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 To count the shatter'd darts that lay, I love the palaces we built, The fancied brick or stone : Where all was false and all was true I love the foolish words-that love The very faults that then we wept, Alas! the days of Childhood I love that timid soul that blush'd That spoke undaunted truth, no veils 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 May not return to me. -But O blithe little ones-that dance, How can I share your blessedness? The love you lavish free? -In you the days of Childhood 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; And learning this, the bridegroom will relent. 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. |