time!How glazed each weary eye,When looking westward, I beheldA something in the sky.
"At first it seemed a little speck,And then it seemed a mist;It moved and moved, and took at lastA certain shape, I wist.
"A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!And still it neared and neared:As if it dodged a water-sprite,It plunged, and tacked, and veered.
"See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!Hither to work us weal;Without a breeze, without a tide,She steadies with upright keel!
"The western wave was all a-flame,The day was well nigh done!Almost upon the western waveRested the broad, bright Sun:When that strange shape drove suddenlyBetwixt us and the Sun.
"And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)As if through a dungeon grate he peeredWith broad and burning face.
"Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)How fast she nears and nears!Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,Like restless gossameres?
"Are those her ribs through which the SunDid peer, as through a grate?And is that Woman all her crew?Is that a Death? and are there two?Is Death that Woman's mate?
"The naked hull alongside came,And the twain were casting dice;'The game is done! I've won, I've won!'Quoth she, and whistles thrice.
"The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:At one stride comes the dark;With far-heard whisper o'er the sea,Off shot the spectre-bark.
"The stars were dim and thick the night,The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white,From the sails the dew did drip—Till clomb above the eastern barThe horned Moon, with one bright starWithin the nether tip.
"Four times fifty living men,(And I heard nor sigh nor groan,)With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,They dropped down one by one.
"The souls did from their bodies fly,—They fled to bliss or woe!And every soul, it passed me by,Like the whizz of my cross-bow!
"The many men, so beautiful!And they all dead did lie:And a thousand thousand slimy thingsLived on; and so did I.
"I looked upon the rotting sea,And drew my eyes away;I looked upon the rotting deck,And there the dead men lay.
"I looked to heaven, and tried to prayBut or ever a prayer had gusht,A wicked whisper came, and madeMy heart as dry as dust.
"The moving Moon went up the sky,And nowhere did abide:Softly she was going up,And a star or two beside.
"Beyond the shadow of the ship,I watched the water-snakes:They moved in tracks of shining white,And when they reared, the elfish lightFell off in hoary flakes.
"Within the shadow of the shipI watched their rich attire:Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,They coiled and swam; and every trackWas a flash of golden fire.
"O happy living things! no tongueTheir beauty might declare:A spring of love gushed from my heart,And I blessed them unaware:Sure my kind Saint took pity on me,And I blessed them unaware.
"The selfsame moment I could pray;And from my neck so freeThe Albatross fell off, and sankLike lead into the sea.
"And soon I heard a roaring wind:It did not come anear;But with its sound it shook the sails,That were so thin and sere.
"The loud wind never reached the ship,Yet now the ship moved on!Beneath the lightning and the moonThe dead men gave a groan.
"They groaned, they stirred, they all uproseNor spake, nor moved their eyes;It had been strange, even in a dream,To have seen those dead men rise.
"The helmsman steered, the ship moved on,Yet never a breeze up blew;The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,Where they were wont to do;They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—We were a ghastly crew."
"I fear thee, ancient Mariner!""Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,Which to their corses came again,But a troop of spirits blest.
"Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,Yet she sailed softly too:Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—On me alone it blew.
"Oh! dream of joy! is this indeedThe light-house top I see?Is this the hill? is this the kirk?Is this mine own countree?
"Since then, at an uncertain hour,My agony returns:And till my ghastly tale is told,This heart within me burns.
"I pass, like night, from land to land;I have strange power of speech;That moment that his face I see,I know the man that must hear me:To him my tale I teach.
"What loud uproar bursts from that door!The wedding-guests are there:But in the garden-bower the brideAnd bride-maids singing are:And hark the little vesper bell,Which biddeth me to prayer!
"O sweeter than the marriage-feast,'Tis sweeter far to me,To walk together to the kirkWith a goodly company!
"To walk together to the kirk,And altogether pray,While each to his great Father bends,Old men, and babes, and loving friends,And youths and maidens gay!
"Farewell, farewell! but this I tellTo thee, thou Wedding-Guest!He prayeth well, who loveth wellBoth man and bird and beast.
"He prayeth best, who loveth bestAll things both great and small;For the dear God who loveth us,He made and loveth all."
