« AnteriorContinuar »
HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA.-Browning. NOBLY, nobly, Cape St. Vincent to the North-West died
away ; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz
Bay; Bluish ʼmid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; In the dimmest North-East distance, dawned Gibraltar
grand and gray; * Here and here did England help me: how can I help
England ?'--say, Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and
pray, While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.
THE LAST BUCCANIER.--Kingsley. Oh England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and
high, But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I; And such a port for mariners I ne'er shall see again As the pleasant Isle of Avés, beside the Spanish main. There were forty craft in Avés that were both swift and
stout, All furnished well with small arms and cannons round
about; And a thousand men in Avés made laws so fair and free To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally. Thence we sailed against the Spaniard, with his hoards
of plate and gold, Which he wrung with cruel tortures from Indian folk of Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as
stone, Who flog men and keel-haul them, and starve them to
the bone. Oh the palms grow high in Avés, and fruits that shone
like gold, And the colibris and parrots, they were gorgeous to be
hold; And the negro maids of Avés from bondage fast did flee, To welcome gallant sailors, a sweeping in from sea.
Oh, sweet it was in Avés to hear the landward breze
A-swing with good tobacco in a net between the trees,
With a negro lass to fan you, while you listened to the
Of the breakers on the reef outside, that never touched
But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be ;
So the king's ships sailed on Avés, and quite pu'. down
All day we fought like bull-dogs, but they burst th: booms
at night; And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the fight. Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside, Till for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing, she But as I lay a-gasping, a Bristol sail came by, And brought me home to England here, to beg until I
die. And now I'm old and going— I'm sure I can't tell where ; One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be worse off
there : If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main, To the pleasant Isle of Avés, to look at it once again.
MY LADY NATURE AND HER DAUGHTERS.
7. H. Newnian.
LADIES, well I deem, delight
In comely tire to move;
Soft, and delicate, and bright,
Are the robes they love.
Silks, where hues alternate play,
Shawls, and scarfs, and mantles gay,
Gold, and gems, and crispèd hair,
Fling their light o'er lady fair.
'Tis not waste, nor sinful pride,
- Name them not, nor fault beside,-
But her very cheerfulness
Prompts and weaves the curious dress;
While her holy thoughts still roam
'Mid birth-friends and scenes of home.
Pleased to please whose praise is dear,
Glitters she? she glitters there ;--
And she has a pattern found her
In Nature's glowing world around her.
Nature loves, as lady bright,
In gayest guise to shine,
All forms of grace, all tints of light,
Fringe her robe divine.
Sun-lit heaven, and rainbow cloud,
Changeful main, and mountain proud,
Branching tree, and meadows green,
All are deck'd in broider'd sheen.
Not a bird on bough-propp'd tower,
Insect slim, nor tiny flower,
Stone, nor spar, nor shell of sea,
But is fair in its degree.
'Tis not pride, this vaunt of beauty ;
Well she 'quits her trust of duty ;
And, amid her gorgeous state,
Bright, and bland, and delicate,
Ever beaming from her face
Praise of a Father's love we trace.
Ladies, shrinking from the view
Of the prying day,
In tranquil diligence pursue
Their heaven-appointed way.
Noiseless duties, silent cares,
Mercies lighting unawares,
Modest influence working good,
Gifts, by the keen heart understood,
Such as viewless spirits might give,
These they love, in these they live.-
Mighty Nature speeds her through
Her daily toils in silence too;
Calmly rolls her giant spheres,
Sheds by stealth her dew's kind tears ;
Cheating sage's vexed pursuit,
Churns the sap, matures the fruit,
And, her deft hand still concealing,
Kindles motion, life, and feeling.
Ladies love to laugh and sing,
To rouse the chord's full sound,
Or to join the festive ring
Where dancers gather round.
Not a sight so fair on earth,
As a lady's graceful mirth ;
Not a sound so chasing pain,
As a lady's thrilling strain.-
Nor is Nature left behind
In her lighter moods of mind;
Calm her duties to fulfil,
In her glee a prattler still.
Bird and beast of every sort
Hath its antic and its sport;
Chattering brook, and dancing gnat,
Subtle cry of evening bat,
Moss uncouth and twigs grotesque,
These are Nature's picturesque.
Where the birth of Poesy ?
Its fancy and its fire?
Nature's earth, and sea, and sky,
Fervid thoughts inspire.
Where do wealth and power find rest,
When hopes have failed, or toil opprest?
Parks, and lawns, and deer, and trees,
Nature's work, restore them ease.“
Rare the rich, the gifted rare,
Where shall work-day souls repair,
From the rude world and unkind ?
Who shall friend their lowly lot ?
High-born Nature answers not.
Leave her in her starry dome,
Seek we lady-lighted home.
Nature ʼmid the spheres holds sway,
Ladies rule where hearts obey.
VICTORIA'S TEARS.—Mrs. Browning.
'O MAIDEN ! heir of kings !
A king has left his place ;
The majesty of death has swept
All other from his face.
And thou upon thy mother's breast,
No longer lean adown,
But take the glory for the rest,
And rule the land that loves thee best!'
The maiden wept,
She wept to wear a crown!
They decked her courtly halls ;
They reined her hundred steeds;
They shouted, at her palace gate,
'A noble queen succeeds!'
Her name has stirr'd the mountain's sleep,
Her praise has fill’d the town ;
And mourners, God had stricken deep,
Looked hearkening up, and did not weep.
Alone she wept,
Who wept to wear a crown!
She saw no purples shine,
For tears had dimmed her eyes :
She only knew, her childhood's flowers
Were happier pageantries !
And while the heralds played their part,
Those million shouts to drown,
'God save the Queen!' from hill to mart-
She heard through all, her beating heart,
And turned, and wept, -
She wept to wear a crown.
God save thee, weeping Queen !
Thou shalt be well beloved !
The tyrant's sceptre cannot move,
As those pure tears have moved !
The nature in thine eyes we see,
That tyrants cannot own-
The love, that guardeth liberties;
Strange blessing on the nation lies,