The cover image was created by the transcriber, and is in the public domain.

Ballads of Bravery.

EDITED BY
GEORGE M. BAKER.
WITH
FORTY FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.

BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
1877.

COPYRIGHT.
LEE AND SHEPARD.
1877. BOSTON:
ELECTROTYPED BY ALFRED MUDGE AND SON,
SCHOOL STREET.

UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE:
WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.

[Pg ix]

[Pg 13]

“ Curfew must not ring To-night .”

ENGLAND’S sun, bright setting o’er the hills so far away, Filled the land with misty beauty at the close of one sad day; And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,— He with step so slow and weary; she with sunny, floating hair; He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful; she, with lips so cold and white, Struggled to keep back the murmur, “Curfew must not ring to-night.”

“Sexton,” Bessie’s white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old, With its walls so tall and gloomy, walls so dark and damp and cold,— “I’ve a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die At the ringing of the curfew; and no earthly help is nigh. Cromwell will not come till sunset,” and her face grew strangely white, As she spoke in husky whispers, “Curfew must not ring to-night.”

“Bessie,” calmly spoke the sexton (every word pierced her young heart Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly poisoned dart), “Long, long years I’ve rung the curfew from that gloomy, shadowed tower; Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour. I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right: Now I’m old, I will not miss it. Girl, the curfew rings to-night!” [Pg 14]

Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow; And within her heart’s deep centre Bessie made a solemn vow. She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh,— “At the ringing of the curfew Basil Underwood must die .” And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright; One low murmur, scarcely spoken, “Curfew must not ring to-night!”

She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old church-door, Left the old man coming slowly, paths he’d trod so oft before. Not one moment paused the maiden, but, with cheek and brow aglow, Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro; Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of light, Upward still, her pale lips saying, “Curfew shall not ring to-night!”

She has reached the topmost ladder; o’er her hangs the great, dark bell, And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell. See! the ponderous tongue is swinging; ’tis the hour of curfew now, And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath, and paled her brow. Shall she let it ring? No, never! Her eyes flash with sudden light, As she springs, and grasps it firmly: “Curfew shall not ring to-night!”

Out she swung,—far out. The city seemed a tiny speck below,— There ’twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to and fro; And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the bell), And he thought the twilight curfew rang young Basil’s funeral knell. Still the maiden, clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and white, Stilled her frightened heart’s wild beating: “Curfew shall not ring to-night!” [Pg 15]

[Pg 16]

[Pg 17]

[Pg 18]

The Glove and the Lions.

KING FRANCIS was a hearty king and loved a royal sport, And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court. The nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in their pride, And ’mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed. And truly ’twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show,— Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below. Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws; With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another, Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunderous smother; The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air. Said Francis then, “Faith, gentlemen, we’re better here than there.”

De Lorge’s love o’erheard the king,—a beauteous, lively dame, With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same; She thought, “The count, my lover, is brave as brave can be, He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me. King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine; I’ll drop my glove to prove his love. Great glory will be mine!” She dropped her glove to prove his love, then looked on him and smiled; He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild. The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place; Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady’s face. “By Heaven!” said Francis, “rightly done!” rising from where he sat. “No love,” quoth he, “but vanity, sets love a task like that.” [Pg 19]

[Pg 20]

[Pg 21]

A Young Hero.

ON Labrador, like coils of flame That clasp the walls of blazing town, The long, resistless billows came, And swept the craggy headlands down; Till ploughing in strong agonies Their furrows deep into the land, They carried rocks, and bars of sand Past farthest margin of old seas, And in their giant fury bore Full thirty crowded craft ashore. That night they pushed the darkness through, O’er rocks where slippery lichens grew, And swamps of slime and melted snow, And torrents filled to overflow, Through pathless wilds, in showers and wind, Where woe to him who lags behind! Where children slipped in ooze, and lay Half frozen, buried half in clay; Young mothers, with their babes at breast, In chilly stupor dropped to rest. [Pg 22]

A sailor lad of years fourteen Had chanced, as by the waters thrown, On four that made sad cry and moan For parents they had lost between The wreck and shore, or haply missed. Cheerly and kind their cheeks he kissed, And folded each in other’s arm. Upon a sloping mound of moss He dragged a heavy sail across, Close-pinned with bowlders, rough yet warm; And packing it with mosses tight, Kept steadfast watch the livelong night, Nor dared depart, lest e’er again Was found this treasure he had hid, Some sudden treacherous gust had slid Beneath that rugged counterpane. He knew not name or face of one. He saved them. It was nobly done.

Day dawned at last. The storm had lulled; And these were happy, sleeping yet. A few fresh hands of moss he pulled, Then traced with trembling steps the track Of many footprints deeply set; And pressing forward, early met These children’s parents hasting back, And filled their hearts with boundless joy, As with blanched lips and chattering teeth He told them of his night’s employ; Feigned, too, he was not much distressed, Although his dying heart, beneath His icy-frozen shirt and vest, [Pg 23]

[Pg 24]

[Pg 25]

[Pg 26]

The Beggar Maid.