S. T. Coleridge
Come unto these yellow sands,And then take hands,—Curtsied when you have and kiss'd;(The wild waves whist)—Foot it featly here and there;And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.Hark, hark!Bough wough,The watch dogs bark,Bough wough,Hark, hark! I hearThe strain of strutting chanticleer,Cry, cock-a-doodle-doo.
Come unto these yellow sands,And then take hands,—Curtsied when you have and kiss'd;(The wild waves whist)—Foot it featly here and there;And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.Hark, hark!Bough wough,The watch dogs bark,Bough wough,Hark, hark! I hearThe strain of strutting chanticleer,Cry, cock-a-doodle-doo.
W. Shakespeare
Ho, sailor of the sea!How's my boy—my boy?'What's your boy's name, good wife,And in what good ship sail'd he?'My boy John—He that went to sea—What care I for the ship, sailor?My boy's my boy to me.You come back from seaAnd not know my John?I might as well have asked some landsmanYonder down in the town.There's not an ass in all the parishBut he knows my John.How's my boy—my boy?And unless you let me knowI'll swear you are no sailor,Blue jacket or no,Brass button or no, sailor,Anchor and crown or no!Sure his ship was theJolly Briton—'Speak low, woman, speak low!'And why should I speak low, sailor,About my own boy John?If I was loud as I am proudI'd sing him over the town!Why should I speak low, sailor?'That good ship went down.'How's my boy—my boy?What care I for the ship, sailor,I never was aboard her.Be she afloat, or be she aground,Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound.Her owners can afford her!I say, how's my John?'Every man on board went down,Every man aboard her.'How's my boy—my boy?What care I for the men, sailor?I'm not their mother—How's my boy—my boy?Tell me of him and no other!How's my boy—my boy?
Ho, sailor of the sea!How's my boy—my boy?'What's your boy's name, good wife,And in what good ship sail'd he?'
My boy John—He that went to sea—What care I for the ship, sailor?My boy's my boy to me.
You come back from seaAnd not know my John?I might as well have asked some landsmanYonder down in the town.There's not an ass in all the parishBut he knows my John.
How's my boy—my boy?And unless you let me knowI'll swear you are no sailor,Blue jacket or no,Brass button or no, sailor,Anchor and crown or no!Sure his ship was theJolly Briton—'Speak low, woman, speak low!'
And why should I speak low, sailor,About my own boy John?If I was loud as I am proudI'd sing him over the town!Why should I speak low, sailor?'That good ship went down.'
How's my boy—my boy?What care I for the ship, sailor,I never was aboard her.Be she afloat, or be she aground,Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound.Her owners can afford her!I say, how's my John?'Every man on board went down,Every man aboard her.'
How's my boy—my boy?What care I for the men, sailor?I'm not their mother—How's my boy—my boy?Tell me of him and no other!How's my boy—my boy?
S. Dobell
Attend all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise,I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vainThe richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet beyond Aurigny's isle,At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile;At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace;And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase.Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall;The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgcumbe's lofty hall;Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast;And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post.With his white hair unbonneted the stout old sheriff comes;Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums;His yeomen, round the market-cross, make clear an ample space,For there behoves him to set up the standard of her Grace.And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down.So stalked he when he turned to flight on that famed Picard field,Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield:So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay,And crushed and torn beneath his paws the princely hunters lay.Ho! strike the flag-staff deep, Sir Knight; ho! scatter flowers, fair maids:Ho! gunners fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw your blades;Thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes waft her wide;Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner of our pride.The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold,The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea,—Such night in England ne'er had been, nor ne'er again shall be.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 ghastly war-flame spread;High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head.Far on the deep the Spaniard 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 caves.O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew;He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.Right sharp and quick the 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.Then 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 loud 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 furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,And the broad streams of flags and pikes rushed down each roaring street:And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in:And eastward straight, from wild Blackheath, the warlike errant went,And raised 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 Darwin's rocky dales,Till like volcanoes flared to Heaven the stormy hills of Wales,Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height,Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light,Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless 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 embattled pile,And the red glare of Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.
Attend all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise,I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vainThe richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.
