FRANCES
FREELING
BRODERIP.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v28 - Songs, Hymns, Lyrics
And after these, in order near their chief,
Start, Tremor, Faint-Heart, Panic, and Affray,
Horror with blanching eyes, and limp Dismay,
1
Unroll a gray-green carpet him before
Swathed in thick foam: thereon adventuring, bark
Need never hope to live; that yeasty pile
Bears her no longer; to the mast-head plunged
She writhes and groans, careens, and is no more.
Now, prickt by fear, the man-devourer shark,
Gale-breasting gull, and whale that dreams no guile
Till the sharp steel quite to the life has lunged,
Before his pitiless, onward-hurling form
Hurry toward land for shelter from the storm.
In vain. Tornado and his pursuivants,
Whirlwind of giant bulk, and Water-Spout, -
The grewsome, tortuous devil-fish of rain,
O'ertake them on the shoals and leave them dead.
Doomsday has come. Now men in speechless trance
Glower unmoved upon the hideous rout,
Or shrieking, fly to holes, or yet complain
One moment to that lordly face of dread
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Before he quits the mountain of his wave,
And strews for all impartially their grave.
And as in court-yard corners on the wind
Sweep the loose straws, houses and stately trees
Whirl in a vortex. His unswerving tread
Winnows the island as a thresher's floor.
His eyes are fixed; he looks not once behind,
But at his back fall silence and the breeze.
Scarce is he come, the lovely wraith is sped.
Ashamed, the lightning shuts its purple door,
And heaven still knows the robes of gold and dun,
While placid Ruin gently greets the sun.
CHARLES DE KAY.
1
THE RIVER CHARLES
ESIDE thee, river, I
B Through vista Long of years, and drink my fill
Of beauty and of light, a steady rill
Of never-failing good, whate'er my state, -
How speechless seem these lips, my soul how dull,
Never to say, nor half to say, how dear
The washing of thy ripples, nor the full
And silent flow which speaks not to the ear!
Thou hast been unto me a gracious nurse,
Telling me many a tale in listening hours
Of those who praised thee with their ripening powers,—
Our elder poets, nourished at thy source.
O happy Cambridge meadows! where now rest
Forever the proud memories of their lives;
O happy Cambridge air! forever blest
With deathless song the bee of time still hives; -
And farther on, where many a wild flower blooms
Through a fair Sunday up and down thy banks,
Beautiful with thy blossoms, ranks on ranks,
What vanished eyes have sought thy dewy rooms!
I too have known thee, rushing, bright with foam,
Or sleeping idly, even as
thou dost now,
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16541
Reflecting every wall and tower and dome,
And every vessel, clear from stern to prow,
Or in the moonlight, when the night is pale,
And the great city is still, and only thou
Givest me sign of life, and on thy brow
A beauty evanescent, flitting, frail !
O river! ever drifting toward the sea,
How common is thy fate! thus purposeless
To drift away, nor think what 'tis to be,
And sink in the vast wave of nothingness.
But ever to love's life a second life
Is given, and his narrow river of days
Shall flow through other lives, and sleep in bays
Of quiet thought and calm the heart at strife.
Fortunate river! that through the poet's thought
Hast run and washed life's burden from his sight;
O happy river! thou his song hast brought,
And thou shalt live in poetry and light.
ANNIE FIELDS.
ORARA
A TRIBUTARY OF THE CLARENCE RIVER
TH
VE strong sob of the chafing stream,
That seaward fights its way
Down crags of glitter, dells of gleam,
Is in the hills to-day.
But far and faint a gray-winged form
Hangs where the wild lights wane
The phantoms of a bygone storm,
A ghost of wind and rain.
The soft white feet of afternoon
Are on the shining meads;
The breeze is as a pleasant tune
Amongst the happy reeds.
The fierce, disastrous, flying fire,
That made the great caves ring,
And scarred the slope, and broke the spire,
Is a forgotten thing.
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SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
The air is full of mellow sounds;
The wet hill-heads are bright;
And down the fall of fragrant grounds
The deep ways flame with light.
A rose-red space of stream I see,
Past banks of tender fern;
A radiant brook, unknown to me,
Beyond its upper turn.
The singing silver life I hear,
Whose home is in the green
Far-folded woods of fountains clear,
Where I have never been.
Ah, brook above the upper bend,
I often long to stand
Where you in soft, cool shades descend
From the untrodden land;
But I may linger long, and look,
Till night is over all —
My eyes will never see the brook,
Or strange, sweet waterfall.
