If a storm should come and awake the deep, What matter? I shall ride and sleep. I love (oh how I love) to ride I never was on the dull tame shore, The waves were white, and red the morn, I've lived since then, in calm and strife, With wealth to spend and a power to range, MEN OF ENGLAND.-Campbell. MEN of England! who inherit Rights that cost your sires their blood! Men whose undegenerate spirit Has been proved on land and flood :— By the foes ye've fought uncounted, Yet remember, England gathers Glow not in your hearts the same. Bared in Freedom's holy cause. Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory, Worth a thousand Agincourts! We're the sons of sires that baffled RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD. I LOVE the gracious littleness Of Childhood's fancied reign: The narrow chambers and the nooks That all its world contain : The fairy landscapes on the walls And half-imagined faces : The stairs from thoughtless steps fenced off, The landing loved for races : By stranger feet the floors are trod That still in thought I see : I love the little room where first The knowledge we had seen before Where first we link'd a happy eve 6 I love the broken plaything ghosts I love the swing that shook between Th' initials flourish'd on the beech That half we wish'd and half we fear'd I love the lawn-the scene of high Where Homer's heroes, known through Pope, Where after-life was shadow'd out In feats of happy daring, Till each went off the field with joy C To count the shatter'd darts that lay, I love the palaces we built, Where all was false and all was true I love the foolish words-that love The very faults that then we wept, I love that timid soul that blush'd Yet from its equals in the game Nor fear'd its weakness and its strength I love the very strife that left Our souls for love more free: For the truth.ul days of Childhood May ne'er return to me. -Alas for hands that then we clasp'd; For daily thoughtless welcomings, The shout, the song, the leap, the race : The voice, the eyes of vanish'd love; -I hoard the thought of things that were, For the loving days of Childhood -But O blithe little ones-that dance, And bid me join your play: How can I share your blessedness? Yours are the gleam of azure eyes, LATE, LATE.--Tennyson. LATE, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! Late, late, so late! but we can enter still. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. No light had we for that we do repent ; No light so late! and dark and chill the night! Too late, too late: ye cannot enter now. Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? O let us in, tho' late, to kiss his feet! No, no, too late! ye cannot enter now. |