It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet beyond Aurigny's isle,At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile;At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace;And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase.Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall;The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgcumbe's lofty hall;Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast;And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post.With his white hair unbonneted the stout old sheriff comes;Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums;His yeomen, round the market-cross, make clear an ample space,For there behoves him to set up the standard of her Grace.And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down.So stalked he when he turned to flight on that famed Picard field,Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield:So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay,And crushed and torn beneath his paws the princely hunters lay.Ho! strike the flag-staff deep, Sir Knight; ho! scatter flowers, fair maids:Ho! gunners fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw your blades;Thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes waft her wide;Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner of our pride.The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold,The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea,—Such night in England ne'er had been, nor ne'er again shall be.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 ghastly war-flame spread;High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head.Far on the deep the Spaniard 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 caves.O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew;He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.Right sharp and quick the 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.Then 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 loud 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 furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,And the broad streams of flags and pikes rushed down each roaring street:And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in:And eastward straight, from wild Blackheath, the warlike errant went,And raised 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 Darwin's rocky dales,Till like volcanoes flared to Heaven the stormy hills of Wales,Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height,Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light,Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless 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 embattled pile,And the red glare of Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.
Lord Macaulay
I sail'd from the Downs in theNancy,My jib how she smack'd through the breeze!She's a vessel as tight to my fancyAs ever sail'd on the salt seas.So adieu to the white cliffs of Britain,Our girls and our dear native shore!For if some hard rock we should split on,We shall never see them any more.But sailors were born for all weathers,Great guns let it blow, high or low,Our duty keeps us to our tethers,And where the gale drives we must go.When we entered the Straits of GibraltarI verily thought she'd have sunk,For the wind began so for to alter,She yaw'd just as tho' she was drunk.The squall tore the mainsail to shivers,Helm a-weather, the hoarse boatswain cries;Brace the foresail athwart, see she quivers,As through the rough tempest she flies.But sailors were born for all weathers,Great guns let it blow, high or low,Our duty keeps us to our tethers,And where the gale drives we must go.The storm came on thicker and faster,As black just as pitch was the sky,When truly a doleful disasterBefel three poor sailors and I.Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail,By a blast that came furious and hard,Just while we were furling the mainsail,Were every soul swept from the yard.But sailors were born for all weathers,Great guns let it blow, high or low,Our duty keeps us to our tethers,And where the gale drives we must go.Poor Ben, Sam, and Dick cried peccavi,As for I, at the risk of my neck,While they sank down in peace to old Davy,Caught a rope, and so landed on deck.Well, what would you have? We were stranded,And out of a fine jolly crewOf three hundred that sail'd, never landedBut I, and I think, twenty-two.But sailors were born for all weathers,Great guns let it blow, high or low,Our duty keeps us to our tethers,And where the gale drives we must go.
I sail'd from the Downs in theNancy,My jib how she smack'd through the breeze!She's a vessel as tight to my fancyAs ever sail'd on the salt seas.So adieu to the white cliffs of Britain,Our girls and our dear native shore!For if some hard rock we should split on,We shall never see them any more.But sailors were born for all weathers,Great guns let it blow, high or low,Our duty keeps us to our tethers,And where the gale drives we must go.
When we entered the Straits of GibraltarI verily thought she'd have sunk,For the wind began so for to alter,She yaw'd just as tho' she was drunk.The squall tore the mainsail to shivers,Helm a-weather, the hoarse boatswain cries;Brace the foresail athwart, see she quivers,As through the rough tempest she flies.But sailors were born for all weathers,Great guns let it blow, high or low,Our duty keeps us to our tethers,And where the gale drives we must go.
The storm came on thicker and faster,As black just as pitch was the sky,When truly a doleful disasterBefel three poor sailors and I.Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail,By a blast that came furious and hard,Just while we were furling the mainsail,Were every soul swept from the yard.But sailors were born for all weathers,Great guns let it blow, high or low,Our duty keeps us to our tethers,And where the gale drives we must go.
Poor Ben, Sam, and Dick cried peccavi,As for I, at the risk of my neck,While they sank down in peace to old Davy,Caught a rope, and so landed on deck.Well, what would you have? We were stranded,And out of a fine jolly crewOf three hundred that sail'd, never landedBut I, and I think, twenty-two.But sailors were born for all weathers,Great guns let it blow, high or low,Our duty keeps us to our tethers,And where the gale drives we must go.