The world is round me with its heat,
And toil, and cares that tire:
I cannot with my feeble feet
Climb after my desire.
HENRY CLARENCE KENDALL.
TO SENECA LAKE
O*
N THY fair bosom, silver lake,
The wild swan spreads his snowy sail,
And round his breast the ripples break,
As down he bears before the gale.
On thy fair bosom, waveless stream,
The dipping paddle echoes far,
And flashes in the moonlight gleam,
And bright reflects the polar star.
The waves along thy pebbly shore,
As blows the north-wind, heave their foam,
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16543
-
And curl around the dashing oar,
As late the boatman hies him home.
How sweet, at set of sun, to view
Thy golden mirror spreading wide,
And see the mist of mantling blue
Float round the distant mountain's side.
At midnight hour, as shines the moon,
A sheet of silver spreads below,
And swift she cuts, at highest noon,
Light clouds like wreaths of purest snow.
On thy fair bosom, silver lake,
Oh, I could ever sweep the oar,
When early birds at morning wake,
And evening tells us toil is o'er!
JAMES GATES PERCIVAL,
SEA WITCHERY
Yº
headland, with the twinkling-footed sea
Beyond it, conjures shapes and stories fair
Of young Greek days: the lithe immortal air
Carries the sound of Siren-song to me;
Soon shall I mark Ulysses daringly
Swing round the cape, the sea-wind in his hair;
And look! the Argonauts go sailing there
A golden quest, shouting their godlike glee.
The vision is compact of blue and gold,
Of sky and water, and the drift of foam,
And thrill of brine-washed breezes from the west
Wide space is in it, and the unexpressed
Great heart of Nature, and the magic old
Of legend, and the white ships coming home.
RICHARD BURTON.
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SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
WITH A NANTUCKET SHELL
I
SEND a shell from the ocean beach;
But listen thou well, for my shell hath speech.
Hold to thine ear,
And plain thou'lt hear
Tales of ships
That were lost in the rips,
Or that sunk on the shoals
Where the bell-buoy tolls,
And ever and ever its iron tongue rolls
In a ceaseless lament for the poor lost souls.
And a song of the sea
Has my shell for thee:
The melody in it
Was hummed at Wauwinet,
And caught at Coatue
By the gull that flew
Outside to the ships with its perishing crew.
But the white wings wave
Where none may save,
And there's never a stone to mark a grave.
See, its sad heart bleeds
For the sailor's needs;
But it bleeds again
For more mortal pain,
More sorrow and woe,
Than is theirs who go
With shuddering eyes and whitening lips
Down in the sea in their shattered ships.
Thou fearest the sea ?
And a tyrant is he,-
A tyrant as cruel as tyrant may be;
But though winds fierce blow,
And the rocks lie low,
And the coast be lee,
This I say to thee:
Of Christian souls more have been wrecked on shore
Than ever were lost at sea!
CHARLES HENRY WEBB.
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16545
SONGS OF THE SEA
INTRODUCTORY
- THE OLD TAVERN
N THE North End of Boston, long ago, -
Although 'tis yet within my memory,–
There were of gabled houses many a row,
With overhanging stories two or three,
And many with half-doors over whose end,
Leaning upon her elbows, the good-wife
At eventide conversed with many a friend
Of all the little chances of their life;
Small ripples in the stream which ran full slow
In the North End of Boston, long ago.
And 'mid these houses was a Hostelrie
Frequented by the people of the sea,
Known as the Boy and Barrel, from its sign-
A jolly urchin on a cask of wine,
Bearing the words which puzzled every eye,
Orbus in Tactu Mainet, Heaven knows why.
Even there a bit of Latin made a show,
In the North End of Boston, long ago.
And many a sailor, when his cruise was o'er,
Bore straight for it soon as he touched the shore:
In many a stormy night upon the sea
He'd thought upon the Boy - and of the spree
He'd have when there, and let all trouble go,
In the North End of Boston, long ago.
There, like their vessels in a friendly port,
Met many mariners of every kind,
Spinning strange yarns of many a varied sort,
Well sheltered from the ocean and the wind:
In a long, low, dark room they lounged at ease.
Strange men there were from many a distant land,
And there above the high old chimney-piece
Were curiosities from many a strand,
Which often made strange tales and memories Aow
In the North End of Boston, long ago.
