O England! bid thy ships
Of the line to lie asleep :
Hurl the trumpet from thy lips
Where the caverns of the deep
Lift their domes :

Thou hast nursed enough of Blakes;
But one Nelson Nature makes;
So, while Peace her temple takes
Nurse Jeromes!

WM. ROSS WALLACE.

THE SHIP IS READY.

FARE thee well! the ship is ready,
And the breeze is fresh and steady,
Hands are fast the anchor weighing,
High in air the streamers playing.
Spread the sails-the waves are swelling,
Proudly round thy buoyant dwelling.
Fare thee well! and when at sea,
Think of those who think of thee.

When from land and home receding,
And from hearts that ache to bleeding,
Think of those behind, who love thee,
While the sun is bright above thee!
Then as down to ocean glancing,
In the waves his rays are dancing,
Think how long the night will be
To the eyes that weep for thee.

THE SHIP IS READY.

When the lonely night-watch keeping,
All below thee still and sleeping,-
As you know the compass hath
Guidance o'er thy trackless path,
Let thy vigils ever find thee

Mindful of the friends behind thee !
Let thy bosom's magnet be

Turn'd to those who wake for thee!

When with slow and gentle motion,
Heaves the bosom of the ocean,—
While in peace thy barque is riding,
And the silver moon is gliding
O'er the sky with tranquil splendour,
Where the shining hosts attend her :
Let the brightest visions be
Country, home, and friends, to thee!

When the tempest hovers o'er thee,
Danger, wreck, and death before thee;
While the sword of fire is gleaming,
Wild the winds, the torrent streaming,
Then a pious suppliant bending,
Let thy thoughts, to heaven ascending,
Reach the mercy-seat, to be

Met by prayers that rise for thee.

H. F. GOULD.

171

AT THE BREACH.

ALL over for me

The struggle, and possible glory!
All swept past,

In the rush of my own brigade.

Will charges instead,

And fills up my place in the story;
Well,-'tis well,

By the merry old games we played.

There's a fellow asleep, the lout! in the shade of the hillock yonder ; What a dog it must be to drowse in the midst of a time like this! Why, the horses might neigh contempt at him; what is he like, I wonder?

If the smoke would but clear away, I have strength in me yet to hiss.

Will, comrade and friend,

We parted in hurry of battle;

All I heard

Was your sonorous, "Up, my men!"

Soon conquering pæans

Shall cover the cannonades' rattle;

Then, home bells,

Will you think of me sometimes, then?

How that rascal enjoys his snooze! Would he wake to the touch of powder ?

A reveillé of broken bones, or a prick of a sword might do.

"Hai man! the General wants you "; if I could but for once call louder : There is something infectious here, for my eyelids are dropping too.

HOME AT LAST.

Will, can you recall

The time we were lost on the Bright Down?
Coming home late in the day,

As Susie was kneeling to pray,
Little blue eyes and white night-gown,
Saying, "Our Father, who art,—
Art what?" so she stayed with a start.
"In Heaven," your mother said softly.
And Susan sighed, "So far away!"

'Tis nearer, Will, now to us all.

173

t is strange how that fellow sleeps! stranger still that his sleep should

haunt me;

If I could but command his face, to make sure of the lesser ill:

will crawl to his side and see, for what should there be there to daunt me ?

What there? what there! Holy Father in Heaven, not Will!

Will, dead Will!

Lying here, and I could not feel you!
Will, brave Will!

Oh, alas, for the noble end!

Will! dear Will!

Since no love nor remorse could heal you,

Will, good Will !

Let me die on your breast, old friend!

SARAH WILLIAMS.

HOME AT LAST.

"WE'VE been held in the death-grip yonder,

Among the ice of the frozen seas;

Been blown and beaten, and tossed and tumbled,
And now we are coming to rest and ease.

"And yet my heart will keep sinking, sinking-
It's three long years since we left them, Ned—
Yon land is not like the land of the living,
And this is the sea giving up its dead.

"The ship is sailing, my heart is sinking;
Ned, you ne'er knew me feel thus before:
We're home at last! but I wish 'twere morning-
There's something waiting for me ashore.

"The ship is sailing, the moon is shining; Low on a level with the deck

She swims through the white cloud breakers, leaping About her hull as about a wreck.

"The ship is sailing, the moon is sinking; All will be dark ere she touch the strand : 'Yonder's the pier,' says the sailor, steering,

As dark through the darkness looms out the land.

"We're in at last, mate,' whispers the steersman ; 'We're over the bar, and may slacken sail : I wish it had been in the fair broad daylight, Or that even a voice our ship would hail.'”

THE NEWSBOY'S DEBT.

ONLY last year, at Christmas time,
While pacing down a city street,

I saw a tiny, ill-clad boy—

One of the thousands that we meet