What matter though a despot

Breaks down the despot's sway?
IIe does but do our work, boys,
And Hungary's debt we pay.
O were the Word but spoken
That now must whisper'd be,
The Word that, once more spoken,
Shall strike the bound earth free!

And we we scorn its teaching?
In freedom's cause allied

With crowns and thrones, with peoples
Dare we not, boys, to side?
No-let the Word be spoken,
Shall we not heed its call?
Shall we not strike for freedom?
With freedom stand or fall?
O were the Word but spoken
That whisper'd now must be,
The Word that, once more spoken,
Shall strike the bound earth free!

What, we who vaunt our freedom,
When slaves for freedom rise,
Shall we not help the nations

To win the rights we prize?
Shall not our hearts be with them?
Shall not our right arms be
With all who strike that day, boys,
Like us, boys, to be free?

O were the Word but spoken
That now must whisper'd be,
The Word that, once more spoken,
Shall strike the bound earth free!

GOD SPARE MY BOY AT SEA! How wild without is the moaning night! And the waves race in, how fierce and white! But white as the waves is she;

78

THE SEA-BOY'S DREAM.

To the window that looks to sea she steals,
And there, as she hears the thunder's peals,
And the lightning shows the sea,

How wild is that trembling mother's prayer!
"O Heaven, my child in mercy spare !

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"O God, where'er he be,

"O God! my God! in pity spare

"My boy to-night at sea!"

Hark! tossing and tumbling, white as snow,
How the billows roar on the rocks below!
But white as their foam is she;

And O how sick is that mother's heart!
How those cries to God from her poor lips start,
As she looks o'er the raging sea!
God in Thy mercy, hear her prayer!
O Heaven! her child in mercy spare!
O God! where'er he be,

For her poor sake, in pity spare
Her boy to-night at sea!

THE SEA-BOY'S DREAM.

Two years from home-five months from land-
How home-sick is the boy!

And by the ship's side how he'll stand

His home-thoughts to enjoy!

Down the clear sea his eyes may look,

To look they do but seem;
They see the home that he forsook
To live his child's sea-dream;

And oh, as there he leans apart,

How eyes look love into his heart!

Whose eyes? Whose eyes? And does it task

Your thought at once to guess?

Ah! whose the eyes his heart would ask
His sight the first to bless ?

The tears that to the boy's eyes steal,
His quick hand sweeps away;
But O his mother's clasp to feel!
To drink in all she'd say!

To hear her," Boy, no more we'll part !"
And feel her strain him to her heart!

THE CURFEW.

A WELCOME TO THE AUSTRIAN CONCORDAT.

YES, still that ancient cry

Our living ears affrights;
The curfew call swells high,

"Put out-put out your lights!"
Yes; even a single spark,

A rushlight now affrights

These friends of darkness; hark!
"Put out-put out your lights!"

All lights these priests condemn ;
To see we have no right;
Even twilight seems to them

Too bright for man's weak sight;
In gloom men dream and curse-
Even that their Pope affrights;
In light their dreams were worse;
"Put out-put out your lights!"

See; Austria's despot quakes
Before a gleam of thought;
Quick-quick-his sceptre shakes;
Some help must straight be bought;
Ah! Rome to this must see;

For thought Rome, too, affrights;
"Let the Concordat be!

"Put out-put out your lights!"

How France, lit up so long,

Has shock'd, O Rome, your sight!

Her lights are far too strong;
For her, let there be night.
Her despot, even a spark,

A single gleam, affrights;
For him they're crying, hark!
"Put out-put out your lights!"
Sardinia, see, has dared

Of late its eyes to use;
Spain, where so well they fared,

Their night would fain refuse;

Even Rome itself they find
Its holy father frights;
French bayonets Rome must blind;
"Put out-put out your lights!"

These friends of darkness well
May tremble for its reign;
Why Bibles, see, they'd sell
In Tuscany and Spain;
Auto-da-fés must be,

To set all this to rights;

Quick, Holy Office, see

To this! "Put out your lights !"

They're sighing for the blaze

Of Smithfield once again;

For Mary Tudor's days,

Dear monks, they'll sigh in vain ;

No more the times return

Of all their old delights,

To

gag, and rack, and burn;

"Put out-put out your lights!"

Thank God! we here can scoff
At this their priestly cry;
We laugh their Jesuits off,
And all their power defy.
For England Wiseman sighs-
To Rome the worst of sights;
But all in vain he cries,

"Put out-put out your lights!"

THE SLAVERS' WRECK.

A HINT TO CERTAIN EMPERORS.

Ho! godless madmen at the helm,
Ho! slavers on the deck,
Your bark the waves will overwhelm,
Your curst ship goes to wreck;
So let it be; ship sea on sea;

Right through the breakers go;
The rocks that wreck you will but free
Your prison'd slaves below.

God-doom'd, your onward course you shape
With all the skill you can;

His vengeance long you will not 'scape,
Foul fetterers of man!

Godless-accurst-right plain we see

You to destruction go;

Who cares? The rocks that wreck you free
Your prison'd slaves below.

Hark! madmen, through the thickening gloom

I hear the surf's deep roar ;

How fast, all reckless of your doom,

You drive towards the shore.

Ho! breakers left and right I see,

Ahead they're white as snow.

Who cares? The rocks that wreck you free

Your prison'd slaves below.

Ah! did you care my course to try,

You might at danger scoff;

Your bondsmen's help with freedom buy;

Quick! strike their fetters off!

But, while they're slaves, no help they'll be;
Too well, ere this, they know,

The rocks that wreck their masters, free
Their prison'd slaves below.

G