And there I often sat to hear those tales,
From men who'd passed through storm and fight and
fire,
XXVIII-1035
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Of mighty icebergs and stupendous whales,
Of shipwrecked crews and of adventures dire;
Until the thought came to me on a time,
While I was listening to that merry throng,
That I would write their stories out in rhyme,
And weave into it many a sailor's song,
That men might something of the legends know
Of the North End of Boston, long ago.
First it was said that Captain Kidd in truth
Had reveled in that tavern with his crew,
And there it was he lost the Golden Tooth
Which brought him treasure; and the gossips knew
Moll Pitcher dwelt there in the days of yore,
And Peter Rugg had stopped before the door;
Tom Walker there did with the Devil go
In the North End of Boston, long ago.
Nor had I long to wait; for at the word
Some one observed that he had seen in Spain
A captain hung - which Abner Chapin heard,
And said, "I too upon the Spanish Main
Met with a man well known unto us all,
Who nearly hung a captain-general. ”
He told the tale, and I did rhyme it so,
In the North End of Boston, long ago.
EL CAPITAN-GENERAL
HERE was a captain-general who ruled in Vera Cruz,
And what we used to hear of him was always evil news:
He was a pirate on the sea-a robber on the shore,
The Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
T"
There was a Yankee skipper who round about did roam;
His name was Stephen Folger, and Nantucket was his home:
And having gone to Vera Cruz, he had been skinned full sore
By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
But having got away alive, though all his cash was gone,
He said, “If there is vengeance, I will surely try it on!
And I do wish I may be damned if I don't clear the score
With Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador ! »
He shipped a crew of seventy men
well-armed men were they,
And sixty of them in the hold he darkly stowed away;
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16547
And sailing back to Vera Cruz, was sighted from the shore
By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
With twenty-five soldados he came on board so pleased,
And said, "Maldito Yankee again your ship is seized.
How many sailors have you got ? " Said Folger, “Ten— no more,
To the Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
»
“But come into my cabin and take a glass of wine.
I do suppose, as usual, I'll have to pay a fine:
I have got some old Madeira, and we'll talk the matter o'er -
My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador. ”
And as over that Madeira the captain-general boozed,
It seemed to him as if his head was getting quite confused;
For it happened that some morphine had traveled from «the
store »
To the glass of Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
« What is it makes the vessel roll? What sounds are these I
hear?
It seems as if the rising waves were beating on my ear! ” —
“Oh, it is the breaking of the surf — just that and nothing more,
My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador! »
The governor was in a sleep which muddled all his brains;
The seventy men had got his gang and put them all in chains:
And when he woke the following day he could not see the shore,
For he was out on the blue water - the Don San Salvador.
“Now do you see that yard-arm — and understand the thing ? »
Said Captain Folger. «For all from that yard-arm you shall
swing,
Or forty thousand dollars you must pay me from your store,
My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador. ”
-
The Capitano took a pen — the order he did sign -
« Señor Yankee! but you charge amazing high for wine! »
But 'twas not till the draft was paid they let him go ashore,
El Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
The greatest sharp some day will find another sharper wit;
It always makes the Devil laugh to see a biter bit;
It takes two Spaniards any day to come a Yankee o'er —
Even two like Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
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Davy JONES
D
own in the sea among sand and stones,
There lives the old fellow called Davy Jones.
When storms come up he sighs and groans,
And that is the singing of Davy Jones.
His chest is full of dead men's bones,
And that is the locker of Davy Jones.
Davy is Welsh you may hear by his tones,
For a regular Welsher is Davy Jones.
Whenever a fish gets drowned, he moans
So tender-hearted is Davy Jones.
Thousands of ships the old man owns,
But none go a-sailing for Davy Jones.
ONE, Two, Three
I
SAW three witches as the wind blew cold
In a red light to the lee;
Bold they were and over-bold
As they sailed over the sea,
Calling for One, Two, Three!
Calling for One, Two, Three!
And I think I can hear
It a-ringing in my ear,
A-howling for their One, Two, Three!
And clouds came over the sky,
And the wind it blew hard and free,
And the waves grew bold and over-bold
As we sailed over the sea -
Howling for One, Two, Three!
Howling for their One, Two, Three!
Oh I think I can hear
It a-ringing in my ear,
A-howling for their One, Two, Three!
And the storm came roaring on,
Such a storm as I never did see,
And the storm it was bold and over-bold,
And as bad as a storm could be -
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16549
A-roaring for its One, Two, Three!
