With one more gaze, Old Cliff, at thee; I, too, will seek my Home, and rest,— As wearied birds, their sheltered nest,— The Cliff here referred to is that at the east end of Oddicombe Beach, Babbacombe, where I have often spent many a happy hour, both as a boy and as a man. THE SWALLOW. HAIL, beautiful Herald of Spring! With joy I behold thee again, And list to the charm of thy song. When Youth with curls entwined my face, With boyish glee I lov'd to trace Now flitting like a silver flash, With breast of white display'd; Anon, a quick, a sudden dash, A darker hue betray'd. Now lost to view in mazy dance, Then swift returning, as a glance While thus about in airy ring Upon your swift, untiring wing, While ye each other quickly chase Then skimming o'er the meadows green, Or else beneath the ivied bridge, All through the arches, and the ridge, There thou the Fisher dost beguile, He sees thee brightly skim awhile, Where cattle love to drink. Or glancing with a sportive wheel Of merry insect tribes, who sing Then, too, the Schoolboy wond'ringly Of curious, cunning masonry Hang 'neath the eaves at rest. Thus Youth and Age are pleas'd with thee, Bird of the wand'ring wing, That comes to us so reg❜larly Each fresh returning Spring. THE GOLDEN BAR. THE Golden Bar by Menavarre The Golden Bar by Menavarre Is wrapt in clouds of snowy spray; As billows hoarse roll on their course Throughout the stormy day. The Golden Bar by Menavarre Shouts with a thousand lions' roar ; When lightnings flash and thunders crash And storm-waves dash upon the shore. The Golden Bar by Menavarre Reposes, calm, serene, and free; When the little boat doth quietly float On the breast of the sleeping Sea. The Golden Bar bears up the spar The Golden Bar betokens war; When line on line the waves decline, All tinged with red, to their Ocean bed Like leaves in Autumn time. The Golden Bar reflects the Star When the Moon smiles on the deep; And tranquilly the sounding Sea Is rocked by gentle winds to sleep. The Golden Bar is heard afar When due Northwards blows the wind; And billows rude, a multitude, Their favourite playground find. O, Golden Bar! thy waters are A type of Death's great Mystery; Lies ever calm and peacefully. The original is a range of submerged rocks near the huge giant rock called Menavarre, to the north of the Island of Tresco, Scilly Isles, Cornwall. Here, during calm weather, the Fisher's boat may frequently be seen, for the place has many advantages preferred by pollack and other fish. In rough, stormy weather, however, the scene is completely changed; then, the stanchest Ship that ever sailed the Seas, or braved Old Ocean's gales, would, if caught upon the Bar, be but the plaything of the giant billows which roll onward in stately grandeur, line on line, towards it, and then with tremendous roar, heard for miles around, tumble over, and break into a leaping, tossing, seething, chaotic mass of white boiling waters. This may truly be considered one of the Sights of 'Scilly, and one that those who have seen it will always remember. THE SONG OF THE WATERS. ONE Eve beside the Village Brook I stood Whilst lovely hues of sunset fell Athwart its peaceful breast. |