On ocean and earth I'm a goodly thing, Of triumph and fear, of sorrow and joy; And am linked to childhood's darling toy: Then scatter me wide, and hackle me well, And a varied tale shall the hempseed tell. Charles Kingsley. SONG OF THE RIVER. LEAR and cool, clear and cool, By laughing shallow and dreaming pool; By shining shingle, and foaming wear; And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings, Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. Dank and foul, dank and foul, By the smoke-grimed town in its murky cowl; By wharf and sewer and slimy bank; Darker and darker the further I go, Baser and baser the richer I grow; Who dare sport with the sin-defiled? Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child. Strong and free, strong and free, Cleansing my streams as I hurry along Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again. Undefiled, for the undefiled, Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. Alexander Smith. A SONG (FROM A LIFE-Drama). N Winter, when the dismal rain IN Came down in slanting lines, And Wind, that grand old harper, smote His thunder-harp of pines, A Poet sat in his antique room, His lamp the valley kinged, 'Neath dry crusts of dead tongues he found When violets came and woods were green, A Love alit and white did sit, From his heart he unclasped his love Amid the trembling trees, And sent it to the Lady Blanche On winged poesies. The Lady Blanche was saintly fair, Her father's veins ran noble blood, The peasants thanked her with their tears, "This is a joy," the Lady said, "Saints cannot taste in Heaven!" They met the Poet told his love, He passed away—a fierce song leapt He poured his frenzy forth in song,— Bright heir of tears and praises! Now resteth that unquiet heart Beneath the quiet daisies. The world is old,-Oh! very old, The wild winds weep and rave; Jean Ingelow. THE BRIDES OF ENDERBY; OR, THE HIGH TIDE. HE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, TH The ringers ran by two, by three; "Pull, if ye never pulled before; 66 Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. 'Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells! Ply all your changes, all your swells, Play uppe The Brides of Enderby.'" Men say it was a stolen tyde— The Lord that sent it, He knows all; But in myne ears doth still abide The message that the bells let fall: By millions crouched on the old sea wall. I sat and spun within the doore, My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; Lay sinking in the barren skies; And dark against day's golden heath "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away "Cusha! Cusha!" all along; Where the reedy Lindis floweth, From the meads where melick groweth, "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot; Hollow, hollow; Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, Jetty, to the milking shed." If it be long, aye, long ago, When I beginne to think howe long, Againe I hear the Lindis flow, Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong; And all the aire it seemeth mee |