HER arms across her breast she laid; She was more fair than words can say; Barefooted came the beggar maid Before the king Cophetua. In robe and crown the king stept down To meet and greet her on her way. “It is no wonder,” said the lords, “She is more beautiful than day.”

As shines the moon in clouded skies, She in her poor attire was seen; One praised her ankles, one her eyes, One her dark hair and lovesome mien. So sweet a face, such angel grace, In all that land had never been; Cophetua sware a royal oath,— “This beggar maid shall be my queen.” [Pg 27]

[Pg 28]

[Pg 29]

Bunker Hill.

NOT yet, not yet! Steady, steady!” On came the foe in even line, Nearer and nearer to thrice paces nine. We looked into their eyes. “Ready!” A sheet of flame, a roll of death! They fell by scores: we held our breath. Then nearer still they came. Another sheet of flame, And brave men fled who never fled before. Immortal fight! Foreshadowing flight Back to the astounded shore.

Quickly they rallied, re-enforced, ’Mid louder roar of ships’ artillery, And bursting bombs and whistling musketry, And shouts and groans anear, afar, All the new din of dreadful war. Through their broad bosoms calmly coursed The blood of those stout farmers, aiming For freedom, manhood’s birthright claiming. [Pg 30] Onward once more they came. Another sheet of deathful flame! Another and another still! They broke, they fled, Again they sped Down the green, bloody hill.

Howe, Burgoyne, Clinton, Gage, Stormed with commanders’ rage. Into each emptied barge They crowd fresh men for a new charge Up that great hill. Again their gallant blood we spill. That volley was the last: Our powder failed. On three sides fast The foe pressed in, nor quailed A man. Their barrels empty, with musket-stocks They fought, and gave death-dealing knocks, Till Prescott ordered the retreat. Then Warren fell; and through a leaden sleet From Bunker Hill and Breed, Stark, Putnam, Pomeroy, Knowlton, Read, Led off the remnant of those heroes true, The foe too weakened to pursue. The ground they gained; but we The victory. [Pg 31]

[Pg 32]

[Pg 33]

[Pg 34]

Fastening the Buckle.

STAND still, my steed, though the foe   is near, And sharp the rattle of hoofs on the hill. And see! there’s the glitter of many a spear, And a wrathful shout that bodes us ill. Stand still! Our way is weary and long, And muscle and foot are put to the test. Buckle and girth must be tightened and strong; And rider and horse are far from rest.

A moment more, and then we’ll skim Like a driving cloud o’er hill and plain; The vision of horseman will slowly dim, And pursuer seek the pursued in vain. Ha! stirrup is strong and girth is tight! One bound to the saddle, and off we go. I count their spears as they glisten bright In the ruddy beams of the sunset glow.

’Tis life or death; but we’re fresh and strong, And buckle and girth are fastened tight. The race is hard and the way is long, But we’ll win as twilight fades into night. Hurrah for rider and horse to-day, For buckle and saddle fastened tight! We’ll win! we’re gaining! They drop away! Our haven of rest is full in sight. [Pg 35]

[Pg 36]

[Pg 37]

Hervé Riel.

ON the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, Did the English fight the French,—woe to France! And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Rance, With the English fleet in view. ’Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase, First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville. Close on him fled, great and small, Twenty-two good ships in all; And they signalled to the place, “Help the winners of a race! Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick,—or, quicker still, Here’s the English can and will!”

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on board. “Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?” laughed they. “Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored, Shall the Formidable here, with her twelve and eighty guns, Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, Trust to enter where ’tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, [Pg 38] And with flow at full beside? Now ’tis slackest ebb of tide. Reach the mooring? Rather say, While rock stands or water runs, Not a ship will leave the bay!”

Then was called a council straight; Brief and bitter the debate: “Here’s the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow All that’s left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, For a prize to Plymouth Sound? Better run the ships aground!” (Ended Damfreville his speech.) “Not a minute more to wait! Let the captains all and each Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! France must undergo her fate.”

“Give the word!” But no such word Was ever spoke or heard; For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these, A captain? A lieutenant? A mate,—first, second, third? No such man of mark, and meet With his betters to compete, But a simple Breton sailor, pressed by Tourville for the fleet,— A poor coasting-pilot he, Hervé Riel, the Croisickese. [Pg 39]

[Pg 40]

[Pg 41]

[Pg 44]

[Pg 45]

[Pg 46]

The Battle of Lexington.

The circling century has brought THE day on which our fathers fought For liberty of deed and thought, One hundred years ago! We crown the day with radiant green, And buds of hope to bloom between, And stars undimmed, whose heavenly sheen Lights all the world below.

At break of day again we hear The ringing words of Paul Revere, And beat of drum and bugle near, And shots that shake the throne Of tyranny, across the sea, And wake the sons of Liberty To strike for freedom and be free:— Our king is God alone!

