The Children's Garland from the Best Poets Part 29

Lx.x.xVI

_THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW HE GAINED THEM_

'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried, 'The few locks which are left you are grey; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man Now tell me the reason, I pray.'

'In the days of my youth,' Father William replied, 'I remember'd that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might need them at last.'

'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried, 'And pleasures with youth pa.s.s away; And yet you lament not the days that are gone, Now tell me the reason, I pray.'

'In the days of my youth,' Father William replied, I remember'd that youth could not last; I thought of the future whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past.'

'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried, 'And life must be hastening away; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death, Now tell me the reason, I pray.'

'I am cheerful, young man,' Father William replied, 'Let the cause thy attention engage; In the days of my youth I remember'd my G.o.d, And He hath not forgotten my age.'

_R. Southey_

Lx.x.xVII

_THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE_

1

Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns!' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

2

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not though the soldier knew Some one had blunder'd.

Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die.

Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

3

Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and sh.e.l.l, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of h.e.l.l Rode the six hundred.

4

Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air, Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd: Plunged in the battery smoke, Right through the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd; Then they rode back, but not-- Not the six hundred.

5

Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and sh.e.l.l, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came through the jaws of Death Back from the mouth of h.e.l.l, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred.

6

When can their glory fade?

O, the wild charge they made!

All the world wonder'd.

Honour the charge they made!

Honour the Light Brigade, n.o.ble six hundred!

_A. Tennyson_

Lx.x.xVIII

_YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND_

Ye mariners of England, That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved a thousand years The battle and the breeze!

Your glorious standard launch again, To match another foe!

And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave!-- For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave: Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below, As they roar on the sh.o.r.e, When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.

Then, then, ye ocean warriors!

Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow: When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.

_T. Campbell_

Lx.x.xIX

_NAPOLEON AND THE SAILOR_

_A true story_