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Three corpses lay out on the shining sands

In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands

For those who will never come home to the town; For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner 'tis over, the sooner to sleep,

And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command,

Arose from out the azúre main,
This was the charter of the land,

And guardian angels sung the strain :
Rule, Britannia, Britannia rules the waves !

Britons never shall be slaves.

The nations not so blest as thee

Must in their turn to tyrants fall,
Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free,

The dread and envy of them all.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,

More dreadful from each foreign stroke ;
As the loud blast that tears the skies,

Serves but to root thy native oak.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;

All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy generous flame,

And work their woe and thy renown.

To thee belongs the rural reign;

Thy cities shall with commerce shine ;
All shall be subject to the main,

And every shore it circles thine.

The muses, still with freedom found,

Shall to thy happy coast repair;
Blest isle, with matchless beauty crowned,

And manly hearts to guard the fair.
Rule, Britannia, Britannia rules the waves !

Britons never shall be slaves.


So work the honey bees; Creatures, that by a rule in nature, teach The art of order to a peopled Kingdom. They have a King, and officers of sorts; Where some, like magistrates, correct at home; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage, they with merry march bring home To the tent royal of their emperor, Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing mason building roofs of gold ; The civil citizens kneading up the honey ; The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate; The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o’er to executors pale The lazy, yawning drone.


SWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave

Let me once know.
I sought thee in a secret cave,

And asked if Peace were there.
A hollow wind did seem to answer, “No;

Go seek elsewhere."

I did ; and, going, did a rainbow note :

“ Surely," thought I, “ This is the lace of Peace's coat :

I will search out the matter.” But, while I looked, the clouds immediately

Did break and scatter.

Then went I to a garden, and did spy

A gallant flower,-
The crown imperial. “ Sure," said I,

“Peace at the root must dwell.”
But, when I digged, I saw a worm devour

What showed so well.

At length I met a reverend, good old man,

Whom, when for Peace
I did demand, he thus began :-

“ There was a Prince of old At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase

Of flock and fold.

“ He sweetly lived ; yet sweetness did not save

His life from foes.
But, after death, out of his grave

There sprang twelve stalks of wheat,
Which, many wondering at, got some of those

To plant and set.

“ It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse

Through all the earth ;
For they that taste it do rehearse

That virtue lies therein,
A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth

By flight of sin.

“Take of this grain which in my garden grows,

And grows for you.
Make bread of it ; and that repose

And peace, which everywhere
With so much earnestness you do pursue,

Is only there."

THE BROOK.- Tennyson.

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 How

To join the brimming river,
For men may come, and men may go,

But I go on for ever,

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 bank 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 brimming river,
For men may come, and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out,

With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty 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 brimming river,
For men may come, and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

I steal by lawns and grassy 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 brimming river, For men may come, and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

CASA BIANCA.Mrs. Hemans,

The boy stood on the burning deck,

Whence all but he had fed;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck

Shone round him o'er the dead.

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