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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 Edge.
cumbe's lofty hall; Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry
along the coast; And with loose rein and bloody spur rode
inward 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, blazon swells. As slow upon the labouring wind the royal Look how the Lion of the Sea lifts up his ancient crown,
[gay lilies down. And underneath his deadly paw treads the 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 claws
the princely hunters lay. Ho! strike the flagstaff 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 vide, 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 sunk upon the dusky beach and
on the purple sea,-Such night in England ne'er had been, nor
e'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;
THOMAS B. MACAULAY.
THE SPANISH ARMADA.
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 vain The 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;
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 on Skiddaw roused the
burghers of Carlisle.
DEATH OF VIRGINJA.
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 wild 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 farthest wards was heard the
rush of hurrying feet, And the broad streams of flags and pikes
dashed down each roaring street. And broader still became the blaze, and
louder still the din, As fast from every village round the horse
came clattering in. And eastward straight from wild Black
heath the warlike errand went, And roused 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,
HARD by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down;
[in his gown. Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it And then his eyes grew very dim and his
throat began to swell, And in a hoarse changed voice he spake,
“Farewell, sweet child, farewell. Oh, how I loved my darling! though stern
I sometimes be, To thee, thou know'st, I was not so. Who
could be so to thee? And how my darling loved me! How glad
she was to hear My footstep on the threshold when I came
back last year! And how she danced with pleasure to see
my civic crown, And took my sword and hung it up, and
brought me forth my gown. Now all these things are over; yes, all thy
pretty ways, Thy needlework, thy prattle, thy snatches
of old lays. And none will grieve when I go forth, or
smile when I return, Or watch beside the old man's bed, or
weep upon his urn. The house that was the happiest within
the Roman walls, The house that envied not the wealth of
Capua's marble halls, Now for the brightness of thy smile must
have eternal gloom, And for the music of thy voice the silence
of the tomb.
Light and delight seemed all its dower; Away in merriment it strayed,
Singing, and bearing, hour after hour, Pale, lovely splendour to the shade.
The time is come. See how he points his
eager hand this way, See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a
kite's upon the prey! With all his wit, he little deems, that
spurned, betrayed, bereft, Thy father hath in his despair one fearful
refuge left: He little deems that in this hand I clutch
what still can save Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows,
the portion of the slave; Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth
taunt and blow,Foul outrage which thou knowest not,
which thou shalt never know. Then clasp me round the neck once more,
and give me one more kiss: And now, mine own dear little girl, there
is no way but this." With that he lifted high the steel and smote
her in the side, And in her blood she sank to earth, and
with one sob she died.
1824-1874. THE SCENT OF HAY AT NIGHT. THERE went an incense through the land one night,
(men slept. Through the hushed holy land where tired
(Interlude of music.) The haughty sun of June had walked, long days,
[mendicants, Through the tall pastures, which, like Hung their sear heads and sued for rain; and he
[high hay-time. Had thrown them none. And now it was Through the sweet valley all her flowery
wealth At once lay low, at once ambrosial blood Cried to the moonlight from a thousand fields,
(that night, And through the land the incense went Through the hushed holy land where tired
men slept. It fell upon the sage, who with his lamp Put out the light of heaven. He felt it come, Sweetening the musty tomes, like the fair shape
(past Of that one blighted love, which from the Steals oft among his mouldering thoughts of wisdom,
[youth; And she came with it, borne on the airs of Old days sang round her, old memorial days,
[flowers all fadedShe crowned with tears, they dressed in And the night fragrance is a harmony All through the old man's soul. Voices of old,
[green, The home, the church upon the village Old thoughts that circlelike the birds ofeven Round the grey spire. Soft sweet regrets, like sunset
(not. Lighting old windows with gleams day had Ghosts of dead years, whispering old silent
(mouldering now. Through grass-grown pathways, by halls Childhood- the fragrance of forgotten fields;
[fragrance Manhood-the unforgotten fields whose
The gold sun went into the west,
As mortal eye hath e'er beholden ;
Had lightly touched, and left it golden; A flower or two were shining yet; The star of the daisy had not yet set,It shone from the turf to greet the air Which tenderly came breathing there; And in a brook which loved to fret O'er yellow sand and pebble blue,
The lily of the silvery hue All freshly dwelt, with white leaves wet. Away the sparkling water played, Through bending grass and blessed
Passed like a breath; the time of buttercups, The fluttering time of sweet forget-me-nots; The time of passion and the rose—the haytime
[man weeps, Of that last summer of hope! The old The old man weeps. His aimless hand the joyless book puts by ; As one that dreams and fears to wake, the
sage With vacant eye stifles the trembling taper, Lets in the moonlight, and for once is wise.
