ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble Many a light fishing bark put out to pry along England's praise; the coast, I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought And with loose rein and bloody spur rode in in ancient days, When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain land many a post. With his white hair unbonnetted, the stout old sheriff comes; The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest Behind him march the halberdiers; before hearts of Spain. It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, him sound the drums; His yeomen round the market-cross make clear an ample space, For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace. There came a gallant merchant ship full sail And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily to Plymouth Bay; dance the bells, Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, be- As slow upon the labouring wind the royal yond Aurigny's isle, blazon swells. At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving Look how the Lion of the Sea lifts up his anmany a mile. At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace; And the tall Pinta till the moon had held her close in chase. cient crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down. So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field, Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæ sar's eagle shield; The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edg- So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he along the wall; cumbe's lofty hall; turned to bay, And crushed and torn beneath his claws the From all the batteries of the Tower pealed princely hunters lay. Ho! strike the flag-staff deep, Sir Knight; ho! scatter flowers, fair maids; Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute; ho! gallants, draw your blades! Thou sun, shine on her joyously! ye breezes, waft her wide Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner of our pride! The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold; The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold; Night sank upon the dusky beach and on the purple sea Such night in England ne'er had been, nor ne'er again shall be. From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay, That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; For swift to east and swift to west, the ghastly war-flame spread High on St. Michael's Mount it shone; it shone on Beachy Head. Far on the deep each Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire. The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's loud the voice of fear, And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer; And from the furthest ward was heard the rush of hurrying feet, And the broader streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street. And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, 'As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in; And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went, And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent. Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north; And on, and on, without a pause, untired, they bounded still: All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill, Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales, Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales; Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height; Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light; Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane, And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain; Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent; Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile, And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the Burghers of Carlisle. THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. And the last arrow in his quiver. All crimson with his country's blood; False flew the shaft, though pointed well; The tyrant lived, the hero fell! Yet marked the Peri where he lay, And, when the rush of war was past, Swiftly decending on a ray Of morning light, she caught the last, Last glorious drop his heart had shed Before its free-born spirit fled. "Be this," she cried, as she winged her flight, "My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. Though foul are the drops that oft distill On the field of warfare, blood like this, For Liberty shed, so holy is, It would not stain the purest rill That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss: Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphere, A boon, an offering heaven holds dear, 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause." THOMAS MOORE. BELSHAZZAR. ELSHAZZAR is king! Belshazzar is lord! And a thousand dark nobles all bend at his board; BRYAN W. PROCTER. Fruits glisten, flowers blossom, meats steam, Now what cometh? Look, look! without and a flood Of the wine that man loveth, runs redder than blood; menace or call? Who writes, with the lightning's bright hand, on the wall? And the beauty that maddens the passions of What pierceth the king, like the point of a earth Wild dancers are there, and a riot of mirth; And the crowds all shout, Till the vast roofs ring, "All praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king!" -Bring forth," cries the monarch, "the vessels of gold, Which my father tore down from the temples of old; Bring forth, and we'll drink, while the trumpets are blown, dart? What drives the bold blood from his cheek to his heart? "Chaldeans! Magicians! the letters expound!" They are read, and Belshazzar is dead on the ground! Hark! The Persian is come And a Mede's on the throne of Belshazzar the king. BRYAN W. PROCTER. (Barry Cornwall.) Or to glorious inclose Now's the day & now's the hour, See the from "o" battle lour; See approach, proud Edevard's power, Edward / Chains & Slavera & The Aha will be a traitor knave? on www me. Pay Offression's waes & pains by your sons in sevirke chains We will drain our dearest veins, Pout they shall they shall be free Day the proud usurpers low I Tyrants fall in every wo Liberty's in every blow. Osorward let us do orde!! Robert Burns Wha will be a traitor knave? Traitor! Coward! turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Caledonia! on with me! for By oppression's woes and pains! ROBERT BURNS. PATRIOTISM. REATHES there the man, with soul so High though his titles, proud his name, BREATH dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, From wandering on a foreign strand? Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; SIR WALTER SCOTT. |