“Load well with powder and with ball, Stand firmly, like a living wall; But fire not till the foe shall call A shot from every one,” Said Parker to his gallant men. Then Pitcairn dashed across the plain, Discharged an angry threat, and then The world heard Lexington! [Pg 47]

[Pg 48]

[Pg 49]

[Pg 50]

The Brave at Home.

THE maid who binds her warrior’s sash, With smile that well her pain dissembles, The while beneath her drooping lash One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, Though heaven alone records the tear, And fame shall never know the story, Her heart has shed a drop as dear As e’er bedewed the field of glory.

The wife who girds her husband’s sword, ’Mid little ones who weep or wonder, And bravely speaks the cheering word, What though her heart be rent asunder, Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear The bolts of death around him rattle, Hath shed as sacred blood as e’er Was poured upon a field of battle!

The mother who conceals her grief, While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, With no one but her secret God To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy blood as e’er the sod Received on Freedom’s field of honor! [Pg 51]

[Pg 52]

[Pg 53]

Kane: died February 16, 1857.

ALOFT upon an old basaltic crag, Which, scalped by keen winds that defend the Pole, Gazes with dead face on the seas that roll Around the secret of the mystic zone, A mighty nation’s star-bespangled flag Flutters alone; And underneath, upon the lifeless front Of that drear cliff, a simple name is traced,— Fit type of him who, famishing and gaunt, But with a rocky purpose in his soul, Breasted the gathering snows, Clung to the drifting floes, By want beleaguered and by winter chased, Seeking the brother lost amid that frozen waste.

Not many months ago we greeted him, Crowned with the icy honors of the North. Across the land his hard-won fame went forth, And Maine’s deep woods were shaken limb by limb; His own mild Keystone State, sedate and prim, Burst from decorous quiet as he came; Hot Southern lips, with eloquence aflame, Sounded his triumph; Texas, wild and grim, [Pg 54] Proffered its horny hand; the large-lunged West, From out his giant breast, Yelled its frank welcome; and from main to main, Jubilant to the sky, Thundered the mighty cry, Honor to Kane !

[Pg 56]

[Pg 57]

[Pg 58]

The Life-Boat.

LAUNCH the life-boat! Far on high The fiery rockets gleam, While loud and clear the booming signal gun Says there is work that quickly must be done. A vessel’s in distress: haste, every one, Nor idly stop to dream.

Launch the life-boat! On the shore The startled people stand, And watch the signal lights that shine on high, And through the pitchy darkness seek to spy The struggling ship, or to their comrades try To lend a helping hand.

Launch the life-boat! Now the moon Sheds forth her silvery light, And shows the boat is off; one long, loud cheer Breaks from the eager crowd assembled here; The dip of oars comes to the listening ear, Upon the silent night.

Speed the life-boat and her crew, Speed them on their watery way! As joy and hope they bring to hearts cast down, And waiting ’neath the storm-clouds’ dismal frown, While wind and wave their trembling voices drown, Waiting another day. [Pg 59]

[Pg 60]

[Pg 61]

The Red Jacket.

TIS a cold, bleak night. With angry roar The north winds beat and clamor at the door; The drifted snow lies heaped along the street, Swept by a blinding storm of hail and sleet; The clouded heavens no guiding starlight lend, But o’er the earth in gloom and darkness bend; Gigantic shadows, by the night-lamps thrown, Dance their weird revels fitfully alone.

In lofty halls, where fortune takes its ease, Sunk in the treasures of all lands and seas; In happy homes, where warmth and comfort meet The weary traveller with their smiles to greet; In lonely dwellings, where the needy swarm Round starving embers, chilling limbs to warm,— Rises the prayer that makes the sad heart light, “Thank God for home this bitter, bitter night!”

But hark! above the beating of the storm Peals on the startled ear the fire-alarm! Yon gloomy heaven’s aflame with sudden light; And heart-beats quicken with a strange affright. From tranquil slumber springs, at duty’s call, The ready friend no danger can appall; Fierce for the conflict, sturdy, true, and brave, He hurries forth to battle and to save. [Pg 62]

From yonder dwelling fiercely shooting out, Devouring all they coil themselves about, The flaming furies, mounting high and higher, Wrap the frail structure in a cloak of fire. Strong arms are battling with the stubborn foe, In vain attempts their power to overthrow; With mocking glee they revel with their prey, Defying human skill to check their way.

And see! far up above the flames’ hot breath, Something that’s human waits a horrid death: A little child, with waving golden hair, Stands like a phantom ’mid the horrid glare, Her pale, sweet face against the window pressed, While sobs of terror shake her tender breast. And from the crowd beneath, in accents wild, A mother screams, “O God! my child, my child!”

