With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
“O Oysters”, said the Carpenter,
“You’ve had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?”
But answer came there none–
And this was scarcely odd, because
They’d eaten every one.
EDWARD LEAR
There was an Old Man of the West,
Who never could get any rest;
So they set him to spin on his nose and his chin. Which cured that Old Man of the West.
* * * * *
There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, “It is just as I feared!– Two Owls and a Hen, four Larks and a Wren, Have all built their nests in my beard!”
* * * * *
There was an Old Person of Dean,
Who dined on one pea and one bean;
For he said, “More than that would make me too fat,” That cautious Old Person of Dean.
* * * * *
There was a Young Lady whose chin
Resembled the point of a pin;
So she had it made sharp, and purchased a harp, And played several tunes with her chin.
* * * * *
There is a Young Lady whose nose
Continually prospers and grows;
When it grew out of sight, she exclaimed in a fright, “Oh! Farewell to the end of my nose!”
THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat:
They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!”
Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl, How charmingly sweet you sing!
Oh! let us be married; too long we have tarried: But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away, for a year and a day, To the land where the bong-tree grows;
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood, With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will.”
So they took it away, and were married next day By the turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
THE JUMBLIES
They went to sea in a sieve, they did; In a sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say, On a winter’s morn, on a stormy day,
In a sieve they went to sea.
And when the sieve turned round and round, And every one cried, “You’ll all be drowned!” They called aloud, “Our sieve ain’t big; But we don’t care a button, we don’t care a fig: In a sieve we’ll go to sea!”
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.
They sailed away in a sieve, they did, In a sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil Tied with a ribbon, by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast.
And every one said who saw them go, “Oh! won’t they be soon upset, you know? For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long; And happen what may, it’s extremely wrong In a sieve to sail so fast.”
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.
The water it soon came in, it did;
The water it soon came in:
So, to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet In a pinky paper all folded neat;
And they fastened it down with a pin. And they passed the night in a crockery-jar; And each of them said, “How wise we are! Though the night be dark, and the voyage be long, Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong, While round in our sieve we spin.”
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.
And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown. “O Timballo! How happy we are
When we live in a sieve and a crockery jar! And all night long, in the moonlight pale, We sail away with a pea-green sail
In the shade of the mountains brown.”
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.
They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,– To a land all covered with trees:
And they bought an owl, and a useful cart, And a pound of rice, and a cranberry tart, And a hive of silvery bees;
And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws, And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree,
And no end of Stilton cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.
And in twenty years they all came back,– In twenty years or more;
And every one said, “How tall they’ve grown! For they’ve been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone, And the hills of the Chankly Bore.”
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, “If we only live, We, too, will go to sea in a sieve,
To the hills of the Chankly Bore.”
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.
BALLADS
POPULAR
BONNY BARBARA ALLAN
It was in and about the Martinmas time, When the green leaves were a-falling,
That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country, Fell in love with Barbara Allan.
He sent his man down through the town, To the place where she was dwelling:
“O haste and come to my master dear, Gin ye be Barbara Allan.”
O hooly, hooly rose she up,
To the place where he was lying,
And when she drew the curtain by:
“Young man, I think you’re dying.”
“O it’s I’m sick, and very, very sick, And ’tis a’ for Barabara Allan”;
“O the better for me ye’s never be, Tho your heart’s blood were a-spilling.
“Do you remember the other day,
When we were at the tavern drinking, You drank a health to the ladies all,
And you slighted Barbara Allan?”
“Yes, I remember the other day,
When we were at the tavern drinking, I drank a health to the ladies all,
And three to Barbara Allan.”
“Do you remember the other night,
When we were at the ballroom dancing, You gave your hand to the ladies all,
And slighted Barbara Allan?”
“Yes, I remember the other night,
When we were at the ballroom dancing, I gave my hand to the ladies all,
And my heart to Barbara Allan.”
