Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor Robin red-breast tunes his note;
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring,
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring.
THERE is in the wide, lone sea,
A spot unmarked but holy; For there the gallant and the free In his ocean-bed lies lowly. Down, down, within the deep
That oft to triumph bore him, Hesleeps a sound and pleasant sleep With the salt waves washing o'er him.
He sleeps serene and safe
From tempest or from billow, Where the storms that high above him chafe
Scarce rock his peaceful pillow. The sea and him in death
They did not dare to sever: It was his home while he had breath:
"Tis now his rest for ever!
Sleep on, thou mighty dead!
A glorious tomb they've found
thee,
The broad blue sky above thee
spread,
The boundless waters round thee. No vulgar foot treads here,
No hand profane shall move thee,
But gallant fleets shall proudly steer,
And warriors shout, above thee. And when the last trump shall sound,
And tombs are asunder riven, Like the morning sun from the wave thou'lt bound
To rise and shine in heaven.
H. F. LYTE.
625. TELL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE LOVE
WHEN Delia on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move:
Tell me, my heart, if this be Love.
Whene'er she speaks, my ravished ear
No other voice but hers can hear,
No other wit but hers approve:
Tell me, my heart, if this be Love.
If she some other youth commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be Love.
When, fond of power, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for every swain,
I strove to hate, but vainly strove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be Love.
G. LYTTELTON, LORD LYTTELTON.
As the flight of a river
That flows to the sea,
My soul rushes ever
In tumult to thee.
A twofold existence
I am where thou art;
My heart in the distance
Beats close to thy heart.
Look up, I am near thee,
I gaze on thy face;
I see thee, I hear thee,
I feel thine embrace.
As a magnet's control on
The steel it draws to it,
Is the charm of thy soul on
The thoughts that pursue it.
And absence but brightens
The eyes that I miss,
And custom but heightens
The spell of thy kiss.
It is not from duty,
Though that may be owed,—
It is not from beauty,
Though that be bestowed;
But all that I care for,
And all that I know,
Is that, without wherefore,
I worship thee so.
Through granite it breaketh
A tree to the ray,
As a dreamer forsaketh
The grief of the day,
My soul in its fever
Escapes unto thee;
O dream to the griever,
O light to the tree!
A twofold existence
I am where thou art;
Hark, hear in the distance
The beat of my heart!
EDWARD BULWER, LORD LYTTON.
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;
Her crew had 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 Edgecumbe's lofty hall;
Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast,
And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland 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,
As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.
Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,
And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down.
So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,
Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Caesar'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 wide;
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 sank 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;
For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread,
High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: 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:
Q'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew
And 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 that 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 pikes and flags rushed down each roaring
street;
And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,
As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in:
And eastward straight from wild Blackheath 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
Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales, 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.
THOMAS, LORD MACAULAY.
LARS PORSENA of Clusium
By the Nine Gods he swore
That the great house of Tarquin
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it,
And named a trysting day, And bade his messengers ride forth,
East and west and south and north,
To summon his array.
Fast by the royal standard,
O'erlooking all the war,
Lars Porsena of Clusium
Sat in his ivory car.
By the right wheel rode Mamilius,
Prince of the Latian name;
And by the left false Sextus,
That wrought the deed of shame.
But when the face of Sextus
Was seen among the foes,
A yell that rent the firmament
From all the town arose.
On the house-tops was no woman
But spat towards him and
hissed,
No child but screamed out curses,
And shook its little fist.
But the Consul's brow was sad,
And the Consul's speech was
low,
And darkly looked he at the wall,
And darkly at the foe.
'Their van will be upon us
Before the bridge goes down; And if they once may win the bridge
What hope to save the town?'
Then out spake brave Horatius,
The Captain of the Gate:
'To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his Gods,
6 And for the tender mother
Who dandled him to rest,
And for the wife who nurses
His baby at her breast,
And for the holy maidens
Who feed the eternal flame,
To save them from false Sextus
That wrought the deed of
shame ?
'Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me?'
Then out spake Spurius Lartius; A Ramnian proud was he: 'Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, And keep the bridge with thee.' And out spake strong Herminius ; Of Titian blood was he: ‘I will abide on thy left side, And keep the bridge with thee.' 'Horatius,' quoth the Consul,
'As thou sayest, so let it be.' And straight against that great array
Forth went the dauntless Three. For Romans in Rome's quarrel
Spared neither land nor gold, Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, In the brave days of old.
Then none was for a party;
Then all were for the state; Then the great man helped the poor,
And the poor man loved the great;
Then lands were fairly portioned;
Then spoils were fairly sold: The Romans were like brothers In the brave days of old. Now Roman is to Roman
More hateful than a foe, And the Tribunes beard the high, And the Fathers grind the low. As we wax hot in faction,
In battle we wax cold; Wherefore men fight not as they fought
In the brave days of old.
Was none who would be foremost
To lead such dire attack: But those behind cried 'Forward!'
And those before cried 'Back!' And backward now and forward
Wavers the deep array; And on the tossing sea of steel To and fro the standards reel; And the victorious trumpet-peal
Dies fitfully away.
Yet one man for one moment Stood out before the crowd; Well known was he to all the Three,
And they gave him greeting loud,
'Now welcome, welcome, Sextus! Now welcome to thy home! Why dost thou stay and turn away?
Here lies the road to Rome.' Thrice looked he at the city;
Thrice looked he at the dead; And thrice came on in fury,
And thrice turned back in dread:
And, white with fear and hatred, Scowled at the narrow way Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,
The bravest Tuscans lay. But meanwhile axe and lever
Have manfully been plied; And now the bridge hangs tottering Above the boiling tide.
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