Sadly I turn, and look before, where yet The flood must pass, and I behold a mist Where swarm dissolving forms, the brood of Hope, Divinely fair, that rest on banks of flowers Or wander among rainbows, fading soon And reappearing, haply giving place To shapes of grisly aspect, such as Fear Molds from the idle air; where serpents lift The head to strike, and skeletons stretch forth The bony arm in menace. Further on A belt of darkness seems to bar the way, Long, low, and distant, where the Life that Is Touches the Life to Come. The Flood of Years Rolls toward it, near and nearer. It must pass That dismal barrier. What is there beyond? Hear what the wise and good have said. Beyond That belt of darkness still the years roll on The lives of infants and ingenuous youths, They bring old friends together; hands are clasped WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. THE OLD WATER-WHEEL. T lies beside the river, where its marge Once, slow revolving by the industrious mill, And flung a warm and sunny flush O, many a dream was in the ship An hour before her death; And sights of home with sighs disturbed The sleeper's long-drawn breath. He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll, JOHN WILSON (Christopher North). THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS. ING FRANCIS was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport, And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court; The nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in their pride, And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed: De Lorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous, lively dame, With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which alway seemed the same; She thought, "The count, my lover, is brave as brave can be; He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me; And truly 't was a gallant thing to see that crowning King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is show, Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below. Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws; With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another; Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunder ous smother; The bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air; Said Francis, then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there." divine; I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine." She dropped her glove to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled; He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild: The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place, Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face. "By Heaven!" said Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat: "No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that." LEIGH HUNT. T THE BRIDES OF ENDERBY; OR, THE HIGH TIDE. (1571.) HE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. "Play uppe, play uppe, O, Boston bells! Play all your changes, all your swells, Play uppe 'The Brides of Enderby.'" Men say it was a stolen tyde The Lord that sent it, He knows all; But in myne ears doth stili abide The message that the bells let fall: And there was naught of strange beside The flight of mews and peewits pied By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. I sat and spun within my doore, My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; The level sun, like ruddy ore, Lay sinking in the barren skies, And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth, My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away, I heard her song. "Cusha! Cusha!" all along; Where the reedy Lindis floweth, Floweth, floweth, From the fields where melick groweth Faintly came her milking song "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Quit your cowslips yellow; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow; Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, From the clovers lift your head; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, If it be long, ay, long ago, When I begin to think how long, Againe I hear the Lindis flow, Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong; And all the aire, it seemeth mee, Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), That ring the tune of Enderby. Alle fresh the level pasture lay, And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where full fyve good miles away The steeple towered from out the greene; And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide. The swanherds where there sedges are Then some looked uppe into the sky, To where the goodly vessels lie, And where the lordly steeple shows, They sayde, "And why should this thing be? What danger lowers by land or sea? They ring the tune of Enderby! "For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of pyrate galleys warping down; For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, They have not spared to wake the towne; But while the west bin red to see, And storms be none, and pyrates flee, Why ring The brides of Enderby?" I looked without, and lo! my sonne Came riding down with might and main: He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife Elizabeth.) “The old sea wall (he cried) is downe, The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne Go sailing uppe the market-place." He shook as one that looks on death: "God save you mother!" strait he saith, “Where is my wife, Elizabeth?” "Good sonne, where Lindis winds away, With her two bairns, I marked her long; And ere yon bells beganne to play Afar I heard her milking song. He looked across the grassy lea. |