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Then he and the sea began their strife,
And worked with power and might:
Whatever the man reared up by day
The sea broke down by night.

He wrought at ebb with bar and beam,
He sailed to shore at flow;
And at his side, by that same tide,
Came bar and beam alsó.

"Give in, give in," the old Mayor cried,

"Or thou wilt rue the day." "Yonder he goes," the townsfolk sighed,

But the rock will have its way.

"For all his looks that are so stout, And his speeches brave and fair, He may wait on the wind, wait on the wave,

But he'll build no lighthouse there."

In fine weather and foul weather
The rock his arts did flout,
Through the long days and the short
days,

Till all that year ran out.

With fine weather and foul weather Another year came in;

"To take his wage," the workmen said,

"We almost count a sin."

Now March was gone, came April in,
And a sea-fog settled down,
And forth sailed he on a glassy sea,
He sailed from Plymouth town.

With men and stores he put to sea,
As he was wont to do:
They showed in the fog like ghosts
full faint, -

A ghostly craft and crew.

And the sea-fog lay and waxed alway, For a long eight days and more; "God help our men," quoth the women then;

"For they bide long from shore."

They paced the Hoe in doubt and dread:

"Where may our mariners be?" But the brooding fog lay soft as down Over the quiet sea.

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And then in the night that drowned its light,

Set, with his pilot star.

Many fair tombs in the glorious glooms

At Westminster they show; The brave and the great lie there in

state:

Winstanley lieth low.

JEAN INGELOW.

FIDELITY.

A BARKING sound the shepherd hears,

A cry as of a dog or fox;

He halts, and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks:
And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
And instantly a dog is seen
Glancing from that covert green.

The dog is not of mountain breed;
Its motions, too, are wild and shy;
With something, as the shepherd
thinks,

Unusual in its cry:

Nor is there any one in sight

All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear: What is the creature doing here?

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Not free from boding thoughts, a while

The shepherd stood; then makes hi way

Towards the dog, o'er rocks and stones,

As quickly as he may;

Nor far had gone before he found A human skeleton on the ground; The appalled discoverer with a sigh Looks round, to learn the history. From those abrupt and perilous rocks The man had fallen, that place of fear!

At length upon the shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear:

He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came;
Remembered, too, the very day

On which the traveller passed this

way.

But hear a wonder, for whose sake
This lamentable tale I tell!
A lasting monument of words
This wonder merits well.

The dog, which still was hovering nigh,

Repeating the same timid cry, This dog had been through three months' space

A dweller in that savage place.

Yes, proof was plain that since the day

On which the traveller thus had died The dog had watched about the spot, Or by his master's side:

How nourished here through such long time

He knows, who gave that love sublime,

And gave that strength of feeling, great

Above all human estimate.

WORDSWORTH.

HELVELLYN.

I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,

Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide;

All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling,

And starting around me the echoes replied.

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