A-howling for its One, Two, Three!
Oh I think I can hear
It a-howling in my ear,
A-growling for its One, Two, Three!
And a wave came over the deck,
As big as a wave could be,
And it took away the captain and the mate and a man:
It had got the One, Two, Three!
And it went with the One, Two, Three!
Oh I think I can hear
It a-rolling in my ear,
As it went with the One, Two, Three.
THE BEAUTIFUL WITCH
A
PRETTY witch was bathing
By the beach one summer day:
There came a boat with pirates
Who carried her away.
The ship had a breeze behind her,
Over the waves went she!
« O signor capitano,
O captain of the sea!
I'll give you a hundred ducats
If you will set me free! »
“I will not take a hundred, -
You're worth much more, you know;
I'll sell you to the Sultan
For a thousand golden sequins:
You put yourself far too low. "
<< You will not take a hundred ?
Very well then, let them be!
But I have a constant lover,
Who, as you may discover,
Will never abandon me. ”
On the deck, before the rover,
The witch began to sing –
“Oh come to me, my lover! ”
And the wind as it stole over
Began to howl and ring.
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Louder and ever louder
Became the tempest's roar.
The captain in a passion
Thus at the lady swore:-
“I believe that your windy lover
Is the Devil and nothing more! ”
Wilder and ever wilder
The tempest raged and rang.
« There are rocks ahead, and the wind dead aft
Thank you, my love! ” the lady laughed
As unto the wind she sang.
“Oh, go with your cursed lover
To inferno to sing for me! ”
So cried the angry captain,
And threw the lady over
To sink in the stormy sea.
But changing into a sea-gull,
Over the waves she fiew.
“O captain, captain bold,” sang she,
« 'Tis true you've missed the gallows-tree,
But now you'll drown in the foaming sea:
O captain, forever adieu! ”
TIME FOR US TO GO
WH
ITH sails let fall and sheeted home, and clear of the ground
were we,
We passed the bank, stood round the light, and sailed away
to sea;
The wind was fair and the coast was clear, and the brig was noways
slow,
For she was built in Baltimore, and 'twas time for us to go.
Time for us to go,
Time for us to go,
For she was built in Baltimore, and 'twas time for us to go.
A quick run to the west we had, and when we made the Bight,
We kept the offing all day long, and crossed the bar at night.
Six hundred niggers in the hold, and seventy we did stow;
And when we'd clapped the hatches on, 'twas time for us to go.
We hadn't been three days at sea before we saw a sail:
So we clapped on every inch she'd stand, although it blew a gale,
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16551
And we walked along full fourteen knots; for the barkie she did
know,
As well as ever a soul on board, 'twas time for us to go.
((
We carried away the royal yards, and the stun’s'l boom was gone.
Says the skipper, “They may go or stand, I'm darned if I don't
crook on.
So the weather braces we'll round in, and the trysil set also,
And we'll keep the brig three p'ints away, for it's time for us to go. ”
Oh, yard-arm under she did plunge in the trough of the deep seas,
And her masts they thrashed about like whips as she bowled before
the breeze,
And every yard did buckle up like to a bending bow;
But her spars were tough as whalebone, and 'twas time for us to go.
We dropped the cruiser in the night, and our cargo landed we,
And ashore we went, with our pockets full of dollars, on the spree.
And when the liquor it is out, and the locker it is low,
Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, 'twill be time for us to go:
Time for us to go,
Time for us to go,
Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, 'twill be time for us to go.
THE LOVER TO THE SAILOR
Nºw
ow tell me this, my sailor boy,
As sure as you love your wine,-
Oh, did you ever see a ship
As trim as that girl of mine ?
And you who've been in many a gale,
And stood on many a deck,
Oh, did you ever see a sail
As white as my true love's neck ?
And you who have been where the red rose blows
In many a Southern place,
Oh, did you ever see a rose
Like those in my sweetheart's face?
Here's a cheer for the women with jet-black curls,
Of Spain or of Portugal!
And seven for the Yankee and English girls,
The prettiest of them all!
CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.
.
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THE ROCK AND THE SEA
The Rock
I
AM the Rock, presumptuous Sea!
I am set to encounter thee.
Angry and loud, or gentle and still,
I am set here to limit thy power, and I will –
I am the Rock!
I am the Rock.
From age to age
I scorn thy fury and dare thy rage.