He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealing:
“Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all. And be kind to Barbara Allan.”
And slowly, slowly raise she up,
And slowly, slowly left him,
And, sighing, said she could not stay, Since death of life had reft him.
She had not gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the dead-bell ringing, And every jow that the dead-bell geid,
It cry’d, “Woe to Barbara Allan.”
“O mother, mother, make my bed!
O make it saft and narrow!
Since my love died for me today,
I’ll die for him tomorrow.”
SIR PATRICK SPENCE
The king sits in Dunferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine;
“O whar will I get a guid sailór
To sail this schip of mine?”
Up and spak an eldern knicht,
Sat at the king’s richt kne:
“Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailór, That sails upon the se.”
The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi’ his hand;
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.
The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauchéd he;
The next line that Sir Patrick red. The teir blinded his ee.
“O wha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o’ the yeir, To sail upon the se!
“Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all, Our guid schip sails the morne.”
“O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.
“Late late yestreen I saw the new moone, Wi’ the auld moone in his arme,
And I feir, I feir, my deir mastèr, That we will com to harme.”
O our Scots nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heild schoone;
Bot lang owre a’ the play wer playd, Thair hats they swam aboone.
O lang, lang may their ladies sit,
Wi’ thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence
Cum sailing to the land.
O lang, lang may the ladies stand,
Wi’ thair gold kerns in their hair, Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they’ll se thame na mair.
Half owre, half owre to Aberdour,
It’s fiftie fadom deip,
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, Wi’ the Scots lords at his feit.
ROBIN HOOD AND ALLIN A DALE
Come listen to me, you gallants so free, All you that loves mirth for to hear,
And I will tell you of a bold outlaw, That lived in Nottinghamshire.
As Robin Hood in the forest stood,
All under the greenwood tree,
There was he ware of a brave young man, As fine as fine might be.
The youngster was clothed in scarlet red, In scarlet fine and gay;
And he did frisk it over the plain, And chanted a roundelay.
As Robin Hood next morning stood,
Amongst the leaves so gay,
There did he espy the same young man Come drooping along the way.
The scarlet he wore the day before,
It was clean cast away;
And at every step he fetcht a sigh, “Alack and a well a day!”
Then stepped forth brave Little John, And Nick the miller’s son,
Which made the young man bend his bow, When as he see them come.
“Stand off, stand off,” the young man said, “What is your will with me?”
“You must come before our master straight, Under yon greenwood tree.”
And when he came bold Robin before,
Robin askt him courteously,
“O hast thou any money to spare
For my merry men and me?”
“I have no money,” the young man said, “But five shillings and a ring;
And that I have kept this seven long years, To have it at my wedding.
“Yesterday I should have married a maid, But she is now from me tane,
And chosen to be an old knight’s delight, Whereby my poor heart is slain.”
“What is thy name?” then said Robin Hood, “Come tell me, without any fail”:
“By the faith of my body,” then said the young man, “My name it is Allin a Dale.”
“What wilt thou give me,” said Robin Hood, “In ready gold or fee,
To help thee to thy true-love again, And deliver her unto thee?”
“I have no money,” then quoth the young man, “No ready gold nor fee,
But I will swear upon a book
Thy true servant for to be.”
“How many miles is it to thy true-love? Come tell me without any guile”:
“By the faith of my body,” then said the young man, “It is but five little mile.”
Then Robin he hasted over the plain,
He did neither stint nor lin,
Until he came unto the church,
Where Allin should keep his wedding.
“What dost thou do here?” the bishop he said, “I prithee now tell to me”:
“I am a bold harper,” quoth Robin Hood, “And the best in the north countrey.”
“O welcome, O welcome,” the bishop he said, “That musick best pleaseth me”:
“You shall have no musick,” quoth Robin Hood, “Till the bride and the bridegroom I see.”
With that came in a wealthy knight,
Which was both grave and old,
And after him a finikin lass
Did shine like glistering gold.
