"Build me a hundredth bridge, the best, Straightway the bridge was builded so They who watched the fortunate arch could mark Like a cloud of midges that glow and gleam, "He spends his day on the bridge of gold.” And when a month and a day were spent, As the sage Confucius well doth show, And the treasurer whispered, bending low, "Great is the wisdom of King Tee Poh." 66 George T. Lanigan, in " The Century." THE BALLAD OF THE STRANGER. T WAS off the coast of Scarboro' An April night fell lowering And on the heights above the town Was many a watcher gazing down, The wind across the surges Came bounding on the strand; Down from the heights went skurrying And women wild, who seaward smiled The ship-Great God!—in flames her prow!— She speeds full sail! Thank Heaven the gale Is blowing to the shore! Red are the waves before her- With tongues of wrath and fiery breath "Ahoy! ahoy!"-the trumpet rings- On rock she swings Her larboard to the land. A thousand shrieks of terror "Launch launch the boats!"-the trumpet notes Blare out above the roar. But every boat, from beach or deck, Like shells the breakers crush and wreck. Stranded she stood . . ... In fire and flood . . . But a hundred yards from shore. Down to the beach a stranger Stept calmly thro' the crowd; ... He doffed his cloak, and up he spoke With startling voice and loud: "Come on with me, the bravest three!" (In yawl they plunged into the sea.) "Give me the rope Cowards are we, To cringe at watery shroud ?" Athwart the breakers plunging Went gallant men and yawl; See! heavens! they sink! A mountain wave Buries them deep in yawning grave! Up! see-the dauntless heroes "Praise God!" a shout from ship and shore 66 Courage !"—peals out that stranger's shout,— He strikes the wreck . He leaps on deck ... His rope ties fast to mizzen mast, Swift, one by one, like pigeons The flames! the flames! With hiss and gnash Sternward their tongues of fire they flash, And on the flames the surges dash With seething shriek and roar ! The last man's o'er the taffrail- "O God! my child! my child !” To the stranger's breast her babe she prest In agony of woe. Tho' singed with fire, that hero To his breast the babe he bound; Then to the sea leapt mother and he— Now on the rope, hand over hand, Thro' breakers plunging for the strand "Hold to the rope! it burns!" From land Rings out the trumpet-sound. A shuddering cry uprises From thousands on the lee- And hisses in the sea! "Hold to the rope!" Alas! a wave O'erwhelms him deep-that hero brave! |