All sheep and oxen, Yea, and the beasts of the field; The fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, And whatsoever pa.s.seth through the paths of the seas.
O Lord, our Lord, How excellent is thy name in all the earth!
--KING DAVID.
FIFTH YEAR
THE BUGLE SONG
The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
--ALFRED LORD TENNYSON.
THE BROOK
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.
Till last by Philip"s farm I flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.
I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles.
With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.
I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a l.u.s.ty trout, And here and there a grayling,
And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel,
And draw them all along, and flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.
I steal by lawns and gra.s.sy plots, I slide by hazel covers; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses;
And out again I curve and flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river, For men may come and men may go.
But I go on forever.
--ALFRED LORD TENNYSON.
HYMN TO DIANA
Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, G.o.ddess excellently bright.
Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia"s shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, G.o.ddess excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart s.p.a.ce to breathe, how short soever: Thou that mak"st a day of night, G.o.ddess excellently bright!
--BEN JONSON.
THE BURNING BABE
As I in h.o.a.ry winter"s night stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat, which made my heart to glow; And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near, A pretty babe, all burning bright, did in the air appear; Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed, As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed:-- "Alas!" quoth He, "but newly born, in fiery heats I fry, Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I!
"My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns; Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns; The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals, The metal in this furnace wrought are men"s defiled souls, For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to their good, So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood."-- With this He vanished out of sight, and swiftly shrunk away; And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas-day.
--ROBERT SOUTHWELL.
AT SEA
A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast And fills the white and rustling sail And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While like the eagle free Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee.
O for a soft and gentle wind!
I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high; And white waves heaving high, my lads, The good ship tight and free:-- The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we.
There"s tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud; But hark the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud; The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free-- While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.
--ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
WHERE LIES THE LAND?
Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
And where the land she travels from? Away, Far, far behind, is all that they can say.
On sunny noons upon the deck"s smooth face, Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace; Or, o"er the stern reclining, watch below The foaming wake far widening as we go.
On stormy nights when wild north-westers rave, How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave!
The dripping sailor on the reeling mast Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past.
Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.