It swept with thunderous noises loud; And rearing Lindis backward pressed Flung uppe her weltering walls again Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout- So farre, so fast the eygre drave, The heart had hardly time to beat Before a shallow seething wave Sobbed in the grasses at our feet: The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea. Upon the roofe we sate that night, The noise of bells went sweeping by; I marked the lofty beacon light Stream from the church tower, red and high A lurid mark and dread to see; And awesome bells they were to mee, That in the dark rang "Enderby." They rang the sailor lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed; And I-my sonne was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glowed; And yet he moaned beneath his breath, And didst thou visit him no more? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare; The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear. Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, To manye more than myne and mee: I shall never hear her more Goeth, floweth ; From the meads where melick groweth, When the water, winding down, Onward floweth to the town. I shall never see her more Where the reeds and rushes quiver, Stand beside the sobbing river Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Hollow, hollow; Come uppe, Lightfoot, rise and follow; Lightfoot, Whitefoot, From your clovers lift the head: Come uppe, Jetty, follow, follow, Jetty, to the milking shed."-Jean Ingelow. THE BELL OF ZANORA. THE ruddy sun was setting behind the Murchian hills, The fields were warmed to splendor and golden flowed the rills. Across the little valley, where lay the Spanish town, The dying sun's last blessing, a glory, floated down. Amid the fields the peasants led in the grazing kine, And faintly came a tinkling as trudged the peaceful line. Upon the height the convent, a ruin old and gray, Towered upward, and its shadow across the valley lay. Before that ancient ruin, prone on the scented grass, A boy of fifteen summers watched day's bright glory pass: The lad was there on duty and oft about him scanned. Zanora feared the coming of robber Gomez's band; Of Gomez, fierce and heartless, the terror of the vale, Whose name made women shudder and bravest men grow pale. Unto the town a rumor that Gomez fierce would come And sack the peaceful hamlet made stoutest hearts all dumb. The peasants cleaned their firelocks, the women watched and prayed That the band of robber Gomez upon its path be stayed. Yet time wore on, and scathless still stood the little town, But from its ancient convent a watcher still looked down. For clear from 'neath its portals each roadway might be scanned, And there from morn till night they watched for Gomez's band. I shall never see her more Where the reeds and rushes quiver, Stand beside the sobbing river Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Hollow, hollow; Come uppe, Lightfoot, rise and follow; Lightfoot, Whitefoot, From your clovers lift the head: Come uppe, Jetty, follow, follow, Jetty, to the milking shed."-Jean Ingelow. THE BELL OF ZANORA. THE ruddy sun was setting behind the Murchian hills, The fields were warmed to splendor and golden flowed the rills. Across the little valley, where lay the Spanish town, The dying sun's last blessing, a glory, floated down. Amid the fields the peasants led in the grazing kine, And faintly came a tinkling as trudged the peaceful line. |