“This is no fit match,” quoth bold Robin Hood, “That you do seem to make here;
For since we are come unto the church, The bride she shall chuse her own dear.”
Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth, And blew blasts two or three;
When four and twenty bowmen bold
Came leaping over the lee.
And when they came into the church-yard, Marching all on a row,
The first man was Allin a Dale,
To give bold Robin his bow.
“This is thy true-love,” Robin he said, “Young Allin, as I hear say:
And you shall be married at this same time, Before we depart away.”
“That shall not be,” the bishop he said, “For thy word shall not stand;
They shall be three times askt in the church, As the law is of our land.”
Robin Hood pulld off the bishop’s coat, And put it upon Little John;
“By the faith of my body,” then Robin said, “This cloath doth make thee a man.”
When Little John went into the quire, The people began for to laugh;
He askt them seven times in the church, Lest three times should not be enough.
“Who gives me this maid?” then said Little John; Quoth Robin, “That do I,
And he that doth take her from Allin a Dale Full dearly he shall her buy.”
And thus having ended this merry wedding, The bride lookt as fresh as a queen,
And so they returned to the merry greenwood, Amongst the leaves so green.
KINMONT WILLIE
O! have ye na heard o’ the fause Sakelde? O! have ye na heard o’ the keen Lord Scroope? How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie
On Haribee to hang him up?
Had Willie had but twenty men,
But twenty men as stout as he,
Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta’en, Wi’ eight score in his companie.
They band his legs beneath the steed, They tied his hands behind his back;
They guarded him, fivesome on each side, And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.
They led him thro’ the Liddel-rack,
And also thro’ the Carlisle sands; They brought him to Carlisle castell,
To be at my Lord Scroope’s commands.
“My hands are tied, but my tongue is free, And whae will dare this deed avow?
Or answer by the border law?
Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?”
“Now baud thy tongue, thou rank reiver! There’s never a Scot shall set thee free; Before ye cross my castle yate,
I trow ye shall take farewell o’ me.”
“Fear na ye that, my lord,” quo’ Willie; “By the faith o’ my bodie, Lord Scroope,” he said, “I never yet lodged in a hostelrie
But I paid my lawing before I gaed.”
Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper, In Branksome Ha’, where that he lay,
That Lord Scroope has ta’en the Kinmont Willie, Between the hours of night and day.
He has ta’en the table wi’ his hand,
He garr’d the red wine spring on hie– “Now Christ’s curse on my head,” he said, “But avenged of Lord Scroope I’ll be!
“Oh is my basnet a widow’s curch?
Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree? Or my arm a ladye’s lilye hand,
That an English lord should lightly me?
“And have they ta’en him, Kinmont Willie, Against the truce of the Bordertide?
And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch Is keeper here on the Scottish side?
“And have they e’en ta’en him, Kinmont Willie, Withouten either dread or fear?
And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch Can back a steed, or shake a spear?
“O were there war between the lands,
As well I wot that there is none,
I would slight Carlisle castell high, Tho it were builded of marble stone.
“I would set that castell in a low,
And sloken it with English blood!
There’s never a man in Cumberland
Should ken where Carlisle castell stood.
“But since nae war’s between the lands, And there is peace, and peace should be; I’ll neither harm English lad or lass,
And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!”
He has call’d him forty Marchmen bauld. I trow they were of his ain name,
Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, call’d
The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.
He has call’d him forty Marchmen bauld, Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch;
With spur on heel, and splent on spauld; And gleuves of green, and feathers blue.
There were five and five before them a’, Wi’ hunting-horns and bugles bright,
And five and five came wi’ Buccleuch Like warden’s men, array’d for fight;
And five and five, like a mason gang, That carried the ladders lang and hie;
And five and five, like broken men, And so they reach’d the Woodhouselee.
And as we cross’d the Bateable Land,
When to the English side we held,
The first o’ men that we met wi’,
Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde?
“Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?”
