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« You drank of the Well I warrant betimes ?” 45
He to the Cornish-man said: 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;
50 But i' faith she had been wiser than me, For she took a bottle to church.”
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O’er the grave where our hero we buried.
The sods with our bayonets turning;
And the lantern dimly burning.
10 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 15
And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the strangerwould tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow!
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,-
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
25 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,
From the field of his fame, fresh and gory; 30 We carved not a line, and we raised not a stoneBut left him alone with his glory!
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
A NAVAL ODE.
Ye Mariners of England !
That guard our native seas;
The battle and the breeze!
To match another foe!
While the stormy winds do blow;
And the stormy winds do blow.
And Ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, 15
Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
20 Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;
Her home is on the deep.
25 She quells the floods below,As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
30 The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
return. Then, then, ye ocean-warriors !
35 Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.
TO THE RAINBOW.
TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky,
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art.-
A midway station given
Betwixt the earth and heaven.
Thy form to please me so,
Hid in thy radiant bow?
Enchantment's veil withdraws,
To cold material laws!
But words of the Most High,
Was woven in the sky.
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine,
fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign! And when its yellow lustre smiled
O’er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child
To bless the bow of God. Methinks thy jubilee to keep,
The first-made anthem rang On earth deliver'd from the deep,
And the first poet sang.
Nor ever shall the Muse's eye
Unraptured greet thy beam: Theme of primeval prophecy,
35 Be still the prophet's theme! The earth to thee her incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings,
40 How glorious is thy girdle, cast
O'er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down!
45 As young thy beauties seem As when the eagle from the ark
First sported in thy beam:
50 Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man.
Utter'd or unexprest;
That trembles in the breast.
The falling of a tear;
When none but God is near.