I think, does the same wind that sweeps by me now, Thrill the pools in that graveyard, of half-melted snow, And I cry in my anguish, “Appear! as in life,- : Pass over this sea of my trouble and strife!" I turn from the casement, and helplessly stare The drift of the sleet on my arms and my hair The rush of the wild river rolling along Is loud in my ear The wind through the beech-trees is heavy and strong, But that sound cometh clear. I know that dark river—its waters sweep down, Be the day ne'er so bright, With the deep changeless hues of the Cairngorm's brown, Though its foam-flakes are white. I know that dark river-it swells and it swirls Past the hindering bridge; And the trees topple down as the branches it hurls The turbulent waters drive on in their force Like the thoughts in my breast But the stones lying deep in the torrent's wild course 176 IN THE STORM. Under-deep under those arches' wide girth, Where nothing is stirred,— And the sound of Life's whirlwinds that traverse the earth Can never be heard! Under-deep under. But lo! while I dream, From a vanishing cloud The pale moon looks forth, with her strange tranquil gleam, Like a ghost in its shroud. Her white smile the brown rolling river hath kissed; To see her sail past through a rift in the mist That is veiling the skies. And I think of the rest, in the dark waters near, To its stony bed given; And I think of that light shining gentle and clear;— Till, the wild storm subsiding, forth comes by the moon One uprising star: Is there rest? but the earth seems so near, as I swoon— And the Heavens so far! Caroline Norton. AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN. ALL hail! thou noble land, O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore; The genius of our clime, From his pine-embattled steep, While the Tritons of the deep With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim; O'er the main our naval line, Though ages long have passed O'er untravelled seas to roam, Yet lives the blood of England in our veins! That blood of honest fame, Modern Poets. 12 178 AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN. While the language free and bold How the vault of heaven rung, While the manners, while the arts, Our joint communion breaking with the sun: The voice of blood shall reach More audible than speech, "We are one!" Washington Allston. THE ARMADA. 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 Edgecumbe'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 unbonneted, 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 labouring wind the royal blazon swells. |