Up goes a ladder! Through the startled throng A hardy fireman swiftly moves along, Mounts sure and fast along the slender way, Fearing no danger, dreading but delay. The stifling smoke-clouds lower in his path, Sharp tongues of flame assail him in their wrath; But up, still up he goes! The goal is won, His strong arm beats the sash, and he is gone,—

Gone to his death. The wily flames surround, And burn and beat his ladder to the ground; In flaming columns move with quickened beat, To rear a massive wall ’gainst his retreat. Courageous heart, thy mission was so pure, Suffering humanity must thy loss deplore: Henceforth with martyred heroes thou shalt live, Crowned with all honors nobleness can give. [Pg 63]

[Pg 64]

[Pg 65]

[Pg 66]

Othello’s Story of his Life.

HER father loved me; oft invited me; Still questioned me the story of my life From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I had past. I ran it through, e’en from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it. Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth ’scapes, in the imminent deadly breach, Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And with it all my travel’s history.

[Pg 68]

[Pg 69]

[Pg 70]

The Blacksmith of Ragenbach.

IN a little German village, On the waters of the Rhine, Gay and joyous in their pastimes, In the pleasant vintage-time, Were a group of happy peasants, For the day released from toil, Thanking God for all his goodness In the product of their soil,

When a cry rung through the welkin, And appeared upon the scene A panting dog, with crest erect, Foaming mouth, and savage mien. “He is mad!” was shrieked in chorus. In dismay they all fell back,— All except one towering figure,— ’Twas the smith of Ragenbach.

God had given this man his image; Nature stamped him as complete. Now it was incumbent on him To perform a greater feat Than Horatius at the bridge, When he stood on Tiber’s bank; For behind him were his townsfolk, Who, appalled with terror, shrank [Pg 71]

[Pg 72]

[Pg 73]

[Pg 75]

Marmion and Douglas.

NOT far advanced was morning day, When Marmion did his troop array To Surrey’s camp to ride. He had safe-conduct for his band, Beneath the royal seal and hand, And Douglas gave a guide. The ancient earl, with stately grace, Would Clara on her palfrey place, And whispered in an undertone, “Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.” The train from out the castle drew, But Marmion stopped to bid adieu: “Though something I might ’plain,” he said, “Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your king’s behest, While in Tantallon’s towers I stayed, Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble earl, receive my hand.” But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke: “My manors, halls, and bowers shall still Be open, at my sovereign’s will, To each one whom he lists, howe’er Unmeet to be the owner’s peer; [Pg 76] My castles are my king’s alone, From turret to foundation-stone,— The hand of Douglas is his own, And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp.”

[Pg 80]

The Loss of the Hornet.

CALL the watch! call the watch! “Ho! the starboard watch, ahoy!” Have you heard How a noble ship so trim, like our own, my hearties, here, All scudding ’fore the gale, disappeared, Where yon southern billows roll o’er their bed so green and clear? Hold the reel! keep her full! hold the reel! How she flew athwart the spray, as, shipmates, we do now, Till her twice a hundred fearless hearts of steel Felt the whirlwind lift its waters aft, and plunge her downward bow! Bear a hand!

Strike top-gallants! mind your helm! jump aloft! ’Twas such a night as this, my lads, a rakish bark was drowned, When demons foul, that whisper seamen oft, Scooped a tomb amid the flashing surge that never shall be found. Square the yards! a double reef! Hark the blast! O, fiercely has it fallen on the war-ship of the brave, When its tempest fury stretched the stately mast All along her foamy sides, as they shouted on the wave, “Bear a hand!”

Call the watch! call the watch! “Ho! the larboard watch, ahoy!” Have you heard How a vessel, gay and taut, on the mountains of the sea, Went below, with all her warlike crew on board, [Pg 81] They who battled for the happy, boys, and perished for the free? Clew, clew up, fore and aft! keep away! How the vulture bird of death, in its black and viewless form, Hovered sure o’er the clamors of his prey, While through all their dripping shrouds yelled the spirit of the storm! Bear a hand! [Pg 82]

[Pg 84]

Man the Life-boat.

MAN the life-boat! Man the life-boat! Help, or yon ship is lost! Man the life-boat! Man the life-boat! See how she’s tempest-tossed. No human power in such an hour The gallant bark can save; Her mainmast gone, and running on, She seeks her watery grave. Man the life-boat! Man the life-boat! See, the dreaded signal flies! Ha! she’s struck, and from the wreck Despairing shouts arise.

O, speed the life-boat! Speed the life-boat! O God, their efforts crown! She dashes on; the ship is gone, Full forty fathoms down. And see, the crew are struggling now Amidst the tempest roar. They’re in the boat, they’re all afloat,— Hurrah! they’ve gained the shore. Bless the life-boat! Bless the life-boat! O God, thou’lt hear our prayer! Bless the life-boat! Bless the life-boat! No longer we’ll despair. [Pg 85]

[Pg 86]

[Pg 87]

Sir Galahad.

