THE REVENGE.

And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea, And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring; But they dared not touch us again, for they feared that we still could sting; So they watched what the end would be.

And we had not fought them in vain, But in perilous plight were we, Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, And half of the rest of us maimed for life In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife; And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold, And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent; And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; But Sir Richard cried in his English pride, "We have fought such a fight for a day and a night As may never be fought again!

We have won great glory, my men!

And a day less or more At sea or ash.o.r.e, We die--does it matter when?

Sink me the ship, Master Gunner--sink her, split her in twain!

Fall into the hands of G.o.d, not into the hands of Spain!"

And the gunner said, "Ay, ay," but the seamen made reply: "We have children, we have wives, And the Lord hath spared our lives.

We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go; We shall live to fight again, and to strike another blow."

And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe.

And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then, Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last, And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace; But he rose upon their decks, and he cried: "I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true; I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do: With a joyful spirit I, Sir Richard Grenville, die!"

And he fell upon their decks, and he died.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

_From "The Revenge."_

HALLOWED GROUND.

What's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod Its maker meant not should be trod By man, the image of his G.o.d, Erect and free, Unscourged by Superst.i.tion's rod To bow the knee?

That's hallowed ground--where, mourned and missed, The lips repose our love has kissed:-- But where's their memory's mansion? Is't Yon churchyard's bowers?

No! in ourselves their souls exist, A part of ours.

What hallows ground where heroes sleep?

'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap!

In dews that heavens far distant weep Their turf may bloom; Or Genii twine beneath the deep Their coral tomb:

But strew his ashes to the wind Whose sword or voice has served mankind-- And is he dead, whose glorious mind Lifts thine on high?-- To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die.

Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?

He's dead alone that lacks her light!

And murder sullies in Heaven's sight The sword he draws:-- What can alone enn.o.ble fight?

A n.o.ble cause!

What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!-- Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth Earth's compa.s.s round; And your high priesthood shall make earth _All hallowed ground_.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.

You know we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day; With neck out thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the p.r.o.ne brow Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army leader Lannes Waver at yonder wall,--"

Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew A rider, bound on bound Full galloping; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy: You hardly could suspect-- (So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through), You looked twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two.

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by G.o.d's grace We've got you Ratisbon!

The Marshal's in the market place, And you'll be there anon To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire.

The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes.

"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead.

ROBERT BROWNING.

THY VOICE IS HEARD THRO' ROLLING DRUMS.

Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums, That beat to battle where he stands; Thy face across his fancy comes, And gives the battle to his hands: A moment, while the trumpets blow, He sees his brood about thy knee; The next, like fire he meets the foe, And strikes him dead for thine and thee.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

QUIET, LORD, MY FROWARD HEART.

Quiet, Lord, my froward heart: Make me teachable and mild, Upright, simple, free from art,-- Make me as a weaned child: From distrust and envy free, Pleased with all that pleaseth Thee.

What Thou shalt to-day provide, Let me as a child receive; What to-morrow may betide, Calmly to Thy wisdom leave; 'Tis enough that Thou wilt care: Why should I the burden bear?

As a little child relies On a care beyond his own, Knows he's neither strong nor wise, Fears to stir a step alone; Let me thus with Thee abide, As my Father, Guard, and Guide.

JOHN NEWTON.