THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE

PORTS.

MIST was driving down the British
Channel,

The day was just begun,

And through the window-panes, on floor and panel,

Streamed the red autumn sun.

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon,
And the white sails of ships;

And, from the frowning rampart, the black can

non

Hailed it with feverish lips.

Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hythe, and Dover

Were all alert that day,

To see the French war-steamers speeding over,
When the fog cleared away.

Even the faintest heart, unquailing,

Might behold the vulture sailing Round the cloudy crags Caucasian !

Though to all there is not given

Strength for such sublime endeavour, Thus to scale the walls of heaven, And to leaven with fiery leaven All the hearts of men for ever;

Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted Honour and believe the presage, Hold aloft their torches lighted, Gleaming through the realms benighted As they onward bear the message!

Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions,

Their cannon, through the night,

Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defi

ance,

The sea-coast opposite.

And now they roared at drum-beat from their

stations

On every citadel;

Each answering each, with morning salutations,
That all was well.

And down the coast, all taking up the burden,
Replied the distant forts,

As if to summon from his sleep the Warden
And Lord of the Cinque Ports.

Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure,
No drum-beat from the wall,

No morning gun from the black fort's embra

sure,

Awaken with its call!

No more, surveying with an eye impartial
The long line of the coast,

Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Marshal
Be seen upon his post!

For in the night, unseen, a single warrior,

In sombre harness mailed,

Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer,
The rampart wall had scaled.

He passed into the chamber of the sleeper,
The dark and silent room,

And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper,
The silence and the gloom.

He did not pause to parley or dissemble,
But smote the Warden hoar;

Ah! what a blow! that made all England tremble
And groan from shore to shore.

Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited,

The sun rose bright o'erhead;

Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated

That a great man was dead.