"As with his wings aslant, Bore I the maiden. "Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to lee-ward; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward. "There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies; Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another! "Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen! Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful! In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, O, death was grateful! 66 Thus, seamed with many scars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!" -Thus the tale ended. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. IT was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, The skipper he stood beside the helm, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow Then up and spake an old sailòr, Had sailed the Spanish Main, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane. "Last night the moon had a golden ring, The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, Colder and colder blew the wind, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, "Come hither! come hither! my little daughtèr, And do not tremble so; For I can ride the roughest gale, That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. "O father! I hear the church-bells ring, O say, what may it be?" ""Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" And he steered for the open sea. 66 "O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be?" "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!" "O father! I see a gleaming light, But the father answered never a word, Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ who stilled the wave, On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, And ever the fitful gusts between The breakers were right beneath her bows, And a whooping billow swept the crew She struck where the white and fleecy waves But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, The salt sea was frozen on her breast, And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. UNDER a spreading chestnut tree And the muscles of his brawny arms His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, |