"You drank of the Well I warrant betimes ?" He to the Cornish-man said: 45 But the Cornish-man smiled as the Stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head. "I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done, And left my Wife in the porch; But i' faith she had been wiser than me, For she took a bottle to church." 50 SOUTHEY. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, The sods with our bayonets turning; No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 15 We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, 20 Y Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun, That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 25 From the field of his fame, fresh and gory; 30 We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone But left him alone with his glory! WOLFE. YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. A NAVAL ODE. YE Mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe! And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave!— For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave: 5 10 Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, 15 When the battle rages loud and long, 30 The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart, TO THE RAINBOW. TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art. Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, A midway station given For happy spirits to alight Betwixt the earth and heaven. 5 And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, Was woven in the sky. 20 When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's grey fathers forth Nor ever shall the Muse's eye Be still the prophet's theme! The earth to thee her incense yields, When glittering in the freshen'd fields The snowy mushroom springs. How glorious is thy girdle, cast O'er mountain, tower, and town, As young thy beauties seem For, faithful to its sacred page, 35 40 45 50 Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man. CAMPBELL. ON PRAYER. PRAYER is the soul's sincere desire, Utter'd or unexprest; The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast. 5 |