And shouted but once more aloud, "My father! must I stay?"
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud. The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapp'd the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And stream'd above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder-sound,—
The boy,-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds, that far around
With fragments strew'd the sea!
With mast and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part,—
But the noblest thing which perish'd there,
Was that young and faithful heart!
REMEMBER, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window, where the sun
Came peeping in at morn.
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!
I remember, I remember,
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily-cups,
Those flow'rets made of light;
The lilacs where the robins built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum, on his birth-day-
The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And through the air would rush as fresh
As swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers, then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!
I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender spires,
Were close against the sky!
It was a childish ignorance,-
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm further off from heaven,
Than when I was a boy!
26. THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW
NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,—
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied, far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent :-
"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
"As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the self-same power divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night."
The songster heard his short oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
27. PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII.
THE Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a shepherd's care;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye:
My noon-day walks He shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.
When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant,
To fertile vales and dewy meads,
My weary, wandering steps He leads;
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscapes flow.
Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
For thou, O God, art with me still;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.
Though in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious, lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my wants beguile;
The barren wilderness shall smile,
With sudden greens and herbage crown'd,
And streams shall murmur all around.
BARKING sound the shepherd hears,
A A cry as of a dog or fox;
He halts, and searches with his eyes
Among the scatter'd rocks:
And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.
The dog is not of mountain-breed;
Its motions, too, are wild and shy;
With something, as the shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry.
Nor is there any one in sight
All round, in hollow, or on height;
Nor shout, nor whistle, strikes his ear;
What is the creature doing here?
It was a cove, a huge recess,
That keeps till June December's snow; A lofty precipice in front,
A silent tarn below!
Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway, or cultivated land;
From trace of human foot or hand.
Not free from boding thoughts, awhile
The shepherd stood; then makes his way
Towards the dog, o'er rocks and stones,
As quickly as he may;
|