Quo’ fause Sakelde; “come tell to me!”– “We go to hunt an English stag,
Has trespass’d on the Scots countrie.”
“Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?”
Quo’ fause Sakelde; “come tell me true!”– “We go to catch a rank reiver,
Has broken faith wi’ the bauld Buccleuch.”
“Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads,
Wi’ a’ your ladders, lang and hie?”– “We gang to herry a corbie’s nest,
That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.”–
“Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?”
Quo’ fause Sakelde; “come tell to me!”– Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,
And the nevir a word of lear had he.
“Why trespass ye on the English side? Row-footed outlaws, stand!” quo’ he;
The nevir a word had Dickie to say, Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.
Then on we held for Carlisle toun.
And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we cross’d; The water was great and meikle of spait, But the nevir a horse nor man we lost.
And when we reach’d the Staneshaw-bank, The wind was rising loud and hie;
And there the laird garr’d leave our steeds, For fear that they should stamp and nie.
And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,
The wind began full loud to blaw,
But ’twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, When we came beneath the castel wa’.
We crept on knees, and held our breath, Till we placed the ladders against the wa’; And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell
To mount the first before us a’.
He has ta’en the watchman by the throat, He flung him down upon the lead–
“Had there not been peace between our lands, Upon the other side thou hadst gaed!–
“Now sound out, trumpets!” quo’ Buccleuch; “Let’s waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!” Then loud the warden’s trumpet blew–
“_O wha dare meddle wi’ me?_”
Then speedilie to wark we gaed,
And raised the slogan ane and a’,
And cut a hole through a sheet of lead, And so we wan to the castle ha’.
They thought King James and a’ his men Had won the house wi’ bow and spear;
It was but twenty Scots and ten,
That put a thousand in sic a stear!
Wi’ coulters, and wi’ forehammers,
We garr’d the bars bang merrilie,
Until we came to the inner prison,
Where Willie o’ Kinmont he did lie.
And when we cam to the lower prison,
Where Willie o’ Kinmont he did lie– “O, sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,
Upon the morn that thou’s to die?”–
“O, I sleep saft, and I wake aft,’
It’s lang since sleeping was fley’d frae me; Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a’ gude fellows that spier for me.”–
Then Red Rowan has hente him up,
The starkest man in Teviotdale–
“Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.
“Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope! My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!” he cried; “I’ll pay you for my lodging maill
When first we meet on the Border side.”
Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, We bore him down the ladder lang;
At every stride Red Rowan made,
I wot the Kinmont’s airns play’d clang.
“O mony a time,” quo’ Kinmont Willie, “I have ridden horse baith wild and wood; “But a rougher beast than Red Rowan
I ween my legs have ne’er bestrode.
“And mony a time,” quo’ Kinmont Willie, “I’ve prick’d a horse out oure the furs; But since the day I back’d a steed
I never wore sic cumbrous spurs!”–
We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, When a’ the Carlisle bells were rung,
And a thousand men, on horse and foot, Cam wi’ the keen Lord Scroope along.
Buccleuch has turn’d to Eden Water,
Even where it flow’d frae bank to brim, And he has plunged in wi’ a’ his band,
And safely swam them through the stream.
He turn’d him on the other side,
And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he– “If ye like na my visit in merry England, In fair Scotland come visit me!”
All sore astonish’d stood Lord Scroope, He stood as still as rock of stane;
He scarcely dared to trew his eyes, When through the water they had gane.
“He is either himsell a devil frae hell, Or else his mother a witch maun be;
I wadna have ridden that wan water, For a’ the gowd in Christentie.”
MODERN
THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It was the schooner _Hesperus_,
That sailed 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 watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South.
Then up and spake an old sailor,
Had sailed to the Spanish Main,
“I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.
“Last night the moon had a golden ring, And tonight 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 Northeast,
The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast.
Down came the storm, and smote amain
The 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 live In 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 turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes.
Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be;
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave On the Lake of Galilee.
And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Tow’rds the reef of Norman’s Woe.
And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf On 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 crew Like icicles from her deck.
She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool.
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like 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 daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair,
Lashed 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 seaweed, On the billows fall and rise.
Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight and the snow!
Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman’s Woe!
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI
John Keats
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is wither’d from the lake, And no birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful–a faery’s child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long; For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery’s song.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said– “I love thee true.”
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gazed, and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild wild eyes
So kiss’d to sleep.
And there we slumber’d on the moss,
And there I dream’d–Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill side.
I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all They cried–“La Belle Dame sans Merci,
Hath thee in thrall!”
I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill side.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, And no birds sing.
LORD ULLIN’S DAUGHTER
Thomas Campbell
A chieftain to the Highlands bound,
Cries, “Boatman, do not tarry!
And I’ll give thee a silver pound
To row us o’er the ferry.”–
“Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?”
“O, I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle,
And this Lord Ullin’s daughter.
“And fast before her father’s men
Three days we’ve fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
“His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?”–
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
“I’ll go, my chief–I’m ready:–
It is not for your silver bright;
But for your winsome lady:
“And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry:
So, though the waves are raging white, I’ll row you o’er the ferry.”–
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.–
“O haste thee, haste!” the lady cries, “Though tempests round us gather;
I’ll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.”–
The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,–
When, oh! too strong for human hand, The tempest gathered o’er her.–
And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,– His wrath was changed to wailing.–
For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, His child he did discover:–
One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover.
“Come back! come back!” he cried, in grief, “Across this stormy water:
And I’ll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! oh, my daughter!”–
‘Twas vain:–the loud waves lashed the shore. Return or aid preventing:–
The waters wild went o’er his child, And he was left lamenting.
YOUNG LOCHINVAR
Sir Walter Scott
Oh young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword he weapon had none; He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He staid not for brake, and he stopp’d not for stone, He swam the Esk river where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late: For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So boldly he enter’d the Netherby Hall, Among brid’smen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all; Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) “O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”–
“I long woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied;– Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide– And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.”
The bride kiss’d the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaff’d off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,– “Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, “‘Twere better by far, To have match’d our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach’d the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! “She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,” quoth young Lochinvar.
There was mounting ‘mong Græmes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea, But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX
16–
Robert Browning
I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; “Good speed!” cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; “Speed!” echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest And into the midnight we galloped abreast.
Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.
‘Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Duffeld, ’twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime, So Joris broke silence with, “Yet there is time!”
At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black every one, To stare through the mist at us galloping past, And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray;
And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye’s black intelligence,–ever that glance O’er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.
By Hasselt, Direk groaned; and cried Joris, “Stay spur! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault’s not in her, We’ll remember at Aix”–for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.
So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, ‘Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And “Gallop,” gasped Joris, “for Aix is in sight!”
“How they’ll greet us!”–and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate. With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets’ rim.
Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.
And all I remember is–friends flocking round As I sat with his head ‘twixt my knees on the ground; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.
THE REVENGE
A BALLAD OF THE FLEET
Alfred Tennyson
I
At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay, And a pinnace, like a flutter’d bird, came flying from far away: “Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!” Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: “‘Fore God I am no coward; But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick. We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?”
II
Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: “I know you are no coward; You fly them for a moment to fight with them again. But I’ve ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore. I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard, To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.”
III
So Lord Howard past away with five ships of war that day, Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven; But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land Very carefully and slow,
Men of Bideford in Devon,
And we laid them on the ballast down below; For we brought them all aboard,
And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain, To the thumb-screw and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.
IV
He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight, And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight, With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weatherbow. “Shall we fight or shall we fly?
Good Sir Richard, tell us now,
For to fight is but to die!
There’ll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.” And Sir Richard said again: “We be all good Englishmen. Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil, For I never turn’d my back upon Don or devil yet.”
