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And at last their
prayers were answered: It was in the month of June, An hour before the sunset
Of a windy afternoon,
When, steadily steering landward,
A ship was seen below, And they knew it was Lamberton, Master,
Who sailed so long ago.
On she came, with a cloud of canvas,
Right against the wind that blew, Until the eye could distinguish
The faces of the crew.
Then fell her straining topmasts,
Hanging tangled in the shrouds,
And blown away like clouds.
And the masts, with all their rigging,
Fell slowly, one by one,
As a sea-mist in the sun!
And the people who saw this marvel
Each said unto his friend,
And thus her tragic end.
And the pastor of the village
Gave thanks to God in prayer, That, to quiet their troubled spirits,
He had sent this Ship of Air.
THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS.
A Mist was driving down the British Channel,
The day was just begun,
It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon,
And the white sails of ships; And, from the frowning rampart, the black
Hailed it with feverish lips.
Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and
Were all alert that day, To see the French war-steamers speeding
Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions,
Their cannon, through the night,
And now they roared at drum-beat from their
stations On every citadel; Each answering each, with morning saluta
And down the coast, all taking up the burden,
Replied the distant forts, As if to summon from his sleep the Warden
And Lord of the Cinque Ports.
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, The rampart wall has scaled.