And they did live by watch-fires, and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings, the huts,

The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burned for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gathered round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contained;
Forests were set on fire, but hour by hour
They fell and faded, and the crackling trunks
Extinguished with a crash, and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits

The flashes fell upon them: some lay down
And hid their eyes, and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenchéd hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed

Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up

With mad disquietude on the dull sky,

The pall of a past world, and then again

With curses cast them down upon the dust,

And gnashed their teeth, and howled; the wild birds shrieked,

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,

And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes.
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawled
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless; they were slain for food;
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again; a meal was bought
With blood, and each sat sullenly apart,

DARKNESS.

Gorging himself in gloom; no love was left;
All earth was but one thought, and that was death,
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang

Of famine fed upon all entrails

- men

51

Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devoured;
Even dogs assailed their masters, all save one;
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famished men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the drooping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But it was piteous and perpetual moan,

And a quick, desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answered not with a caress - he died.
The crowd was famished by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,

And they were enemies; they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place,

Where had been heaped a mass of holy things

For an unholy usage; they raked up,

And shivering, scraped with their cold, skeleton hands

The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath

Blew for a little life, and made a flame

Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew brighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects

- saw, and shrieked, and died.

Even of their mortal hideousness they died,

Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless -

A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirred within their silent depths;
Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea,

And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropped
They slept on the abyss without a surge;

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave;
The moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were withered in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perished; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them - she was the universe

THE SHIP.

SOUTHEY.

STATELY yon vessel sails adown the tide,
To some far distant land adventurous bound;
The sailors' busy cries from side to side,
Pealing, among the echoing rocks, resound;
A patient, thoughtless, much-enduring band,
Joyful they enter on their ocean way;
With shouts exulting leave their native land,
And know no care beyond the present day.
But is there no poor mourner left behind,
Who sorrows for a child or husband there?
Who at the howling of the midnight wind.

Will wake and tremble in her boding prayer? So may her voice be heard, and Heaven be kind; Go, gallant ship, and be thy fortune fair.

THE SHIP.

O God, have mercy in this dreadful hour
On the poor mariner; in comfort here,
Safe sheltered as I am, I almost fear
The blast that rages with resistless power.
What were it now to toss upon the waves,
The maddened waves, and know no succor near.
The howling of the storm alone to hear,
And the wild sea that to the tempest raves;
To gaze amid the horrors of the night,
And only see the billows' gleaming light;
Then, in the dread of death, to think of her
Who, as she listens, sleepless, to the gale,
Puts up a silent prayer, and waxes pale!
O God, have mercy on the mariner.

53

She comes majestic with her swelling sails,
The gallant ship; along her watery way
Homeward she drives before the favoring gales;
Now flirting at their length the streamers play,
And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze.
Hark to the sailors' shouts! the rocks rebound,
Thundering in echoes to the joyful sound.
Long have they voyaged o'er the distant seas;
And what a heart-delight they feel at last,
So many toils, so many dangers past,
To view the port desired, he only knows
Who on the stormy deep for many a day
Hath tossed, a-weary of his watery way,

And watched, all anxious, every wind that blows.

54 THE OLD MAN BY THE BROOK.

THE OLD MAN BY THE BROOK.

WORDSWORTH.

Down to the vale this water steers; how merrily it goes!

'Twill murmur on a thousand years, and flow as now it flows;

And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think

How oft, a vigorous man, I lay beside this fountain's

brink.

My eyes are filled with childish tears, my heart is idly stirred,

For the same sound is in my ears that in those days I heard.

MARMION.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

NOT far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey's camp to ride;

He had safe conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,

And Douglas gave a guide:
The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,

And whisper'd in an under-tone,

"Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown."