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And his hand forbore to smite the ore,

And his furnace smouldered low.
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,

And a bright courageous eye,
And bared his strong right arm for work,

While the quick flames mounted high.
And he sang—'Hurra for my handicraft !'

And the red sparks lit the air; Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made,'

And he fashioned the first ploughshare.

And men, taught wisdom from the past,

In friendship joined their hands, Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,

And ploughed the willing lands;
And sang— Hurra for Tubal Cain!

Our stanch good friend is he;
And for the ploughshare and the plough

To him our praise shall be.
But while oppression lifts its head,

Or a tyrant would be lord,
Though we may thank him for the Plough,
We'll not forget the Sword !

C. Mackay


QUA CURSUM VENTUS As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay

With canvas drooping, side by side, Two towers of sail at dawn of day

Are scarce long leagues apart descried;

When fell the night, upsprung the breeze,

And all the darkling hours they plied, Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas

By each was cleaving, side by side:

E’en so—but why the tale reveal

Of those, whom year by year unchanged, Brief absence joined anew to feel,

Astounded, soul from soul estranged? At dead of night their sails were filled,

And onward each rejoicing steeredAh, neither blame, for neither willed,

Or wist, what first with dawn appeared !

To veer, how vain! On, onward strain,

Brave barks! In light, in darkness too, Through winds and tides one compass guides

To that, and your own selves, be true. But O blithe breeze! and O great seas,

Though ne'er, that earliest parting past, On your wide plain they join again,

Together lead them home at last.

One port, methought, alike they sought

One purpose hold where'er they fare,-
O bounding breeze, O rushing seas!
At last, at last, unite them there!

A. H. Clough


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.
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.

A.'H. Clough



Longum illud tempus, quum non ero, magis me
movet, quam hoc exiguum.—CICERO, ad Att. xii.
O may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence: live
In pulses stirred to nero
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge man's search
To vaster issues.

So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing as beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child
Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved;
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Die in the large and charitable air.
And all our rarer, better, truer self,
That sobbed religiously in yearning song,
That watched to ease the burthen of the world,

Laboriously tracing what must be,
And what may yet be better-saw within
A worthier image for the sanctuary,
And shaped it forth before the multitude
Divinely human, raising worship so
To higher reverence more mixed with love-
That better self shall live till human Time
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb
Unread for ever.

This is life to come,
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow. May I reach
That purest heaven, be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty-
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense.
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.

George Eliot


Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;

Oh the pleasant sight to see
Shires and towns from Airly Beacon,

While my love climbed up to me!
Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;

Oh the happy hours we lay
Deep in fern on Airly Beacon,

Courting through the summer's day!
Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;

Oh the weary haunt for me,
All alone on Airly Beacon,
With his baby on my knee !

C. Kingsley



'O Mary, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home
Across the sands of Dee';
The western wind was wild and dank with foam,

And all alone went she.

The western tide crept up along the sand,

And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see.
The rolling mist came down and hid the land :

And never home came she.

‘Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair

A tress of golden hair,

A drowned maiden's hair
Above the nets at sea ?
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair

Among the stakes on Dee.'

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel crawling foam,

The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea : But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee.

C. Kingsley

When all the world is young, lad,

And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,

And every lass a queen;

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