Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!

Thus the tale ended.1

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

THE ARMADA.

A FRAGMENT.

ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise;

I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in an

cient days,

When that great fleet invincible against her bore in

vain

The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;

Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,

At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile.

At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace;

1 This fine poem was suggested by the discovery in a sandbank, near Fall River, Mass., of a skeleton with some remains of armor clinging to it. The early visits of the Norsemen to New England gave support to the theory that this was one of hat race. It is more probable, however, that the skeleton was Chat of an Indian of the tribes which were found in Centra America, as the armor corresponded to that worn by the aborig mal inhabitants of those regions.

And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in

chase.

Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the

wall;

The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty

hall;

Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the

coast,

And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many

a post.

With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff

comes;

Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums;

His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space;

For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace.

And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gayly dance the

bells,

As slow upon the laboring wind the royal blazon swells. Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies

down.

So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,

Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield.

So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to

bay,

And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay.

Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight; ho! scatter flowers, fair maids;

Ho gunners, fire a loud salute; ho gallants, draw vour blades;

Thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes, waft her wide,

Our glorious Semper Eadem, the banner of our pride. The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massive fold;

The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;

Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple

sea,

Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be.

From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,

That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the

day;

For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war

flame spread,

High on St. Michael's Mount it shone it shone on

Beachy Head.

:

Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern

shire,

Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.

The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering

waves:

The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves:

O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew:

He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.

Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town,

And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clif ton down;

The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the

night,

And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light,

Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like silence broke,

And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke.

At once on all her stately gates arose the answering

fires;

At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling

spires;

From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear;

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer:

And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,

And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street;

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the

din,

As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in :

And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went,

And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.

Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;

High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north;

And on, and on, without a pause untired they bounded

still:

All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill:

Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales,

Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales,

Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's

lonely height,

Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's

crest of light,

Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,

And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the bound

less plain;

Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of

Trent;

Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burnt on Gaunt's embattled pile,

And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.

LORD MACAULAY.1

1 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY, born in 1800, was a son of Zachary Macaulay, an eminent philanthropist. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, and in boyhood and youth gave ample promise of his extraordinary mental powers. In 1825 he published his essay on Milton, which at once made him famous, and in 1826 he was called to the bar. He entered Parliament as a Whig in 1830, and rose rapidly in politics by his strong intellect and great oratorical powers. In 1834 he was sent to India as one of the Supreme Council, and on his return was elected to Parliament from Edinburgh, in 1840. In 1846, when the Whig party returned to power, he was made Paymaster General of the Forces, with a seat in the cabinet. He was defeated for Parliament in 1847, but again elected from Edinburgh in 1852, resigning his seat in 1856, in order to devote himself to literature. In 1857 he was raised to the peerage as Baron Macaulay of Rothley. He died in 1859. He was emineut both as a statesman and as a writer. His poems were few