Scarred by frost and worn by time,
Brown with weed and green with slime,
Thou mayst drench and defile me and spit in my face,
But while I am here thou keep'st thy place!
I am the Rock!
I am the Rock, beguiling Sea!
I know thou art fair as fair can be,
With golden glitter and silver sheen,
And bosom of blue and garments of green.
Thou mayst pat my cheek with baby hands,
And lap my feet in diamond sands,
And play before me as children play;
But plead as thou wilt, I bar the way!
I am the Rock!
I am the Rock. Black midnight falls;
The terrible breakers rise like walls;
With curling lips and gleaming teeth
They plunge and tear at my bones beneath.
Year upon year they grind and beat
In storms of thunder and storms of sleet-
Grind and beat and wrestle and tear,
But the rock they beat on is always there!
I am the Rock!
THE SEA
I am the Sea. I hold the land
As one holds an apple in his hand.
Hold it fast with sleepless eyes,
Watching the continents sink and rise.
Out of my bosom the mountains grow,
Back its depths they crumble slow:
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1
1
1
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16553
The earth is a helpless child to me
I am the Sea!
.
I am the Sea. When I draw back
Blossom and verdure follow my track,
And the land I leave grows proud and fair,
For the wonderful race of man is there;
And the winds of heaven wail and cry
While the nations rise and reign and die-
Living and dying in folly and pain,
While the laws of the universe thunder in vain.
What is the folly of man to me?
I am the Sea!
I am the Sea.
The earth I sway;
Granite to me is potter's clay;
Under the touch of my careless waves
It rises in turrets and sinks in caves;
The iron cliffs that edge the land
I grind to pebbles and sift to sand,
And beach-grass bloweth and children play
In what were the rocks of yesterday;
It is but a moment of sport to me -
I am the Sea!
I am the Sea. In my bosom deep
Wealth and Wonder and Beauty sleep;
Wealth and Wonder and Beauty rise
In changing splendor of sunset skies,
And comfort the earth with rains and snows
Till waves the harvest and laughs the rose.
Flower and forest and child of breath
With me have life — without me, death.
What if the ships go down in me? -
I am the Sea !
CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON.
THE HUNGRY SEA
He fierce wind drove o'er hedgerow and lea,
It bowed the grasses, it broke the tree,-
It shivered the topmost branch of the tree!
And it buried my love in the deep, deep sea,
T"
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SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
In the dark lone grave of the hungry sea, -
Woe is me!
The bonnie white daisy closed her e'e,
And bent to the blast that swept the lea.
Blossom and grass bowed low on the lea,
But white sails dipped and sank in the sea;
They dipped and sank in the pitiless sea!
Woe is me!
'Neath the mother's breast in the leafy tree
Nestled and crept her birdies wee,
Nor heeded the blast, though weak and wee.
But no mother can save on the stormy sea;
Deaf to her cry is the merciless sea!
Woe is me!
Oh, well for the fishers of Galilee,
When they left their nets by that inland sea,
To follow Him who walked on the sea;
At whose word the pitiless waves did flee —
The hungry, insatiate waves did flee,
And left them free!
Golden the light on flower and tree
In the land where my sailor waits for me. -
The country of heaven that has no sea —
No ruthless, moaning, terrible sea;
There is the haven where I would be.
FRANCES FREELING BRODERIP.
(Daughter of Thomas Hood. )
DRIFT
A
SHIP went sailing from the shore,
And vanished in the gleaming west,
Where purple clouds a lining bore
Of gold and amethyst.
Poised in the air, a sea-gull flashed
His white wings in the sun's last ray;
A moment hung, then downward dashed
To revel in the spray.
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16555
The fishers drew their long nets in
With careful eye and steady hand,
Till olive back and silvery fin
Strewed all the tawny sand.
Again I trod the shore: again
The sea-gull circled high in air;
Again the sturdy fishermen
Drew in their nets with care.
The sunset's gold and amethyst
Shone fairly, as I paced the shore,
But back from out the gleaming west
The ship came
nevermore!
*
*
A flood of sunlight through a rift
Between two mounds of yellow sand;
Three sea-gulls on a bit of drift
Slow surging inward toward the land;
An old dumb-beacon all awry,
With drabbled seaweed round its feet;
A star-like sail against the sky,
Where sapphire heaven and ocean meet;-
This, with the waters swirling o'er
A shifting stretch of land and shell,
Will make, for him who loves the shore,
A picture that may please him well.
