It was ten of April morn by the chime: As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death; But the might of England flush'd And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between. "Hearts of oak!" our captains cried, when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a dead-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Their shots along the deep slowly boom: Then ceased-and all is wail, As they strike the shatter'd sail; Or in conflagration pale Light the gloom. Out spoke the victor then As he hail'd them o'er the wave, "Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save: So peace instead of death let us bring; But yield, proud foe, thy fleet With the crews, at England's feet, To our King." 186 THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. Then Denmark blest our chief As death withdrew his shades from the day: O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Now joy, old England, raise! Whilst the wine cup shines in light; Brave hearts! to Britain's pride Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave! And the mermaid's song condoles, Of the brave! T. Campbell. THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. (OCT. 25TH 1854.) I. HALF a league, half a league, 2. "Forward, the Light Brigade!" 3. Cannon to right of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Rode the six hundred. 188 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 4. Flash'd all their sabres bare, All the world wonder'd: Reel'd from the sabre-stroke, Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not- 5. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd; Left of six hundred. 6. When can their glory fade? Honour the charge they made! Noble six hundred! A. Tennyson. BARBARA FRITCHIE. (AMERICAN CIVIL WAR; 1861-5.) UP from the meadows rich with corn, Round about them orchards sweep, To the eyes of the famished rebel horde. On that pleasant morn of the early fall, When Lee marched over the mountain wall, Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town, Forty flags with their silver stars, Up rose old Barbara Fritchie then, She took up the flag the men hauled down; In her attic-window the staff she set, |