Imagens das páginas

He is gone at length; he is laid in the dust,

Death's hand his slumbers breaking;
For the coffined sleep of the good and just,

Is a sure and blissful waking !
His people's heart is his funeral urn;

And should sculptured stone be denied him,
There will his name be found when, in turn,
We lay our heads beside him.

- Horace Smith.

[graphic][merged small][merged small][merged small]


133 Look to the weather-bow,

Breakers are round thee;
Let fall the plummet now,

Shallows may ground thee.
Reef in the foresail there,

Hold the helm fast;
So, let the vessel wear-

There swept the blast.
What of the night, watchman?

What of the night?
“ Cloudy—all quiet-

No land yet-all's right.”
Be watchful, be vigilant !

Danger may be
At an hour when all seemeth

Securest to thee.
How gains the leak so fast?

Clean out the hold,
Hoist up thy merchandise,

Heave out thy gold !
There, let the ingots go-

Now the ship rights:
Hurrah ! the harbour's near-

Lo, the red lights!
Slacken not sail yet

At inlet or island,
Straight for the beacon steer-

Straight for the high land;
Crowd all thy canvas on,

Cut through the foam
Christian, cast anchor now-
Heaven is thy home!

-Caroline Southey.

“And wherefore do the poor complain ?”

The rich man asked of me.
Come, walk abroad with me,” I said,

And I will answer thee."

[ocr errors]
[graphic][merged small][merged small]



She said her father was at home,

And he lay sick in bed ;
And therefore was it she was sent

Abroad to beg for bread.

We saw a woman sitting down

Upon a stone to rest ;
She had a baby at her back,

And another at her breast.

I asked her why she loitered there,

When the wind it was so chill ?
She turned her head, and bade the child

That screamed behind be still.

She told us that her husband served

A soldier far away ;
And therefore to her parish she

Was begging back her way.

I turned me to the rich man en,

For silently stood he :
“You asked me why the poor complain,
And these have answered thee.”



CHILDREN we are all Of one Great Father, in whatever clime His Providence hath cast the seed of lifeAll tongues, all colours. Neither after death Shall we be sorted into languages And tints—white, black, and tawny-Greek and Goth, Northmen and offspring of hot Africa. The All-seeing Father--He in whom we live and moveHe, the impartial Judge of all, regards Nations, and hues, and dialects alike. According to their works shall they be judged, When even-handed justice in the scale Their good and evil weighs.



No stir in the air, no stir in the sea :
The ship was as still as she could be ;
Her sails from heaven received no motion;
Her keel was steady in the ocean.
Without either sign or sound of their shock,
The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.
The good old Abbot of Aberbrothok
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock.
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
And over the waves its warning rung.
When the rock was hid by the surges' swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous rock,
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.

The sun in heaven was shining gay.
All things were joyful on that day:
The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round,
And there was joyance in their sound.

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen,
A darker speck on the ocean green:
Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck,
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring;
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.
The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go ;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And he cut the bell from the Inchcape Float.

« AnteriorContinuar »