C. Dibdin
A perilous life, and sad as life may be,Hath the lone fisher, on the lonely sea,O'er the wild waters labouring far from home,For some bleak pittance e'er compelled to roam:Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life,And none to aid him in the stormy strife:Companion of the sea and silent air,The lonely fisher thus must ever fare:Without the comfort, hope,—with scarce a friend,He looks through life and only sees its end!
A perilous life, and sad as life may be,Hath the lone fisher, on the lonely sea,O'er the wild waters labouring far from home,For some bleak pittance e'er compelled to roam:Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life,And none to aid him in the stormy strife:Companion of the sea and silent air,The lonely fisher thus must ever fare:Without the comfort, hope,—with scarce a friend,He looks through life and only sees its end!
B. Cornwall
Thou that hast a daughterFor one to woo and wed,Give her to a husbandWith snow upon his head:Oh, give her to an old man,Though little joy it be,Before the best young sailorThat sails upon the sea!How luckless is the sailorWhen sick and like to die,He sees no tender mother,No sweetheart standing by.Only the captain speaks to him,—Stand up, stand up, young man,And steer the ship to haven,As none beside thee can.Thou sayst to me, 'Stand, stand up;'I say to thee, take hold,Lift me a little from the deck,My hands and feet are cold.And let my head, I pray thee,With handkerchiefs be bound:There, take my love's gold handkerchief,And tie it tightly round.Now bring the chart, the doleful chart;See where these mountains meet—The clouds are thick around their head,The mists around their feet:Cast anchor here; 'tis deep and safeWithin the rocky cleft;The little anchor on the right,The great one on the left.And now to thee, O captain,Most earnestly I pray,That they may never bury meIn church or cloister grey;But on the windy sea-beach,At the ending of the land,All on the surfy sea-beach,Deep down into the sand.For there will come the sailors,Their voices I shall hear,And at casting of the anchorThe yo-ho loud and clear;And at hauling of the anchorThe yo-ho and the cheer,—Farewell, my love, for to thy bayI never more may steer.
Thou that hast a daughterFor one to woo and wed,Give her to a husbandWith snow upon his head:Oh, give her to an old man,Though little joy it be,Before the best young sailorThat sails upon the sea!
How luckless is the sailorWhen sick and like to die,He sees no tender mother,No sweetheart standing by.Only the captain speaks to him,—Stand up, stand up, young man,And steer the ship to haven,As none beside thee can.
Thou sayst to me, 'Stand, stand up;'I say to thee, take hold,Lift me a little from the deck,My hands and feet are cold.And let my head, I pray thee,With handkerchiefs be bound:There, take my love's gold handkerchief,And tie it tightly round.
Now bring the chart, the doleful chart;See where these mountains meet—The clouds are thick around their head,The mists around their feet:Cast anchor here; 'tis deep and safeWithin the rocky cleft;The little anchor on the right,The great one on the left.
And now to thee, O captain,Most earnestly I pray,That they may never bury meIn church or cloister grey;But on the windy sea-beach,At the ending of the land,All on the surfy sea-beach,Deep down into the sand.
For there will come the sailors,Their voices I shall hear,And at casting of the anchorThe yo-ho loud and clear;And at hauling of the anchorThe yo-ho and the cheer,—Farewell, my love, for to thy bayI never more may steer.
