"O Lord! we would not advise ;
But if in thy Providence
A tempest should arise

To drive the French Fleet hence,
And scatter it far and wide,
Or sink it in the sea,
We should be satisfied,
And thine the glory be."

This was the prayer I made,

For my soul was all on flame, And even as I prayed

The answering tempest came; It came with a mighty power,

Shaking the windows and walls, And tolling the bell in the tower, As it tolls at funerals.

The lightning suddenly

Unsheathed its flaming sword, And I cried: "Stand still, and see The salvation of the Lord!" The heavens were black with cloud, The sea was white with hail, And ever more fierce and loud Blew the October gale.

The fleet it overtook,

And the broad sails in the van
Like the tents of Cushan shook,
Or the curtains of Midian.
Down on the reeling decks

Crashed the o'erwhelming seas;
Ah, never were there wrecks
So pitiful as these!

Like a potter's vessel broke

The great ships of the line;

They were carried away as a smoke,
Or sank like lead in the brine.
O Lord! before thy path

They vanished and ceased to be,
When thou didst walk in wrath

With thine horses through the sea!

THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG

MOUNTED on Kyrat strong and fleet,
His chestnut steed with four white feet,
Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou,
Son of the road and bandit chief,
Seeking refuge and relief,

Up the mountain pathway flew.

Three caskets they bore on their saddlebows,

Three caskets of gold with golden keys; Their robes were of crimson silk with rows Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows, Their turbans like blossoming almond

trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West, Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell,

And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,

And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,

With the people they met at some wayside well.

"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar, "Good people, I pray you, tell us the

news;

For we in the East have seen his star,
And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To find and worship the King of the
Jews."

And the people answered, "You ask in vain ; We know of no king but Herod the Great!"

They thought the Wise Men were men in

sane,

As they spurred their horses across the plain,

Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,

Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,

Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;

And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem,

And bring me tidings of this new king."

So they rode away; and the star stood still,
The only one in the gray of morn;
Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own
free will,

Right over Bethlehem on the hill,

The city of David, where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,

Through the silent street, till their horses turned

And neighed as they entered the great innyard;

But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,

And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,
In the air made sweet by the breath of
kine,

The little child in the manger lay,
The child, that would be king one day
Of a kingdom not human but divine.

His mother Mary of Nazareth

Sat watching beside his place of rest, Watching the even flow of his breath, For the joy of life and the terror of death Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:

The gold was their tribute to a King, The frankincense, with its odor sweet, Was for the Priest, the Paraclete,

The myrrh for the body's burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,

And sat as still as a statue of stone; Her heart was troubled yet comforted, Remembering what the Angel had said Of an endless reign and of David's

throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,

With a clatter of hoofs in proud array; But they went not back to Herod the Great, For they knew his malice and feared his hate,

And returned to their homes by another way.

SONG

STAY, stay at home, my heart, and rest;
Home-keeping hearts are happiest,
For those that wander they know not where
Are full of trouble and full of care;

To stay at home is best.

Weary and homesick and distressed,
They wander east, they wander west,
And are baffled and beaten and blown about
By the winds of the wilderness of doubt;
To stay at home is best.

Then stay at home, my heart, and rest; The bird is safest in its nest;

O'er all that flutter their wings and fly A hawk is hovering in the sky;

To stay at home is best.

THE WHITE CZAR

The White Czar is Peter the Great. Batyushka, Father dear, and Gosudar, Sovereign, are titles the Russian people are fond of giving to the Czar in their popular songs. H. W. L.

Dost thou see on the rampart's height
That wreath of mist, in the light
Of the midnight moon? Oh, hist!
It is not a wreath of mist;
It is the Czar, the White Czar,
Batyushka! Gosudar!

He has heard, among the dead,
The artillery roll o'erhead;
The drums and the tramp of feet
Of his soldiery in the street;
He is awake! the White Czar,

Batyushka! Gosudar!

'He has heard in the grave the cries
Of his people: "Awake! arise!"
He has rent the gold brocade
Whereof his shroud was made;
He is risen! the White Czar,
Batyushka! Gosudar!

From the Volga and the Don
He has led his armies on,
Over river and morass,

Over desert and mountain pass;
The Czar, the Orthodox Czar,
Batyushka! Gosudar!

The collection of poems under this title was published in 1880. The volume bore on the title-page these lines from Horace (Lib. I., Carmen XXX., Ad Apollinem):—

Precor, integrâ

Cum mente, nec turpem senectam Degere, nec citharâ carentem.

The dedication is to his life-long friend, George Washington Greene, who himself dedicated his Life of Nathanael Greene to Mr. Longfellow in words which give a glowing picture of the aspirations of the two in the days of their young manhood.