V
Sir Richard spoke and he laugh’d, and we roar’d a hurrah, and so The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe, With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below; For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, And the little Revenge ran on thro’ the long sea-lane between.
VI
Thousands of their soldiers look’d down from their decks and laugh’d, Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft Running on and on, till delay’d
By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons, And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, Took the breath from our sails, and we stay’d.
VII
And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud Whence the thunderbolt will fall
Long and loud,
Four galleons drew away
From the Spanish fleet that day,
And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay, And the battle-thunder broke from them all.
VIII
But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and went, Having that within her womb that had left her ill content; And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand. For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers, And a dozen times we shook ’em off as a dog that shakes his ears, When he leaps from the water to the land.
IX
And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three. Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came, Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder and flame; Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame. For some were sunk and many were shatter’d, and so could fight us no more– God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?
X
For he said, “Fight on! fight on!”
Tho’ his vessel was all but a wreck; And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone, With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck, But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead, And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head, And he said, “Fight on! fight on!”
XI
And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea, And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring; But they dared not touch us again, for they fear’d that we still could sting, So they watch’d what the end would be.
And we had not fought them in vain, But in perilous plight were we,
Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, And half of the rest of us maim’d for life In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife; And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold, And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent; And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; But Sir Richard cried in his English pride: “We have fought such a fight for a day and a night As may never be fought again!
We have won great glory, my men!
And a day less or more
At sea or ashore,
We die–does it matter when?
Sink me the ship, Master Gunner–sink her, split her in twain! Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain!”
XII
And the gunner said, “Ay, ay,” but the seamen made reply: “We have children, we have wives,
And the Lord hath spared our lives. We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go; We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow.” And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe.
XIII
And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then, Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last, And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace; But he rose upon their decks, and he cried: “I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true; I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do. With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die!” And he fell upon their decks, and he died.
XIV
And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true, And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap That he dared her with one little ship and his English few; Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew, But they sank his body with honor down into the deep, And they mann’d the Revenge with a swarthier alien crew, And away she sail’d with her loss and long’d for her own; When a wind from the lands they had ruin’d awoke from sleep, And the water began to heave and the weather to moan, And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew, And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew, Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags, And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter’d navy of Spain, And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags To be lost evermore in the main.
LYRICS
OUR COUNTRY
AMERICA
Samuel Francis Smith
My country, ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty;
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims’ pride,–
From every mountain side
Let freedom ring.
My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,–
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above.
Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom’s song;
Let mortal tongues awake,
Let all that breathe partake!
Let rocks their silence break,–
The sound prolong.
Our fathers’ God,–to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom’s holy light;
Protect us by thy might,
Great God, our King.
MY NATIVE LAND
Sir Walter Scott
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said,
“This is my own, my native land!”
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d, As home his footsteps he hath turn’d
From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concent’red all in self.
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonor’d, and unsung.
COLUMBUS
Joaquin Miller
Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: “Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone,
Brave Adm’r’l, speak; what shall I say?” “Why, say: ‘Sail on! sail on! and on!'”
“My men grow mutinous day by day;
My men grow ghastly, wan and weak.” The stout mate thought of home; a spray
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. “What shall I say, brave Adm’r’l, say,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?” “Why, you shall say at break of day:
‘Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'”
They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said:
“Why, now not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Adm’r’l; speak and say–” He said: “Sail on! sail on! and on!”
They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: “This mad sea shows his teeth tonight.
He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
He lifts his teeth, as if to bite! Brave Adm’r’l, say but one good word:
What shall we do when hope is gone?” The words leapt like a leaping sword:
“Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!”
Then, pale and worn, he paced his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that night. Of all dark nights! And then a speck–
A light! A light! At last a light! It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time’s burst of dawn. He gained a world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: “On! sail on!”
THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND
Felicia Browne Hemans
Look now abroad! Another race has fill’d Those populous borders–wide the wood recedes, And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are till’d; The land is full of harvests and green meads. –_Bryant_
The breaking waves dash’d high
On a stern and rockbound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches toss’d.
And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and waters o’er,
When a band of exiles moor’d their bark On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame;
Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;–
They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free!
The ocean eagle soar’d
From his nest by the white wave’s foam; And the rocking pines of the forest roar’d,– This was their welcome home!
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band;–
Why had _they_ come to wither here, Away from their childhood’s land?
There was woman’s fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love’s truth;
There was manhood’s brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?– They sought a faith’s pure shrine!
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod.
They have left unstained, what there they found– Freedom to worship God.
CONCORD HYMN
SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE BATTLE MONUMENT, APRIL 19, 1836
Ralph Waldo Emerson
By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled.
Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world.
The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.
On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set today a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.
Spirit, that made those heroes dare
To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.
OLD IRONSIDES
Oliver Wendell Holmes
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon’s roar;–
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more!
Her deck, once red with heroes’ blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o’er the nood, And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor’s tread, Or know the conquered knee;–
The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea!
O better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!
Walt Whitman
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has wether’d every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up–for you the flag is flung–for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths–for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult, O Shores, and ring, O Bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
LOVE LYRICS
TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS
Richard Lovelace
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such,
As you, too, shall adore;
I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honor more.
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY
George Gordon Byron
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
A RED, RED ROSE
Robert Burns
O, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June.
O, my luve is like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun!
And I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile!
POEMS OF NATURE
THE GREENWOOD TREE
William Shakespeare
Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird’s throat–
Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun
And loves to live i’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleased with what he gets–
Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA
Allan Cunningham
A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast
And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast!
And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee.
“O for a soft and gentle wind!”
I heard a fair one cry;
But give to me the swelling breeze, And white waves heaving high:
The white waves heaving high, my lads, The good ship tight and free;
LYRICS
The world of waters is our home.
And merry men are we.
There’s tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark the music, mariners!
The wind is wakening loud.
The wind is wakening loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free–
The hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.
I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD
William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never ending line Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company:
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
THE RHODORA ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER?
Ralph Waldo Emerson
In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook. The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew;
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The selfsame Power that brought me there brought you.
TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN
William Cullen Bryant
Thou blossom bright with autumn dew,
And colored with the heaven’s own blue, That openest when the quiet light
Succeeds the keen and frosty night.
Thou comest not when violets lean
O’er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple drest,
Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest.
Thou waitest late, and com’st alone,
When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend
The aged year is near his end.
Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye
Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue–blue–as if that sky let fall
A flower from its cerulean wall.
I would that thus, when I shall see
The hour of death draw near to me,
Hope, blossoming within my heart,
May look to heaven as I depart.
THE EAGLE
Alfred Tennyson
He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.
ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET
John Keats
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; That is the grasshopper’s–he takes the lead In summer luxury,–he has never done
With his delights; for, when tired out with fun, He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth is ceasing never.
On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever, And seems to one, in drowsiness half lost, The grasshopper’s among some grassy hills.
LESSONS FROM NATURE
TO A WATERFOWL
William Cullen Bryant
Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of days, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler’s eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Seek’st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean-side?
There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,– The desert and illimitable air,–
Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end;
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o’er thy sheltered nest.
Thou’rt gone! the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart.
He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.
THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS
Oliver Wendell Holmes
This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main,–
The venturous bark that flings
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare,
Where the cold sea maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wrecked is the ship of pearl!
And every chambered cell,
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed,–
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!
Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil;
Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year’s dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door,
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,
Cast from her lap, forlorn!
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn! While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:–
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea!
THE BUGLE SONG
Alfred Tennyson
The splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river; Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
SONGS OF LIFE
THE NOBLE NATURE
Ben Jonson
It is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make men better be,
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day,
Is fairer far, in May,