At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires; At once the loud 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 furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet, And the broad streams of flags and pikes rushed down each roaring 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, from wild Blackheath, the warlike errant went, And raised in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.

Southward, from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth; High on bleak 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; they sprang from hill to hill, Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin'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 tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain; Till Belvoir's lordly terraces 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.

_Lord Macaulay_

XLII

_THE TAR FOR ALL WEATHERS_

I sail'd from the Downs in the _Nancy_, My jib how she smack'd through the breeze!

She's a vessel as tight to my fancy As ever sail'd on the salt seas.

So adieu to the white cliffs of Britain, Our girls and our dear native sh.o.r.e!

For if some hard rock we should split on, We shall never see them any more.

But sailors were born for all weathers, Great guns let it blow, high or low, Our duty keeps us to our tethers, And where the gale drives we must go.

When we entered the Straits of Gibraltar I verily thought she'd have sunk, For the wind began so for to alter, She yaw'd just as tho' she was drunk.

The squall tore the mainsail to shivers, Helm a-weather, the hoa.r.s.e boatswain cries; Brace the foresail athwart, see she quivers, As through the rough tempest she flies.

But sailors were born for all weathers, Great guns let it blow, high or low, Our duty keeps us to our tethers, And where the gale drives we must go.

The storm came on thicker and faster, As black just as pitch was the sky, When truly a doleful disaster Befel three poor sailors and I.

Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and d.i.c.k Handsail, By a blast that came furious and hard, Just while we were furling the mainsail, Were every soul swept from the yard.

But sailors were born for all weathers, Great guns let it blow, high or low, Our duty keeps us to our tethers, And where the gale drives we must go.

Poor Ben, Sam, and d.i.c.k cried peccavi, As for I, at the risk of my neck, While they sank down in peace to old Davy, Caught a rope, and so landed on deck.

Well, what would you have? We were stranded, And out of a fine jolly crew Of three hundred that sail'd, never landed But I, and I think, twenty-two.

But sailors were born for all weathers, Great guns let it blow, high or low, Our duty keeps us to our tethers, And where the gale drives we must go.

_C. Dibdin_

XLIII

_THE FISHERMAN_

A perilous life, and sad as life may be, Hath the lone fisher, on the lonely sea, O'er the wild waters labouring far from home, For some bleak pittance e'er compelled to roam: Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life, And none to aid him in the stormy strife: Companion of the sea and silent air, The lonely fisher thus must ever fare: Without the comfort, hope,--with scarce a friend, He looks through life and only sees its end!

_B. Cornwall_

XLIV

_THE SAILOR_

Thou that hast a daughter For one to woo and wed, Give her to a husband With snow upon his head: Oh, give her to an old man, Though little joy it be, Before the best young sailor That sails upon the sea!

How luckless is the sailor When sick and like to die, He sees no tender mother, No sweetheart standing by.

Only the captain speaks to him,-- Stand up, stand up, young man, And steer the ship to haven, As none beside thee can.

Thou sayst to me, 'Stand, stand up;'

I say to thee, take hold, Lift me a little from the deck, My hands and feet are cold.

And let my head, I pray thee, With handkerchiefs be bound: There, take my love's gold handkerchief, And tie it tightly round.

Now bring the chart, the doleful chart; See where these mountains meet-- The clouds are thick around their head, The mists around their feet: Cast anchor here; 'tis deep and safe Within the rocky cleft; The little anchor on the right, The great one on the left.

And now to thee, O captain, Most earnestly I pray, That they may never bury me In church or cloister grey; But on the windy sea-beach, At the ending of the land, All on the surfy sea-beach, Deep down into the sand.

For there will come the sailors, Their voices I shall hear, And at casting of the anchor The yo-ho loud and clear; And at hauling of the anchor The yo-ho and the cheer,-- Farewell, my love, for to thy bay I never more may steer.

_W. Allingham_

XLV

_THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS_

It was the schooner _Hesperus_, That sail'd the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watch'd how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now west, now south.

Then up and spake an old sailor, Had sail'd the Spanish Main, 'I pray thee put into yonder port, For I fear the hurricane.

'Last night the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see!'

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the north-east; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm and smote amain The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length.

'Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale, That ever wind did blow.'

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast.

'O father! I hear the church bells ring, O say, what may it be?'

''Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!'

And he steered for the open sea.