*
O cool, green waves that ebb and flow,
Reflecting calm blue skies above,
How gently now ye come and go,
Since ye have drowned my love!
**
The breakers come and the breakers go
Along the silvery sand,
With a changing line of feathery snow
Between the water and land.
Seaweeds gleam in the sunset light,
On the ledges of wave-worn stone;
Orange and crimson, purple and white,
In regular windrows strown.
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SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
1
The waves grow calm in the dusk of eve,
When the wind goes down with the sun;
So fade the smiles of those who deceive,
When the coveted heart is won.
GEORGE ARNOLD.
LONDON
A"
THWART the sky a lowly sigh
From west to east the sweet wind carried:
The sun stood still on Primrose Hill;
His light in all the city tarried:
The clouds on viewless columns bloomed
Like smoldering lilies unconsumed.
«o 'sweetheart, see! how shadowy,
Of some occult magician's rearing,
Or swung in space of heaven's grace
Dissolving, dimly reappearing,
Afloat upon ethereal tides
St. Paul's above the city rides! ”
1
A rumor broke through the thin smoke
Enwreathing abbey, tower, and palace,
The parks, the squares, the thoroughfares,
The million-peopled lanes and alleys,
An ever-muttering prisoned storm, -
The heart of London beating warm.
John DavidsON.
IN THE DOCKS
WE
THERE the bales thunder till the day is done,
And the wild sounds with wilder odors cope;
Where over crouching sail and coiling rope,
Lascar and Moor along the gangway run;
Where stifled Thames spreads in the pallid sun
A hive of anarchy from slope to slope;-
Flag of my birth, my liberty, my hope,
I see thee at the masthead, joyous one!
O thou good guest! So oft as, young and warm,
## p. 16557 (#257) ##########################################
T
.
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16557
To the home-wind thy hoisted colors bound,
Away, away from this too thoughtful ground,
Sated with human trespass and despair,
Thee only, from the desert, from the storm,
A sick mind follows into Eden air.
LOUISE I MOGEN GUINEY.
THE MOUNTAINEER
0"
H, At the eagle's height
To lie i’ the sweet of the sun,
While veil after veil takes flight,
And God and the world are one.
Oh, the night on the steep!
All that his eyes saw dim
Grows light in the dusky deep,
And God is alone with him.
1
“A. E. ” (GEORGE WM. RUSSELL. )
THE SETTLER
H"
is echoing axe the settler swung
Amid the sea-like solitude,
And rushing, thundering, down were flung
The Titans of the wood;
Loud shrieked the eagle, as he dashed
From out his mossy nest, which crashed
With its supporting bough,
And the first sunlight, leaping, flashed
On the wolf's haunt below.
His roof adorned a pleasant spot;
Mid the black logs green glowed the grain,
And herbs and plants the woods knew not
Throve in the sun and rain.
The smoke-wreath curling o'er the dell,
The low, the bleat, the tinkling bell, —
All made a landscape strange,
Which was the living chronicle
Of deeds that wrought the change.
## p. 16558 (#258) ##########################################
16558
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
The violet sprung at spring's first tinge,
The rose of summer spread its glow,
The maize hung out its autumn fringe,
Rude winter brought his snow;
And still the lone one labored there,
His shout and whistle broke the air,
As cheerily he plied
His garden-spade, or drove his share
Along the hillock's side.
He marked the fire-storm's blazing food
Roar crackling on its path,
And scorching earth, and melting wood,
Beneath its greedy wrath;
He marked the rapid whirlwind shoot,
Trampling the pine-tree with its foot,
And darkening thick the day
With streaming bough and severed root,
Hurled whizzing on its way.
+
2
1
His gaunt hound yelled, his rifle flashed,
The grim bear hushed his savage growl;
In blood and foam the panther gnashed
His fangs with dying howl;
The fleet deer ceased its flying bound,
And with its moaning cry
The beaver sank beneath the wound
Its pond-built Venice by.
Humble the lot, yet his the race,
When Liberty sent forth her cry,
Who thronged in conflict's deadliest place,
To fight – to bleed — to die!
Who cumbered Bunker's height of red,
By hope through weary years were led,
And witnessed Yorktown's sun
Blaze on a nation's banner spread,
A nation's freedom won.
ALFRED B. STREET.
## p. 16559 (#259) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16559
THE WINTER PINE
D
OST think the heart of winter hard ?
Her soul without its love?
