And the people who saw this marvel Each said unto his friend, That this was the mould of their vessel, And thus her tragic end. And the pastor of the village That, to quiet their troubled spirits, THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. A MIST was driving down the British Channel, And through the window-panes, on floor and panel, It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon, And the white sails of ships; And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon Hailed it with feverish lips. Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and Dover Were all alert that day, To see the French war-steamers speeding over, When the fog cleared away. Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions, Their cannon, through the night, Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance, The sea-coast opposite. And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations On every citadel; Each answering each, with morning salutations, And down the coast, all taking up the burden, Replied the distant forts, As if to summon from his sleep the Warden Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure, No drum-beat from the wall, No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure, Awaken with its call! No more, surveying with an eye impartial The long line of the coast, Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Marshal Be seen upon his post! For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, In sombre harness mailed, Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, The dark and silent room, And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, He did not pause to parley or dissemble, Ah! what a blow! that made all England tremble |