"Here each proud column's bed Hath been wet by weeping eyes,— Where no wrong against him cries!" Shame glow'd on each dark face Of those proud and steel-girt men, A little earth for him Whose banner flew so far! The name, a nation's star! One deep voice thus arose From a heart which wrongs had rivenOh! who shall number those That were but heard in Heaven?* * For the particulars of this and other scarcely less remarkable circumstances which attended the obsequies of William the Conqueror, see Sismondi's Histoire des Français, vol. iv. p. 480. THE SOUND OF THE SEA. THOU art sounding on, thou mighty sea, For ever and the same! The ancient rocks yet ring to thee, Oh! many a glorious voice is gone, The Dorian flute that sigh'd of yore On Zion's awful hill. And Memnon's lyre hath lost the chord And the songs, at Rome's high triumphs pour'd, And mute the Moorish horn, that rang And the hymn the leagued Crusaders sang, But thou art swelling on, thou deep, Thou liftest up thy solemn voice And all our earth's green shores rejoice It fills the noontide's calm profound, Let there be silence, deep and strange, Thou speak'st of one who doth not change- CASABIANCA.* # THE boy stood on the burning deck, Yet beautiful and bright he stood, A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though child-like form. The flames roll'd on-he would not go, He call'd aloud-" Say, father, say He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the Nile), after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned; and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder. "Speak, Father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone!" -And but the booming shots replied, Upon his brow he felt their breath, And look'd from that lone post of death, And shouted but once more aloud, "My father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, There came a burst of thunder sound- With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, But the noblest thing that perish'd there, |