Attune thine ear to yonder pine
Musing the summer song.
New England's heart is wintry cold?
Her soul without a love?
Unstop thy stranger ear; and hear
Her summer song of pines.
CHARLES WELLINGTON STONE.
THE VIRGINIANS OF THE VALLEY
TH
He knightliest of the knightly race
That since the days of old
Have kept the lamp of chivalry
Alight in hearts of gold;
The kindliest of the kindly band
That, rarely hating ease,
Yet rode with Spotswood round the land,
And Raleigh round the seas;
Who climbed the blue Virginian hills
Against embattled foes,
And planted there, in valleys fair,
The lily and the rose;
Whose fragrance lives in many lands,
Whose beauty stars the earth,
And lights the hearths of happy homes
With loveliness and worth.
We thought they slept ! - the sons who kept
The names of noble sires,
And slumbered while the darkness crept
Around their vigil fires;
But aye the Golden Horseshoe” knights
Their Old Dominion keep,
Whose foes have found enchanted ground,
But not a knight asleep.
FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR.
## p. 16560 (#260) ##########################################
16560
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
T
MY MARYLAND
THE
despot's heel is on thy shore,
Maryland!
His torch is at thy temple door,
Maryland!
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle queen of yore,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Hark to thy wandering son's appeal,
Maryland!
My mother State, to thee I kneel,
Maryland!
For life and death, for woe and weal,
Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Thou wilt not cower in the dust,
Maryland!
Thy beaming sword shall never rust,
Maryland!
Remember Carroll's sacred trust,
Remember Howard's warlike thrust,
And all thy slumberers with the just,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Come, 'tis the red dawn of the day,
Maryland!
Come with thy panoplied array,
Maryland!
With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,
With Watson's blood at Monterey,
With fearless Lowe and dashing May,
Maryland, My Maryland !
Dear mother, burst the tyrant's chain,
Maryland!
Virginia should not call in vain,
Maryland!
She meets her sisters on the plain:
“Sic semper! ” 'tis the proud refrain
(
## p. 16561 (#261) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16561
That baffles minions back amain,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Come, for thy shield is bright and strong,
Maryland!
Come, for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
Maryland!
Come to thine own heroic throng,
That stalks with liberty along,
And give a new key to thy song,
Maryland, My Maryland!
I see 'the blush upon thy cheek,
Maryland!
But thou wast ever bravely meek,
Maryland!
But lo! there surges forth a shriek
From hill to hill, from creek to creek;
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,
Maryland!
Thou wilt not crook to his control,
Maryland!
Better the fire upon thee roll,
Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,
Than crucifixion of the soul,
Maryland, My Maryland!
I hear the distant thunder hum,
Maryland!
The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum,
Maryland!
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb-
Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum;
She breathes, she burns - she'll come! she'll come!
Maryland, My Maryland!
James R. RANDALL.
XXVIII-1036
## p. 16562 (#262) ##########################################
16562
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE GREAT BELL ROLAND *
SUGGESTED BY THE PRESIDENT'S FIRST CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS
T°
OLL, Roland, toll!
In old St. Bavon's tower,
At midnight hour,
The great Bell Roland spoke!
All souls that slept in Ghent awoke!
What meant the thunder-stroke?
Why trembled wife and maid ?
Why caught each man his blade ?
Why echoed every street
With tramp of thronging feet,
All flying to the city's wall?
It was the warning call
That Freedom stood in peril of a foe!
And even timid hearts grew bold
Whenever Roland tolled,
And every hand a sword could hold!
So acted men
Like patriots then-
Three hundred years ago!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Bell never yet was hung,
Between whose lips there swung
So grand a tongue!
If men be patriots still,
At thy first sound
True hearts will bound,
Great souls will thrill!
Then toll and strike the test
Through each man's breast,
Till loyal hearts shall stand confest, -
And may God's wrath smite all the rest!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Not now in old St. Bavon's tower
Not now at midnight hour –
Not now from River Scheldt to Zuyder Zee,-
But here, this side the sea!
Toll here, in broad, bright day!
* The famous bell Roland, of Ghent, was an object of great affection to
the people because it rang to arm them when liberty was in danger.
## p. 16563 (#263) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16563
For not by night awaits
A noble foe without the gates,
But perjured friends within betray,
And do the deed at noon!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Thy sound is not too soon!
To arms! Ring out the Leader's call!
