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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 day;

For swift to east and swift to west the warning radiance spread :

High on Saint Michael's Mount it shone-it shone on Beachy Head.

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


The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves:

O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranborne's oaks, the fiery herald flew

He 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 fires;

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

the din,

As fast from every village round the horse came spurring 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 still;

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 boundless 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 embattled pile,

And the red glare of Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.


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.


TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest !

And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-day.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant !

Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living present!

Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us,

Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
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,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore 'mid snow and ice,
A banner, with the strange device,

His brow was sad; his eye beneath
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath;
And like a silver clarion rung

The accents of that unknown tongue,

In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,

"Try not the Pass," the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!" And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior!

"Oh stay!" the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,

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