SONG FROM "PARACELSUS"

OVER the sea our galleys went, With cleaving prows in order brave, To a speeding wind and a bounding wave — A gallant armament:

Each bark built out of a forest-tree,

Left leafy and rough as first it grew, And nail'd all over the gaping sides, Within and without, with black-bull hides, Seeth'd in fat and suppled in flame, To bear the playful billow's game; So each good ship was rude to see, Rude and bare to the outward view, But each upbore a stately tent; Where cedar-pales in scented row Kept out the flakes of the dancing brine : And an awning droop'd the mast below, In fold on fold of the purple fine, That neither noontide, nor star-shine, Nor moonlight cold which maketh mad, Might pierce the regal tenement. When the sun dawn'd, oh, gay and glad We set the sail and plied the oar; But when the night-wind blew like breath, For joy of one day's voyage more, We sang together on the wide sea, Like men at peace on a peaceful shore; Each sail was loos'd to the wind so free, Each helm made sure by the twilight star, And in a sleep as calm as death, We, the strangers from afar,

Lay stretch'd along, each weary crew In a circle round its wondrous tent, Whence gleam'd soft light and curl'd rich scent,

And, with light and perfume, music too : So the stars wheel'd round, and the darkness

past,

And at morn we started beside the mast, And still each ship was sailing fast!

One morn, the land appear'd! - a speck Dim trembling betwixt sea and sky – Avoid it, cried our pilot, check

The shout, restrain the longing eye! But the heaving sea was black behind For many a night and many a day, And land, though but a rock, drew nigh; So we broke the cedar pales away, Let the purple awning flap in the wind,

And a statue bright was on every deck!

We shouted, every man of us,
And steer'd right into the harbor thus,
With pomp and pæan glorious.

An hundred shapes of lucid stone!

All day we built a shrine for each A shrine of rock for every oneNor paus'd we till in the westering sun We sate together on the beach To sing, because our task was done; When lo! what shouts and merry songs! What laughter all the distance stirs ! What raft comes loaded with its throngs Of gentle islanders?

"The isles are just at hand," they cried; "Like cloudlets faint at even sleeping, Our temple-gates are open'd wide,

Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping

For the lucid shapes you bring" - they

cried.

Hampden to hell, and his obsequies' knell Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well!

England, good cheer! Rupert is near! Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here, (Chorus)

Marching along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song?

Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls

To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles!

Hold by the right, you double your might; So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight,

(Chorus)

March we along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song!