MY good blade carves the casques of   men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure. The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, The hard brands shiver on the steel, The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly, The horse and rider reel: They reel, they roll in clanging lists, And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies’ hands.

How sweet are looks that ladies bend On whom their favors fall! For them I battle till the end, To save from shame and thrall: But all my heart is drawn above, My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine: I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden’s hand in mine. More bounteous aspects on me beam, Me mightier transports move and thrill; So keep I fair through faith and prayer A virgin heart in work and will. [Pg 88]

When down the stormy crescent goes, A light before me swims, Between dark stems the forest glows, I hear a noise of hymns: Then by some secret shrine I ride; I hear a voice, but none are there; The stalls are void, the doors are wide, The tapers burning fair. Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, The silver vessels sparkle clean, The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, And solemn chants resound between.

Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I find a magic bark; I leap on board: no helmsman steers: I float till all is dark. A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail: With folded feet, in stoles of white, On sleeping wings they sail. Ah, blessed vision! blood of God! My spirit beats her mortal bars, As down dark tides the glory slides, And star-like mingles with the stars.

When on my goodly charger borne Through dreaming towns I go, The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, The streets are dumb with snow. The tempest crackles on the leads, And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; But o’er the dark a glory spreads, And gilds the driving hail. I leave the plain, I climb the height; No branchy thicket shelter yields; But blessed forms in whistling storms Fly o’er waste fens and windy fields. [Pg 89]

[Pg 90]

[Pg 91]

[Pg 92]

King Canute and his Nobles.

CANUTE was by his nobles taught to fancy That, by a kind of royal necromancy, He had the power old Ocean to control. Down rushed the royal Dane upon the strand, And issued, like a Solomon, command,—poor soul!

“Go back, ye waves, you blustering rogues,” quoth he; “Touch not your lord and master, Sea; For by my power almighty, if you do—” Then, staring vengeance, out he held a stick, Vowing to drive old Ocean to Old Nick, Should he even wet the latchet of his shoe.

The sea retired,—the monarch fierce rushed on, And looked as if he’d drive him from the land; But Sea, not caring to be put upon, Made for a moment a bold stand.

Not only made a stand did Mr. Ocean, But to his waves he made a motion, And bid them give the king a hearty trimming. The order seemed a deal the waves to tickle, For soon they put his Majesty in pickle, And set his royalties, like geese, a swimming. [Pg 93]

[Pg 94]

[Pg 95]

[Pg 96]

Outward Bound.

CLINK—clink—clink! goes our windlass. “Ahoy!” “Haul in!” “Let go!” Yards braced and sails set, Flags uncurl and flow. Some eyes that watch from shore are wet, (How bright their welcome shone!) While, bending softly to the breeze, And rushing through the parted seas, Our gallant ship glides on. Though one has left a sweetheart, And one has left a wife, ’Twill never do to mope and fret, Or curse a sailor’s life. See, far away they signal yet,— They dwindle—fade—they’re gone: For, dashing outwards, bold and brave, And springing light from wave to wave, Our merry ship flies on. Gay spreads the sparkling ocean; But many a gloomy night And stormy morrow must be met Ere next we heave in sight. The parting look we’ll ne’er forget, The kiss, the benison, As round the rolling world we go. God bless you all! Blow, breezes blow! Sail on, good ship, sail on! [Pg 97]

[Pg 98]

[Pg 99]

The Brides of Venice.

It was St. Mary’s eve; and all poured forth, As to some grand solemnity. The fisher Came from his islet, bringing o’er the waves His wife and little one; the husbandman From the Firm Land, along the Po, the Brenta, Crowding the common ferry. All arrived; And in his straw the prisoner turned and listened, So great the stir in Venice. Old and young Thronged her three hundred bridges; the grave Turk, Turbaned, long-vested, and the cozening Jew, In yellow hat and threadbare gabardine, Hurrying along. For, as the custom was, The noblest sons and daughters of the state, They of patrician birth, the flower of Venice, Whose names are written in the “Book of Gold,” Were on that day to solemnize their nuptials. At noon, a distant murmur through the crowd, Rising and rolling on, announced their coming; And never from the first was to be seen Such splendor or such beauty. Two and two (The richest tapestry unrolled before them), First came the brides in all their loveliness; Each in her veil, and by two bridemaids followed. [Pg 100] Only less lovely, who behind her bore The precious caskets that within contained The dowry and the presents. On she moved, Her eyes cast down, and holding in her hand A fan, that gently waved, of ostrich feathers. Her veil, transparent as the gossamer, Fell from beneath a starry diadem; And on her dazzling neck a jewel shone, Ruby or diamond or dark amethyst; A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreath, Wreathing her gold brocade.

[Pg 108]

The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.

THE breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark The hills and water o’er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free! [Pg 109]

[Pg 110]

[Pg 112]

The Days of Chivalry.

ALAS! The days of chivalry are fled, The brilliant tournament exists no more; Our loves are cold, and dull as ice or lead, And courting is a most enormous bore.