Re-echo it from East to West
Till every hero's breast
Shall swell beneath a soldier's crest!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Till cottager from cottage wall
Snatch pouch and powder-horn and gun!
The sire bequeathed them to the son
When only half their work was done!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Till swords from scabbards leap!
Toll, Roland, toll!
What tears can widows weep
Less bitter than when brave men fall!
Toll, Roland, toll!
In shadowed hut and hall
Shall lie the soldier's pall,
And hearts shall break while graves are filled!
Amen! So God hath willed!
And may his grace anoint us all!
Toll, Roland, toll!
The Dragon on thy tower
Stands sentry to this hour,
And Freedom so stands safe in Ghent !
And merrier bells now ring,
And in the land's serene content
Men shout “God save the King! ”
Until the skies are rent!
So let it be!
A kingly king is he
Who keeps his people free!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Ring out across the sea!
No longer They but We
Have now such need of thee!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Nor ever may thy throat
Keep dumb its warning note
## p. 16564 (#264) ##########################################
16564
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Till Freedom's perils be outbraved!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Till Freedom's flag, wherever waved,
Shall shadow not a man enslaved!
Toll, Roland, toll!
From Northern lake to Southern strand,
Toll, Roland, toll!
Till friend and foe, at thy command,
Once more shall clasp each other's hand,
And shout, one-voiced, “God save the land! )
And love the land that God hath saved!
Toll, Roland, toll!
(
THEODORE TILTON.
THE DRAFT RIOT
IN THE UNIVERSITY TOWER: NEW YORK, JULY 1863
s it the wind, the many-tongued, the weird,
That cries in sharp distress about the eaves ?
Is it the wind whose gathering shout is heard
With voice of peoples myriad like the leaves ?
Is it the wind ? Fly to the casement, quick,
And when the roar comes thick,
Fling wide the sash,
Await the crash!
Nothing. Some various solitary cries,-
Some sauntering woman's short hard laugh,
Or honester, a dog's bark,—these arise
From lamplit street up to this free flagstaff:
Nothing remains of that low threatening sound;
The wind raves not the eaves around.
Clasp casement to, -
You heard not true.
Hark there again! a roar that holds a shriek!
But not without - no, from below it comes:
What pulses up from solid earth to wreak
A vengeful word on towers and lofty domes ?
What angry booming doth the trembling ear,
Glued to the stone wall, hear -
So deep, no air
Its weight can bear?
## p. 16565 (#265) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16565
Grieve! 'tis the voice of ignorance and vice,-
The rage of slaves who fancy they are free:
Men who would keep men slaves at any price,
Too blind their own black manacles to see.
Grieve! 'tis that grisly spectre with a torch,
Riot — that bloodies every porch,
Hurls justice down
And burns the town.
CHARLES DE KAY.
CIVIL WAR
IFLEMAN,
"R". Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;
'
Ring me a ball in the glittering spot
That shines on his breast like an amulet ! »
“Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead:
There's music around when my barrel's in tune!
Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,
And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.
(
“Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch
From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood, -
A button, a loop, or that luminous patch
That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!
"O captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track,
When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette!
For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,
That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.
“But I snatched off the trinket, — this locket of gold;
An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array. ”
“Ha! rifleman, Aling me the locket ! - 'tis she,
My brother's young bride — and the fallen dragoon
Was her husband Hush, soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree;-
We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!
“But hark! the far bugles their warnings unite!
War is a virtue, weakness a sin:
There's a lurking and loping around us to-night;-
Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!
CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY.
## p. 16566 (#266) ##########################################
16566
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
AT THE BREACH
AL
LL over for me,
The struggle, and possible glory!
All swept past,
In the rush of my own brigade.
Will charges instead,
And fills up my place in the story;
Well, - 'tis well,
By the merry old games we played.
There's a fellow asleep, the lout! in the shade of the hillock yonder;
What a dog it must be, to drowse in the midst of a time like this!
Why, the horses might neigh contempt at him ; — what is he like, I
wonder ?
If the smoke would but clear away, I have strength in me yet to
hiss.
Will, comrade and friend,
We parted in hurry of battle;
All I heard
Was your sonorous “Up, my men! )
Soon conquering pæans
Shall cover the cannonade's rattle;
Then, home bells,–
Will you think of me sometimes, then ?
1
1
1
How that rascal enjoys his snooze! Would he wake to the touch of
powder ?
A reveillé of broken bones, or a prick of the sword, might do.