W. Allingham
It was the schoonerHesperus,That sail'd the wintry sea;And the skipper had taken his little daughter,To bear him company.Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,Her cheeks like the dawn of day,And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,That ope in the month of May.The skipper he stood beside the helm,His pipe was in his mouth,And he watch'd how the veering flaw did blowThe smoke now west, now south.Then up and spake an old sailor,Had sail'd the Spanish Main,'I pray thee put into yonder port,For I fear the hurricane.'Last night the moon had a golden ring,And to-night no moon we see!'The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,And a scornful laugh laughed he.Colder and louder blew the wind,A gale from the north-east;The snow fell hissing in the brine,And the billows frothed like yeast.Down came the storm and smote amainThe vessel in its strength;She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed,Then leaped her cable's length.'Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,And do not tremble so;For I can weather the roughest gale,That ever wind did blow.'He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat,Against the stinging blast;He cut a rope from a broken spar,And bound her to the mast.'O father! I hear the church bells ring,O say, what may it be?'''Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!'And he steered for the open sea.'O father! I hear the sound of guns,O say, what may it be?''Some ship in distress that cannot liveIn such an angry sea!''O father! I see a gleaming light,O say, what may it be?'But the father answered never a word,—A frozen corpse was he.Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,With his face turn'd to the skies,The lantern gleam'd through the gleaming snowOn his fixed and glassy eyes.Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayedThat saved she might be;And she thought of Christ who stilled the wavesOn the Lake of Galilee.And fast through the midnight dark and drear,Through the whistling sleet and snow,Like a sheeted ghost the vessel sweptT'wards the reef of Norman's Woe.And ever the fitful gusts betweenA sound came from the land;It was the sound of the trampling surfOn the rocks and the hard sea-sand.The breakers were right beneath her bows,She drifted a dreary wreck,And a whooping billow swept the crewLike icicles from her deck.She struck where the white and fleecy wavesLook'd soft as carded wool,But the cruel rocks they gored her sidesLike the horns of an angry bull.Her rattling shrouds all sheathed in ice,With the masts went by the board;Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank,Ho! ho! the breakers roared.At day-break on the bleak sea-beach,A fisherman stood aghast,To see the form of a maiden fairLashed close to a drifting mast.The salt sea was frozen on her breast,The salt tears in her eyes;And he saw her hair like the brown sea-weed,On the billows fall and rise.Such was the wreck of theHesperus,In the midnight and the snow;Heav'n save us all from a death like this,On the reef of Norman's Woe!
It was the schoonerHesperus,That sail'd the wintry sea;And the skipper had taken his little daughter,To bear him company.
Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,Her cheeks like the dawn of day,And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,That ope in the month of May.
The skipper he stood beside the helm,His pipe was in his mouth,And he watch'd how the veering flaw did blowThe smoke now west, now south.
Then up and spake an old sailor,Had sail'd the Spanish Main,'I pray thee put into yonder port,For I fear the hurricane.
'Last night the moon had a golden ring,And to-night no moon we see!'The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,And a scornful laugh laughed he.
Colder and louder blew the wind,A gale from the north-east;The snow fell hissing in the brine,And the billows frothed like yeast.
Down came the storm and smote amainThe vessel in its strength;She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed,Then leaped her cable's length.
'Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,And do not tremble so;For I can weather the roughest gale,That ever wind did blow.'
He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat,Against the stinging blast;He cut a rope from a broken spar,And bound her to the mast.
'O father! I hear the church bells ring,O say, what may it be?'''Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!'And he steered for the open sea.
'O father! I hear the sound of guns,O say, what may it be?''Some ship in distress that cannot liveIn such an angry sea!'
'O father! I see a gleaming light,O say, what may it be?'But the father answered never a word,—A frozen corpse was he.
Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,With his face turn'd to the skies,The lantern gleam'd through the gleaming snowOn his fixed and glassy eyes.
Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayedThat saved she might be;And she thought of Christ who stilled the wavesOn the Lake of Galilee.
And fast through the midnight dark and drear,Through the whistling sleet and snow,Like a sheeted ghost the vessel sweptT'wards the reef of Norman's Woe.
And ever the fitful gusts betweenA sound came from the land;It was the sound of the trampling surfOn the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
The breakers were right beneath her bows,She drifted a dreary wreck,And a whooping billow swept the crewLike icicles from her deck.
She struck where the white and fleecy wavesLook'd soft as carded wool,But the cruel rocks they gored her sidesLike the horns of an angry bull.
Her rattling shrouds all sheathed in ice,With the masts went by the board;Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank,Ho! ho! the breakers roared.
At day-break on the bleak sea-beach,A fisherman stood aghast,To see the form of a maiden fairLashed close to a drifting mast.
The salt sea was frozen on her breast,The salt tears in her eyes;And he saw her hair like the brown sea-weed,On the billows fall and rise.
Such was the wreck of theHesperus,In the midnight and the snow;Heav'n save us all from a death like this,On the reef of Norman's Woe!
H. W. Longfellow