And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet, And the broad streams of pikes and flags rush'd down each roaring street; And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in : And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went, And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent. Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north; And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still; All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill : Till the proud Peak unfurl'd the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales, Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales, Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height, Till stream'd in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light, Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane, And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the bound less plain; Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent; Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burn'd on Gaunt's embattled pile, And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle. THOMAS KIBBLE HERVEY. Born, 1804; Died, 1859. THE CONVICT-SHIP. MORN on the waters !—and, purple and bright, Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail, And her pennon streams onward, like Hope, in the gale. The winds come around her, in murmur and song, Bright as the visions of youth ere they part, Night on the waves !-and the moon is on high, Hung, like a gem, on the brow of the sky; Treading its depths in the power of her might, And turning the clouds as they pass her to light! Look to the waters !-asleep on their breast, Seems not the ship like an island of rest ? Bright and alone on the shadowy main, Like a heart-cherish'd home on plain ! some desolate Who-as she smiles in the silvery light, "Tis thus with our life, while it passes along, Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song! Gaily we glide in the gaze of the world, With streamers afloat, and with canvas unfurl'd; Yet charter'd by sorrow, and freighted with sighs!— As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears; And the withering thoughts which the world cannot know, Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below; While the vessel drives on to that desolate shore Where the dreams of our childhood are vanish'd and o'er ! WILLIAM MACLARDIE BUNTING. Born, 1805; Died, 1866. THAT I, who could have died to give Was doom'd, in wisdom doom'd, to live, And thy last struggle see! That I have nursed thee for another Corruption-to call son, And for the worm, thy monster-mother, -That I, who, day and night, before, Beside thy cradle sang, Must change thy bed so soon, and o'er Thy little coffin hang! These arms, till late thy couch, must make Thy fun'ral canopy: I hush'd thee then, nor let thee wake; Now, could I waken thee! —That thou, whom Spring had laugh'd to find Dancing o'er yon green graves, Must lie below, and stay behind, Where the dead herbage waves! * Occasioned by the death of a lovely boy, the son of the Rev. Thomas Galland. And that amidst the freshen'd bloom, -That thou, whom well I loved, my boy, And all I was confess me! And when thy father's children meet, These, these are thoughts for many a tear, Truth to my heart hath taught; That thou art gone to heaven, without Too young to sin,-nor can I doubt, My own-born cherubim, A spotless dove, I long have owed In sacrifice to Him! -That thou art free from death and pain, And full of life and joy ; That these will never fail again, And those no more annoy; |