In those good “olden times,” a “ladye bright” Might sit within her turret or her bower, While lovers sang and played without all night, And deemed themselves rewarded by a flower.

Yet if one favored swain would persevere, In despite of her haughty scorn and laugh, Perchance she threw him, with the closing year, An old odd glove, or else a worn-out scarf.

Off then, away he’d ride o’er sea and land, And dragons fell and mighty giants smite With the tough spear he carried in his hand; And all to prove himself her own true knight. [Pg 113]

[Pg 114]

[Pg 115]

[Pg 116]

The Song of the Camp.

GIVE us a song!” the soldiers cried, The outer trenches guarding, When the heated guns of the camps allied Grew weary of bombarding.

The dark Redan, in silent scoff, Lay grim and threatening under; And the tawny mound of the Malakoff No longer belched its thunder.

There was a pause. A guardsman said, “We storm the forts to-morrow; Sing while we may, another day Will bring enough of sorrow.”

They lay along the battery’s side, Below the smoking cannon, Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde, And from the banks of Shannon.

They sang of love, and not of fame; Forgot was Britain’s glory: Each heart recalled a different name, But all sang “Annie Lawrie.” [Pg 117]

[Pg 118]

[Pg 119]

[Pg 120]

The Recantation of Galileo.

FAR ’neath the glorious light of the noontide, In a damp dungeon a prisoner lay, Aged and feeble, his failing years numbered, Waiting the fate to be brought him that day.

Silence, oppressive with darkness, held durance; Death in the living, or living in death; Crouched on the granite, and burdened with fetters, Inhaling slow poison with each labored breath.

O’er the damp floor of his dungeon there glistened Faintly the rays of a swift-nearing light; Then the sweet jingle of keys, that soon opened The door, and revealed a strange scene to his sight.

In the red glare of the flickering torches, Held by the gray-gowned soldiers of God, Gathered a group that the world will remember Long ages after we sleep ’neath the sod.

Draped in their robes of bright scarlet and purple, Bearing aloft the gold emblems of Rome, Stood the chief priests of the papal dominion, Under the shadow of Peter’s proud dome, [Pg 121]

[Pg 122]

[Pg 123]

[Pg 124]

Belshazzar.

THE midnight hour was drawing on; Flushed in repose lay Babylon; But in the palace of the king The herd of courtiers shout and sing. There, in his royal banquet hall, Belshazzar holds high festival.

The servants sit in glittering rows, The beakers are drained, the red wine flows; The beakers clash and the servants sing,— A pleasing sound to the moody king. The king’s cheeks flush and his wild eyes shine, His spirit waxes bold with wine, Until, by maddening passion stung, He scoffs at God with impious tongue; And his proud heart swells as he wildly raves, ’Mid shouts of applause from his fawning slaves. He spoke the word, and his eyes flashed flame! The ready servants went and came; Vessels of massive gold they bore, Of Jehovah’s temple the plundered store.

Then seizing a consecrated cup, The king in his fury fills it up; He fills, and hastily drains it dry; From his foaming lips leaps forth the cry, “Jehovah, at Thee my scorn I fling! I am Belshazzar, Babylon’s king.” Yet scarce had the impious words been said, When the king’s heart shrank with secret dread; Suddenly died the shout and yell, A deathlike hush on the tumult fell. [Pg 125]

[Pg 126]

[Pg 127]

[Pg 128]

Liberty.

WITH what pride I used To walk these hills, and look up to my God, And bless him that it was so! I loved Its very storms. I have sat In my boat at night when, midway o’er the lake, The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled To see him shake his lightnings o’er my head, And think I had no master save his own. You know the jutting cliff round which a track Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow To such another one, with scanty room For two abreast to pass? O’ertaken there By the mountain blast, I’ve laid me flat along, And while gust followed gust more furiously, As if to sweep me o’er the horrid brink, And I have thought of other lands, whose storms Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just Have wished me there—the thought that mine was free Has checked that wish; and I have raised my head, And cried in thraldrom to that furious wind, Blow on! This is the land of liberty! [Pg 129]

[Pg 130]

[Pg 131]

The Fishermen.

HURRAH! the seaward breezes Sweep down the bay amain. Heave up, my lads, the anchor! Run up the sail again! Leave to the lubber landsmen The rail-car and the steed; The stars of heaven shall guide us, The breath of heaven shall speed.

From the hill-top looks the steeple, And the lighthouse from the sand; And the scattered pines are waving Their farewell from the land. One glance, my lads, behind us, For the homes we leave one sigh, Ere we take the change and chances Of the ocean and the sky.

Now, brothers, for the icebergs Of frozen Labrador, Floating spectral in the moonshine, Along the low, black shore! Where like snow the gannet’s feathers On Brador’s rocks are shed, And the noisy murr are flying, Like black scuds, overhead; [Pg 132]

Where in mist the rock is hiding, And the sharp reef lurks below, And the white squall smites in summer, And the autumn tempests blow; Where, through gray and rolling vapor, From evening unto morn, A thousand boats are hailing, Horn answering unto horn.

