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Speak! from your bristling sides, ye ships, as Nelson spoke before-
Speak! whilst the world is waiting for your thunder-burst of yore;
Speak whilst your Islesmen stand before each hot and smoking gun,
That rends the granite from the front of forts that must be won,
Unroll that grand old ocean flag above the smoke of fight,
And let each broadside thunder well the Islesmen's battle might;
Roll out, ye drums, one glory peal, 'tis Liberty's behest,
That summons to the front of fight the Islesmen of the West !

IV. THE SPANISH ARMADA,

BY LORD MACAULAY.

Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise,
I sing of the thrice famous deeds, she wrought in ancient days,
When that great fleet invincible, against her bore, in vain,
The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts in Spain.
It was about the lovely close of a warm summer's day,
There came a gallant merchant ship, full sail to Plymouth bay ;
The crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,
At earliest twilight, on the waves, lie heaving many a mile.
At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace;
And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase.
Forthwith a guard, at every gun, was placed along the wall;
The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecombe's lofty hall;
Many a light fishing bark put out, to pry along the coast;
And with loose rein, and bloody spur, rode inland many a post.

With his white hair, unbonnetted, the stout old sheriff comes;
Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums.
The yeomen, round the market cross, make clear an ample space,
For there behoves him to set up the standard of her grace:
And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,
As slow, upon the laboring wind, the royal blazon swells.
Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,

And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down!

So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,
Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield:
So glared he when, at Agincourt, in wrath he turned to bay,

And crushed and torn, beneath his claws, the princely hunters lay,

Ho! strike the flagstaff 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 fresh'ning breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold—
The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold.
Night sunk upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea;
Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be.
From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford bay,
That time of slumber was as bright, as busy as the day;
For swift to east, and swift to west, the warning radiance spread-
High on St. Michael's Mount it shone-it shone on Beachy Head.

Far o'er the deep the 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 Tamer's glittering waves,

The rugged miners poured to war, from Mendip's sunless caves:
O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew-
He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge-the rangers of Beaulieu.
Right sharp and quick the bells rang out, all night, from Bristol town
And, ere the day, three hundred horse had met on Clifton Down.
The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,
And saw, o'erhanging Richmond Hill, that streak of blood-red light.
The bugle's note, and cannon's roar, the deathlike silence broke,
And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke;
At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering fires;
At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;
From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear,
And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer.
And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,
And the broad streams of flags and pikes dashed down each rousing 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, for wild Blackheath, the warlike errand went;
And roused in many an ancient hall, the gallant squires of Kent:
Southward, for Surrey's pleasant hills, flew those bright coursers forth;
High on black 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, all night from hill to hill;
Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Derwent'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 town and hamlet rose in arms, o'er all the boundless plain:
Till Belvoir's lordly towers the sign to Lincoln sent,
And Lincoln sped the message on, o'er the wide vale of Trent;
Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burnt on Gaunt's embattled pile,
And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.

V. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB'S HOST AT JERUSALEM.

BY LORD BYRON.

"The Lord sent an angel, which cut off all the mighty men of valour, and the leaders and captains in the camp of the king of Assyria: so he returned with shame of face to his own land."-2 Chronicle xxxii. 21.

The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest, when summer is green,
That host, with their bauners, at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest, when autumn hath blown,
That hos, on the morrow, lay withered and strewn.

For, the angel of death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed on the face of the foe as he passed:
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed, with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,

And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,

With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
The tents were all silent, the banners alone,

The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,

And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

VI. FALLEN IS THY THRONE, O ISRAEL !

Fall'n is thy throne, O Israel!

Silence is o'er thy plains: Thy dwellings all lie desolate,

Thy children weep in chains. Where are the dews that fed thee

On Etham's barren shore?. That fire from heaven which led thee

Now lights thy path no more.

Lord! thou didst love Jerusalem--
Once she was all thine own:
Her love thy fairest heritage,

Her power thy glory's throne.
Till evil came, and blighted

Thy long-loved olive tree;
And Salem's shrines were lighted
For other gods than thee.

Then sank the star of Solyma,
Then pass'd her glory's day,
Like heath that, in the wilderness,
The wild wind whirls away.

BY THOMAS MOORE.

Silent and waste her bowers,
Where once the mighty trod,
And sunk those guilty towers,
Where Baal reign'd as God.

"Go" said the Lord, "Ye Conquerors !
Steep in her blood your swords,
And raze to earth her battlements,
For they are not the Lord's.
Till Zion's mournful daughter

O'er kindred bones shall tread,
And Hinnom's vale of slaughter
Shall hide but half her dead."

But soon shall other pictur'd scenes
In brighter vision rise,

When Zion's sun shall sevenfold shine
On all her mourners' eyes:

And on her mountains beauteous stand
The messengers of peace;
"Salvation by the Lord's right hand,"
They shout and never cease.

VII. JACOB'S DREAM.

BY THE REV. GEORGE CROLY, LL.D.

The sun was sinking on the mountain zone
That guards thy vales of beauty, Palestine!
And lovely from the desert rose the moon,
Yet lingering on the horizon's purple line,

Like a pure spirit o'er its earthly shrine.
Up Padan-aram's height abrupt and bare
A pilgrim toil'd, and oft on day's decline

Look'd pale, then paused for eve's delicious air,

The summit gain'd, he knelt, and breathed his evening prayer.

He spread his cloak and slumber'd—darkness fell

Upon the twilight hills; a sudden sound

Of silver trumpets o er him seem'd to swell;
Clouds heavy with the tempest gather'd round;
Yet was the whirlwind in its caverns bound;
Still deeper roll'd the darkness from on high,
Gigantic volume upon volume wound,
Above, a pillar shooting to the sky,

Below, a mighty sea, that spread incessantly.

Voices are heard-a choir of golden strings,
Low winds, whose breath is loaded with the rose;
Then chariot-wheels-the nearer rush of wings;
Pale lightning round the dark pavilion glows.
It thunders-the resplendent gates unclose;
Far as the eye can glance, on height o'er height,
Rise fiery waving wings, and star-crown'd brows,
Millions on millions brighter and more bright,
Till all is lost in one Supreme, unmingled light.

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IX. WOLSEY'S FALLEN GREATNESS.
BY WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast fore'd me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Crom-
well;

And,-when I am forgotten, as I shall be;
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no men-
tion

Of me more must be heard of,—say, I thought||
thee;

Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that
hate thee:

Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just and fear
not;

Let all the ends, thou aim'st at, be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O,
Cromwell,

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king:
And,-Pr'y thee, lead me in:

Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory.
And sounded all the depths and shoals of There, take an inventory of all I have,

honour,

Found thee a way out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me,
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?

To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, is all

I dare now call my own. O, Cromwell, Crom-
well,

Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

X. THE POWER OF MUSIC.
BY WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

loud,

How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank!) Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patterns of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou be-
hold'st,

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Which is the hot condition of their blood;
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze,
By the sweet power of music: Therefore, the
poet

Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and
floods;

Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature:
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted.

*Sir Thomas Cromwell.

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