THE WATERFOWL. There is a Power, whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fann'd At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere; And soon that toil shall end, Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven He, who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone Will lead my steps aright. BRYANT. 7 YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. I. YE mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe! And sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. Shall start from every wave; For the deck it was their field of fame, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow ; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. III. Britannia needs no bulwark No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, When the stormy winds do blow ; IV. The meteor-flag of England 'Till danger's troubled night depart, To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow ; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow. CAMPBELL. 9 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, We buried him darkly at dead of night, No useless coffin confined his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, We thought as we hollow'd his narrow bed, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, LINES WRITTEN IN A CHURCHYARD. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring; Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory. WOLFE. 11 LINES WRITTEN IN THE CHURCHYARD OF "It is good for us to be here: if thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles; one for thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias."Matt. xvii. 4. METHINKS it is good to be here: If thou wilt, let us build-but for whom? Nor ELIAS nor MOSES appear, But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, The abode of the dead, and the place of the tomb. |