Hurrah for the Red Island, With the white cross on its crown! Hurrah for Meccatina, And its mountains bare and brown! Where the caribou’s tall antlers O’er the dwarf-wood freely toss, And the footstep of the mickmack Has no sound upon the moss.

There we’ll drop our lines, and gather Old Ocean’s treasures in, Where’er the mottled mackerel Turns up a steel-dark fin. The sea’s our field of harvest, Its scaly tribes our grain; We’ll reap the teeming waters As at home they reap the plain!

Our wet hands spread the carpet, And light the hearth of home; From our fish, as in the old time, The silver coin shall come. As the demon fled the chamber Where the fish of Tobit lay, So ours from all our dwellings Shall frighten Want away. [Pg 133]

[Pg 134]

[Pg 135]

[Pg 136]

Excelsior.

THE shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, ’mid snow and ice, A banner, with the strange device, Excelsior!

His brow was sad; his eye, beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath; And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior!

In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright. Above, the spectral glaciers shone; And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior!

“Try not the pass!” the old man said; “Dark lowers the tempest overhead! The roaring torrent is deep and wide!” And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior! [Pg 137]

[Pg 138]

[Pg 139]

The Soldier.

FOR gold the merchant ploughs   the main, The farmer ploughs the manor; But glory is the soldier’s prize, The soldier’s wealth is honor. The brave poor soldier ne’er despise; Nor count him as a stranger; Remember, he’s his country’s stay In day and hour o’ danger. [Pg 141]

[Pg 142]

[Pg 143]

John Maynard.

TWAS on Lake Erie’s broad expanse, One bright midsummer day, The gallant steamer, Ocean Queen, Swept proudly on her way. Bright faces clustered on the deck, Or, leaning o’er the side, Watched carelessly the feathery foam That flecked the rippling tide.

A seaman sought the captain’s side, A moment whispered low: The captain’s swarthy face grew pale; He hurried down below. Alas, too late! Though quick and sharp And clear his orders came, No human efforts could avail To quench th’ insidious flame.

The bad news quickly reached the deck, It sped from lip to lip, And ghastly faces everywhere Looked from the doomed ship. “Is there no hope, no chance of life?” A hundred lips implore. “But one,” the captain made reply; “To run the ship on shore.” [Pg 144]

A sailor whose heroic soul That hour should yet reveal, By name John Maynard, Eastern born, Stood calmly at the wheel. “Head her southeast!” the captain shouts, Above the smothered roar,— “Head her southeast without delay! Make for the nearest shore!”

John Maynard watched the nearing flames, But still, with steady hand, He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly He steered the ship to land. “John Maynard, can you still hold out?” He heard the captain cry. A voice from out the stifling smoke Faintly responds, “Ay, ay!”

But half a mile! A hundred hands Stretch eagerly to shore. But half a mile! That distance sped, Peril shall all be o’er. But half a mile! Yet stay! The flames No longer slowly creep, But gather round the helmsman bold With fierce, impetuous sweep.

“John Maynard,” with an anxious voice, The captain cries once more, “Stand by the wheel five minutes yet, And we will reach the shore.” Through flames and smoke that dauntless heart Responded firmly still, Unawed, though face to face with death, “With God’s good help, I will!” [Pg 145]

[Pg 146]

[Pg 147]

[Pg 148]

Excalibur.

THEN spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: “The sequel of to-day unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep They sleep,—the men I loved. I think that we Shall never more, at any future time, Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot, as in the days that were. I perish by this people which I made,— Though Merlin swear that I should come again To rule once more; but let what will be, be: I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword; and how I rowed across And took it, and have worn it, like a king: And, wheresoever I am sung or told In after-time, this also shall be known: But now delay not: take Excalibur, And fling him far into the middle mere. Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word.” [Pg 149]

[Pg 150]

[Pg 151]

[Pg 152]

The Death of Arthur.

THEN saw they how there hove a dusky barge, Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, Beneath them; and descending they were ware That all the decks were dense with stately forms Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream; by these Three Queens with crowns of gold, and from them rose A cry that shivered to the tingling stars, And, as it were one voice, an agony Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills All night in a waste land, where no one comes, Or hath come since the making of the world.

Then murmured Arthur, “Place me in the barge.” So to the barge they came. There those three Queens Put forth their hands, and took the king, and wept. [Pg 153]

[Pg 154]

[Pg 155]

[Pg 156]

A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.

A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast. And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee.

O, for a soft and gentle wind! I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the swelling breeze, And white waves heaving high. The white waves heaving high, my lads, The good ship tight and free,— The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. [Pg 157]

[Pg 158]

[Pg 159]

The Leap of Curtius.

