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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;

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THOMAS B. MACAULAY.

1800—1859.

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.

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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.

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SYDNEY DOBELL.
(SYDNEY YENDYS.)

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,
And soft airs sang him to his rest;
And yellow leaves, all loose and dry,
Played on the branches listlessly;
The sky waxed palely blue; and high
A cloud seemed touched upon the sky,
A spot of cloud, -blue, thin, and still;
And silence basked on vale and hill.
'Twas autumn-tide-the eve was sweet

As mortal eye hath e'er beholden ;
The grass looked warm with sunny heat-
Perchance some fairy's glowing feet

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

flower;

names

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

ignorance !

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.

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RUINS OF ANCIENT ROME.

B. SIMMONS.

CAPE USHANT.

WHAT of the night, ho! Watcher there

Upon the armed deck,
That holds within its thunderous lair

The last of Empire's wreck-
E'en him whose capture now the chain

From captive earth shall smite;
Ho! rocked upon the moaning main,

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,
While bears afar, with stormy head,

Cape Ushant on our lee."
At that last word, as trumpet stirred,

Forth in the dawning grey
A silent man made to the deck

His solitary way,
And leaning o'er the poop, he gazed

Till on his straining view
That cloud-like speck of land, upraised,

Distinct but slowly grew.
Well may he look until his frame

Maddens to marble there;
He risked Renown's all-grasping game,

Dominion or despair

Rank weeds and grasses
Careless and nodding grew, and asked no

leave,

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.
Black chaos swims before him, spread

With trophy-shaping bones,
The council strife, the battle-dead,

Rent charters, cloven thrones.

No-gladly forward he would dash

Amid that onset on,
Where blazing shot and sabre-crash

Pealed o'er his empire gone.
There, 'neath his vanquished eagles tost,

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,
Even as his kingdom's shattered might

Shall utterly decay;
Save when his spirit-shaking story,

In years remotely dim,
Warms some pale minstrel with his glory

To raise the song to him.

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Yet, proud One! could the loftiest day

Of thy transcendent power
Match with the soul-compelling sway

Which in this dreadful hour
Aids thee to hide beneath the show

Of calmest lip and eye
The hell that wars and works below-

The quenchless thirst to die?
The white dawn crimsoned into morn,

The morning flashed to day,
And the sun followed, glory-born,

Rejoicing on his way;
And still o'er ocean's kindling flood

That muser cast his view,
While round him awed and silent stood

His fate's devoted few.

G. WALTER THORNBURY.

1828-1876.

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;
But still he feebly beat his drum,

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,
And white-lipped Rout and wolfish War

Loud thundering on his van.
Oh for the sulphurous eve of June,

When down that Belgian hill
His bristling Guard's superb platoon

He led unbroken still!
Now would he pause, and quit their side

Upon destruction's marge, Nor king-like share with desperate pride

Their vainly glorious charge?

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