- The warrior, and the warrior's deeds- He looked on ocean, its broad breast On earth and saw, from east to west, His bannered millions meet : While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast, He heard the imperial echoes ring, I saw him next alone :-nor camp, He, who with heaven contended, Fled like a fugitive and slave! Behind the foe ;- before the wave: Alone, and in despair! But wave and wind swept ruthless on, For they were monarchs there; And Xerxes, in a single barque, Where late his thousand ships were dark, Must all their fury dare: What a revenge a trophy, this For thee, immortal Salamis ! THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree, MISS JEWSBURY And the muscles of his brawny arms His hair is crisp, and black, and long; His brow is wet with honest sweat; And looks the whole world in the face, Week out, week in, from morn till night, And children, coming home from school, They love to see a flaming forge, And catch the burning sparks, that fly He goes, on Sunday, to the church, He hears the parson pray and preach, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard rough hand he wipes A tear from out his eyes. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes: Each morning sees some task begin, Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, Our fortunes must be wrought; LONG FELLOW THE LAST DAYS OF HERCULANEUM. THERE was a man, A Roman soldier, for some daring deed He had a son: it was a rosy boy, A little faithful copy of his sire In face and gesture. From infancy the child Had been his father's solace and his care. With earliest morn, Of that first day of darkness and amaze, Like the sad moanings of November's wind then strove In the blank midnight. Deepest horror chilled Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk, As though he heard the battle trumpet sound, A troubled, dreamy sleep. He slept at last, ATHERSTONI THE PRISONER IN HERCULANEUM. LOUDLY the father called upon his child: No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously He searched their couch of straw: with headlong haste Groped darkling on the earth; no child was there. Of his accursed fetters, till the blood Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes Yet still renewed: - still round and round he goes, and with dreadful cries Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now: He plants against the wall his feet; — his chain The deep-driven staple :- yells and shrieks with rage. Raging to break his toils, to and fro bounds. But see! the ground is opening: -a blue light Mounts, gently waving, noiseless-thin and cold It seems, and like a rainbow tint, notgflame; But by its luster, on the earth outstretched, - The thunders bellow, but he hears them not: Be given, 't were still a sweeter thing to die. - It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground, And pangless. And death came soon, and swift, The huge pile sunk down at once Into the opening earth. Walls, arches, roof, And deep foundation-stones, all mingling fell! :- ATHERSTONE THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. O'ER a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er, "And what is death? I've dared him oft before the paynim spear; Think ye he 's entered at my gate - has come to seek me here? I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot; I'll try his might -- I'll brave his power; defy, and fear him not |