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And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the
bells, As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon
swells. Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies
down! So stalked he when he turned to fight, on that famed
Picard field, Bohemia's plume, Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle
shield : So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to
bay, And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely
hunter lay. Ho! strike the flag-staff deep, sir knight ! ho ! scatter
flowers, fair maids ! Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute ! ho ! gallants, draw
your blades !
Thou sun, shine on her joyously-ye breezes, waft her
wide! Our glorious semper eadem—the banner of our pride! The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's
massy fold, The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty
scroll of gold; Night sank upon that dusky beach, and on the purple
Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again
shall be. From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to
Milford Bay, That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the
For swift to east and swift to west the warning radiance
spread : High on Saint Michael's Mount it shone—it shone on
Far on the deep the Spaniards saw, along each southern
shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling
points of fire ; The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering
waves, The rugged miners pouted to war from Mendip's sun
less caves : O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranborne's oaks, the
fiery herald flewHe roused the shepherds of Stonehenge—the rangers
of Beaulieu. Right sharp and quick the bells rang out, all night, from
Bristol town; And, ere the day, three hundred horse had met on
Clifton Down. The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the
night. And saw, o'erhanging Richmond Hill, that streak of
blood-red light. The bugle's note, and cannon's roar, the deathlike
silence broke, And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city
woke; At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling
spires ; From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the
voice of fear, And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a
louder cheer : And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of
hurrying feet, And the broad streams of flags and pikes dashed down
each rousing street : And broader still became the blaze, and louder still
As fast from every village round the horse came spur
ring in; And eastward straight, for wild Blackheath, the warlike
errand went ; And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires
of Kent : Southward, for Surrey's pleasant hills, flew those bright
coursers forth; High on black Hampstead's swarthy moor, they started
for the north; And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded
All night from tower to tower they sprang, all night
from hill to hill; Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Derwent'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 streamed 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 town and hamlet rose in arms, o'er all the bound
less plain : Till Belvoir's lordly towers the sign to Lincoln sent, And Lincoln sped the message on, o'er the wide vale
of Trent; Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's em
battled pile, And the red glare of Skiddaw roused the burghers of
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. AN American poet, born at Portland, in Maine, in the year 1807, and still living.
Longfellow's chief works are :-Voices of the Night; Evangeline ; The Golden Legend ; Hiawatha ; The Courtship of Miles Standish ; By the Fireside, etc.
A PSALM OF LIFE.
Life is but an empty dream !
And things are not what they seem.
And the grave is not its goal;
Was not spoken of the soul.
Is our destined end or way ;,
Finds us farther than to-day.
In the bivouac of Life,
Be a hero in the strife !
Let the dead past bury its dead !
Heart within, and God o'erhead !
We can make our lives sublime,
Footprints on the sands of time;
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait.
Voices of the Night.
The shades of night were falling fast,