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66 THRONED IN HIS MIGHT, ALL TIMES TO HIM ARE PRESENT:

A SEA-SONG.

Now faintly echo to the pilgrim's feet

Who comes to muse in solitude, and trace,

Through the rank moss revealed, her honoured dust.
But not to Rome alone has fate confined
The doom of ruin; cities numberless-

Tyre, Sidon, Carthage, Babylon, and Troy,
And rich Phoenicia—they are blotted out,

Half razed from memory, and their very name

And being in dispute.

[Henry Kirke White, 1785-1806, a poet of great promise, who died of consumption just as his powers were beginning to mature.]

"EARTHLY PRIDE IS LIKE THE PASSING FLOWER, THAT SPRINGS TO FALL, AND BLOSSOMS BUT TO DIE."-H. K. WHITE.

66

"AGES AND EPOCHS-WHAT ARE THEY BUT THE POOR CREATURES OF MAN'S TEEMING BRAIN?"-H. K. WHITE.

A SEA-SONG.

WET sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

Oh, for a soft and gentle wind!
I heard a fair one cry :

But give to me the snoring breeze,
And white waves heaving high;

And white waves heaving high, my boys,

The good ship tight and free-
The world of waters is our home,

And merry men are we.

THERE IS TO GOD NOR FUTURE NOR A PAST."-H. K. WHITE.

"I LOVE THE SAILOR, HIS EVENTFUL LIFE, HIS FIRMNESS IN THE GALE, THE WRECK, THE STRIFE."-COTTON.

"THOU GLORIOUS MIRROR, WHERE TH' ALMIGHTY'S FORM GLASSES ITSELF IN TEMPESTS, IN ALL TIME."-BYRON.

There's tempest in yon hornèd moon,

And lightning in yon cloud;
But, hark! the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashing free-
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

[ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, 1785-1842, was an industrious and energetic
Scotch littérateur, who wrote several novels and biographical works,
besides a "rustic epic" and a dramatic poem, but is best remembered by his
stirring songs and lays, which breathe much of the old minstrel spirit.]

UNCONQUERABLE, UNREPOSED, UNTIRED."-POLLOK.

"HATH NOT EXPERIENCE BADE THE WISE MAN SEE POOR HOPE FROM INNOVATIONS PREMATURE ?"-SOUTHEY.

The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Its glossy leaves,

Ordered by an Intelligence so wise,

As might confound the atheist's sophistries.

Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen

Wrinkled and keen :

No grazing cattle through their prickly round

Can reach to wound;

But, as they grow where nothing is to fear,
Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear.

I love to view these things with curious eyes,

And moralize;

And, in this wisdom of the Holly-tree,

Can emblems see,

Wherewith perchance to make a pleasant rhyme-
One which may profit in the after-time.

Thus, though abroad perchance I might appear
Harsh and austere ;

To those who on my leisure would intrude,
Reserved and rude:

Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be,
Like the high leaves upon the Holly-tree.

And should my youth-as youth is apt, I know—

Some harshness show,

All vain asperities I day by day
Would wear away,

LIKE HUMBLE VIRTUE, RATHER FELT THAN SEEN."-SOUTHEY.

"ALL SUDDEN CHANGE IS ILL SLOW GROWS THE TREE WHICH IN ITS STRENGTH THROUGH AGES SHALL ENDURE."-SOUTHEY.

"THE GRAVE'S THE HOUSE OF HOPE; IT IS THE HAVEN WHITHER WE ARE BOUND."-SOUTHEY.

THY PATH IS PLAIN AND STRAIGHT; THAT LIGHT IS GIVEN

BISHOP BRUNO.

Till the smooth temper of my age should be
Like the high leaves upon the Holly-tree.

And as, when all the summer trees are seen
So bright and green,

The Holly leaves a sober hue display

Less bright than they ;

But when the bare and wintry woods we see,
What then so cheerful as the Holly tree?—

So serious should my youth appear among

The thoughtless throng;

So would I seem among the young and gay,

More grave than they;

That in my age as cheerful I might be

As the green winter of the Holly-tree.

185

[Robert SouthEY, poet-laureate, author of "Madoc,” “ Joan of Arc," "Thalaba," "The Curse of Kehama," and numerous works in prose and poetry, born 1774, died 1843.]

"SOW, IF THOU WOULDST REAP; THEN, AFTER HONEST LABOUR, WELCOME REST."-SOUTHEY.

B

BISHOP BRUNO.*

ISHOP BRUNO awoke in the dead midnight,
And he heard his heart beat loud with affright:
He dreamt he had rung the Palace-bell,

And the sound it gave was his passing knell.

* "Bishop Bruno, the Bishop of Herbipolitanum, sailing in the river of Danube with Henry the Third, then emperor, being not far from a place which the Germans call Bon Strudel, or the Devouring Gulf, which is near unto Grinon, a castle in Austria, a spirit was heard clamouring aloud, 'Ho, ho, Bishop Bruno, whither art thou travelling? But dispose of thyself how thou pleasest, thou shalt be my prey and spoil.' At the hearing of these words they were all stupefied, and the bishop, with the rest, crost and blest themselves. The issue was, that within a short time after, the bishop, feasting with the emperor in a castle belonging to the Countess of Esburch,

ONWARD IN FAITH, AND LEAVE THE REST TO HEAVEN."-SOUTHEY.

"LIFE'S VAIN DELUSIONS ARE GONE BY, ITS IDLE HOPES are o'er ;"-ROBERT SOUTHEY)

186

66 SAFE FROM THAT PRIDE of IGNORANCE WERE THEY,—

BISHOP BRUNO.

Bishop Bruno smiled at his fears so vain ;

He turned to sleep, and he dreamt again :
He rang at the Palace-gate once more,

And Death was the porter that opened the door.

He started up at the fearful dream,

And he heard at his window the screech-owl scream :
Bishop Bruno slept no more that night,—
Oh, glad was he when he saw the daylight!

Now he goes forth in proud array,
For he with the Emperor dines to-day;
There was not a baron in Germany
That went with a nobler train than he.

Before and behind his soldiers ride;

The people thronged to see their pride;
They bowed the head, and the knee they bent,
But nobody blessed him as he went.

So he went on, stately and proud,

When he heard a voice that cried aloud-
"Ho! ho! Bishop Bruno! you travel with glee,
But I would have you know you travel to me!"

Behind and before, and on either side,
He looked, but nobody he espied;
And the Bishop at that grew cold with fear,
For he heard the words distinct and clear.

And when he rang at the Palace-bell,
He almost expected to hear his knell ;

a rafter fell from the roof of the chamber wherein they sate, and struck
him dead at the table.”—Thomas Heywood's “Hierarchy of the Blessed
Angels."

THAT WITH SMALL KNOWLEDGE THINKS ITSELF FULL WISE."-SOUTHEY,

"YET AGE REMEMBERS WITH A SIGH THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE."-ROBERT SOUTHEY.