WITHIN Rome’s forum, suddenly, a wide gap opened in a night, Astounding those who gazed on it,—a strange, terrific sight. In Senate all their sages met, and, seated in their chairs of state, Their faces blanched with deadly fear, debated long and late.

A sign inimical to Rome, they deemed it,—a prognostic dire, A visitation from the gods, in token of their ire. Yet how to have their minds resolved, how ascertain in this their need, Beyond the shadow of a doubt, if thus it were indeed?

In silence brooded they awhile, unbroken by a single word, While from the capital without the lightest sounds were heard. Then rose the eldest magistrate, a tall old man, with locks like snow, Straight as a dart, and with an eye that oft had quelled the foe.

And thus, with ripe, sonorous voice, no note or tone of which did shake, Or indicate the wear of time, the aged Nestor spake: “Fathers, the Oracle is nigh: to it then let us promptly send, And at the shrine inquire what this dread marvel doth portend.

“And if to Rome it augurs ill, then ask we, ere it be too late, How we may best avert the doom, and save the sacred state.— That state to every Roman dear, as dear as brother, friend, or wife, For which each true-born son would give, if needful, even life. [Pg 160]

“For what, O fathers! what were life apart from altar, hearth, and home? Yea, is not all our highest good bound up with that of Rome? And now adjourn we for a space, till three full days have circled round, And on the morning of the fourth, let each one here be found.”

Then gat they up, and gloomily for such short interval did part, For they were Romans stanch and tried, and sad was every heart. The fourth day dawned, and when they met, the Oracle’s response was known: Something most precious in the chasm to close it must be thrown.

But if un closed it shall remain, thereon shall follow Rome’s decay, And all the splendor of her state shall pale and pass away. Something most precious! What the gift that may prevent the pending fate, What costly offering will the gods indeed propitiate?

While this they pondered, lo! a sound of footsteps fell on every ear, And in their midst a Roman youth did presently appear. Apollo’s brow, a mien like Mars, in Beauty’s mould he seemed new-made, As on his golden hair the sun with dazzling dalliance played.

’Tis Marcus Curtius! Purer blood none there could boast, and none more brave: There stands the youthful patriot, come, a Roman, Rome to save. His own young life, he offers that, yea, volunteers himself to throw Within the cleft to make it close, and stay the heavy woe.

And now on horseback, fully armed, behold him, for the hour hath come. The Roman guards keep watch and ward, and beats the muffled drum. The consuls, proctors, soothsayers, within the forum group around, Young Curtius in the saddle sits,—there yawns the severed ground. [Pg 161]

[Pg 162]

[Pg 163]

[Pg 164]

The Ride from Ghent to Aix.

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three. “Good speed!” cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; “Speed!” echoed the wall to us galloping through. Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride for stride, never changing our place. I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

’Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Düffield, ’twas morning, as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime, So Joris broke the silence with, “Yet there is time!” [Pg 165]

[Pg 166]

[Pg 167]

[Pg 169]

A Yarn.

TIS Saturday night, and our watch below. What heed we, boys, how the breezes blow, While our cans are brimmed with the sparkling flow? Come, Jack, uncoil, as we pass the grog, And spin us a yarn from memory’s log.”

Jack’s brawny chest like the broad sea heaved, While his loving lip to the beaker cleaved; And he drew his tarred and well-saved sleeve Across his mouth, as he drained the can, And thus to his listening mates began:—

“When I sailed, a boy, in the schooner Mike, No bigger, I trow, than a marlinespike— But I’ve told ye the tale ere now, belike?” “Go on!” each voice re-echoed, And the tar thrice hemmed, and thus he said:—

“A stanch-built craft as the waves e’er bore— We had loosed our sail for home once more, Freighted full deep from Labrador, When a cloud one night rose on our lee, That the heart of the stoutest quailed to see. [Pg 170]

“And voices wild with the winds were blent, As our bark her prow to the waters bent; And the seamen muttered their discontent— Muttered and nodded ominously— But the mate, right carelessly whistled he.

“‘Our bark may never outride the gale. ’Tis a pitiless night! The pattering hail Hath coated each spar as ’twere in mail; And our sails are riven before the breeze, While our cordage and shrouds into icicles freeze!’

“Thus spake the skipper beside the mast, While the arrowy sleet fell thick and fast; And our bark drove onward before the blast That goaded the waves, till the angry main Rose up and strove with the hurricane.

“Up spake the mate, and his tone was gay,— ‘Shall we at this hour to fear give way? We must labor, in sooth, as well as pray. Out, shipmates, and grapple home yonder sail, That flutters in ribbons before the gale!’

“Loud swelled the tempest, and rose the shriek, ‘Save, save! we are sinking! A leak! a leak!’ And the hale old skipper’s tawny cheek Was cold, as ’twere sculptured in marble there, And white as the foam or his own white hair. [Pg 171]

[Pg 172]

[Pg 173]