(Interlude of music.) There went an incense through the midnight land,
[men slept. Through the hushed holy land where tired It fell upon a simple cottage child, Laid where the lattice opened on the sky, And she looked up and said, “Those
flowers the stars Smell sweet to-night." God rest her
Where Romans trembled. Where the wreck
was saddest, Sweet pensive herbs, that had been gay elsewhere,
(still, With conscious mien of place, rose tall and And bent with duty. Like some village
children Who found a dead king on a battle-field, And with decorous care and reverend pity Composed the lordly ruin, and sat down, Grave without tears. At length the giant
lay, And everywhere he was begirt with years, And everywhere the torn and mouldering
Past Hung him with ivy. For Time, smit with
honour Of what he slew, cast his own mantle on
him, That none should mock the dead.
RUINS OF ANCIENT ROME.
WHAT of the night, ho! Watcher there
Upon the armed deck,
The last of Empire's wreck-
From captive earth shall smite;
Watcher, what of the night?
UPSTOOD The hoar unconscious walls, bisson and bare,
(whom Like an old man deaf, blind, and gray, in The years of old stand in the sun and mur
mur Of childhood and the dead. From parapets Where the sky rests; from broken niches -each
[them,-More than Olympus, for the gods dwelt in Below, from senatorial halls, and seats Imperial ; where the ever-passing Fates Wore out the stone, strange hermit birds croaked forth
[heights Sorrowful sounds; like watchers on the Crying the hours of ruin, when the clouds Dressed every myrtle on the walls in mourn.
ing. With calm prerogative the eternal pile Impassive shone with the unearthly light Of immortality. When conquering suns Triumphed in jubilant earth, it stood out dark
[captive With thoughts of ages: like some mighty Upon his death-bed in a Christian land, And lying, through the chant of psalm and creed,
[brow, Unshriven and stern, with peace upon his And on his lips strange gods.
“The stars are waning fast-the curl
Of morning's coming breeze, Far in the North begins to furl
Night's vapour from the seas. Her every shred of canvas spread,
The proud ship plunges free,
Cape Ushant on our lee."
Forth in the dawning grey
His solitary way,
Till on his straining view
Distinct but slowly grew.
Maddens to marble there;
Dominion or despair
Rank weeds and grasses
And lost-and lo, in vapour furled,
The last of that loved France, For which his prowess cursed the world,
Is dwindling from his glance. Rave on, thou far-resounding deep,
Whose billows round him roll! Thou'rt calmness to the storms that sweep
This moment o'er his soul.
With trophy-shaping bones,
Rent charters, cloven thrones.
No-gladly forward he would dash
Amid that onset on,
Pealed o'er his empire gone.
Should close his grand career, Girt by his heaped and slaughtered host.
He lived-for fetters here!
Enough :-in noontide's yellow light
Cape Ushant melts away,
Shall utterly decay;
In years remotely dim,
To raise the song to him.
Yet, proud One! could the loftiest day
Of thy transcendent power
Which in this dreadful hour
Of calmest lip and eye
The quenchless thirst to die?
The morning flashed to day,
Rejoicing on his way;
That muser cast his view,
His fate's devoted few.
G. WALTER THORNBURY.
THE OLD GRENADIER'S STORY.
'Twas the day beside the Pyramids, –
It seems but an hour ago,That Kleber's Foot stood firm in squares,
Returning blow for blow. The Mamelukes were tossing
Their standards to the sky, When I heard a child's voice say, “My men,
Teach me the way to die!".
'Twas a little drummer, with his side
Torn terribly with shot;
As though the wound were not. And when the Mamelukes' wild horse
Burst with a scream and cry, He said, O men of the Forty-third,
Teach me the way to die!
He lives, perchance, the past again,
From the fierce hour when first On the astounded hearts of men
His meteor presence burst; When blood-besotted Anarchy
Sank, quelled, amid the glare Of thy far-sweeping musketry,
Fame-fraught Vendémiaire ! And darker thoughts oppress him now
Her ill-requited love Whose faith, as beauteous as her brow,
Brought blessings from above; Her trampled heart, his darkening star,
The cry of outraged Man,
Loud thundering on his van.
When down that Belgian hill
He led unbroken still!
Upon destruction's marge, Nor king-like share with desperate pride
Their vainly glorious charge?