276

WINSTANLEY.

It ceased; and the red sun reared his head
And the rolling fog did flee;

And, lo! in the offing faint and far
Winstanley's house at sea!

In fair weather with mirth and cheer
The stately tower uprose;

In foul weather with hunger and cold
They were content to close;

Till up the stair Winstanley went,
To fire the wick afar;

And Plymouth in the silent night
Looked out and saw her star.

Winstanley set his foot ashore;
Said he, "My work is done;
I hold it strong to last as long
As aught beneath the sun.

"But if it fail, as fail it may,

Borne down with ruin and rout,
Another than I shall rear it high,
And brace the girders stout.

"A better than I shall rear it high,
For now the way is plain;

And though I were dead," Winstanley said,
"The light would shine again.

"Yet were I fain still to remain,
Watch in my tower to keep,

And tend my light in the stormiest night
That ever did move the deep;

"And if it stood, why then 'twere good,

Amid their tremulous stirs,

To count each stroke when the mad waves broke,

For cheers of mariners.

"But if it fell, then this were well,

That I should with it fall;

Since, for my part, I have built

In the courses of its wall.

my heart

"Ay! I were fain, long to remain,
Watch in my tower to keep,

And tend my light in the stormiest night
That ever did move the deep."

With that Winstanley went his way,
And left the rock renowned,
And summer and winter his pilot star
Hung bright o'er Plymouth Sound.

But it fell out, fell out at last,

That he would put to sea,

To scan once more his light-house tower
On the rock o' destiny.

278

WINSTANLEY.

And the winds broke, and the storm broke,
And wrecks came plunging in ;

None in the town that night lay down
Or sleep or rest to win.

The great mad waves were rolling graves,
And each flung up its dead;

The seething flow was white below,
And black the sky o'erhead.

And when the dawn, the dull, gray dawn,
Broke on the trembling town,

And men looked south to the harbor mouth,
The light-house tower was down.

Down in the deep where he doth sleep,

Who made it shine afar,

And then in the night that drowned its light,
Set, with his pilot star.

Many fair tombs in the glorious glooms

At Westminster they show;

The brave and the great lie there in state;
Winstanley lieth low.

JEAN INGELOW.

THE DEATH OF NELSON.

'Twas in Trafalgar's bay
We saw the Frenchmen lay;

Each heart was bounding then.

We scorned the foreign yoke,
Our ships were British oak,

And hearts of oak our men.

Our Nelson marked them on the wave,
Three cheers our gallant seamen gave,
Nor thought of home and beauty.

Along the line this signal ran,-
"England expects that every man
This day will do his duty."

And now the cannons roar
Along the affrighted shore;

Brave Nelson led the way:
His ship the Victory named;
Long be that victory famed!

For victory crowned the day.