Literature for Children Part 12

Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!

--HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

THE SANDS OF DEE

"O Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee."

The western wind was wild and dark with foam, And all alone went she.

The western tide crept up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see.

The rolling mist came down and hid the land: And never home came she.

"O is it weed, or fish, or floating hair-- A tress of golden hair, A drowned maiden's hair, Above the nets at sea?"

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair Among the stakes of Dee.

They row'd her in across the rolling foam The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea.

But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee.

--CHARLES KINGSLEY.

CANADIAN BOAT SONG

Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time; Soon as the woods on sh.o.r.e look dim, We'll sing at St. Anne's our parting hymn.

Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast; The Rapids are near, and the daylight's past.

Why should we yet our sail unfurl?

There is not a breath the blue wave to curl; But when the wind blows off the sh.o.r.e, Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.

Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near, and the daylight's past.

Ottawa's tide! this trembling moon Shall see us float over thy surges soon: Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, Oh! grant us cool heavens, and favouring airs.

Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near, and the daylight's past.

--THOMAS MOORE.

RETURN OF THE ANCIENT MARINER

O wedding-guest! this soul hath been Alone on a wide, wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that G.o.d himself Scarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company!

To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay!

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!

He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear G.o.d who loveth us, He made and loveth all.

--SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

NOW FADES THE LAST LONG STREAK OF SNOW

Now fades the last long streak of snow, Now burgeons every maze of quick About the flowering squares, and thick By ashen roots the violets blow.

Now rings the woodland loud and long, The distance takes a lovelier hue, And drown'd in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song.

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, The flocks are whiter down the vale, And milkier every milky sail On winding stream or distant sea;

Where now the seamew pipes, or dives In yonder greening gleam, and fly The happy birds, that change their sky To build and brood; that live their lives,

From land to land; and in my breast Spring wakens too; and my regret Becomes an April violet, And buds and blossoms like the rest.

--ALFRED LORD TENNYSON.

HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the c.o.c.ks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Duffield, 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime, So, Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black every one, To stare thro' the mist at us galloping past, And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, With resolute shoulders, each b.u.t.ting away The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray;

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other p.r.i.c.ked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence,--ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!

And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

By Ha.s.selt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, We'll remember at Aix"--for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

"How they'll greet us!"--and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is--friends flocking round As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

--ROBERT BROWNING.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB

The a.s.syrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold, And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pa.s.s'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still.

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride: And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.