YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

Ye mariners of England That guard our native seas!

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze!

Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe: And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave-- For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave: Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below-- As they roar on the sh.o.r.e, When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart And the star of peace return.

Then, then, ye ocean warriors!

Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ADMIRAL HORATIO NELSON.]

THE DEATH OF NELSON.

'Twas in Trafalgar's bay We saw the Frenchmen lay; Each heart was bounding then.

We scorned the foreign yoke, Our ships were British oak, And hearts of oak our men.

Our Nelson marked them on the wave, Three cheers our gallant seamen gave, Nor thought of home and beauty.

Along the line this signal ran,-- "England expects that every man This day will do his duty."

And now the cannons roar Along the affrighted sh.o.r.e; Brave Nelson led the way: His ship the Victory named; Long be that victory famed!

For victory crowned the day.

But dearly was that conquest bought, Too well the gallant hero fought For England, home, and beauty.

He cried, as 'midst the fire he ran,-- "England shall find that every man This day will do his duty!"

At last the fatal wound Which shed dismay around, The hero's breast received.

"Heaven fights on our side; The day's our own!" he cried; "Now long enough I've lived.

In honor's cause my life was pa.s.sed, In honor's cause I fall at last, For England, home, and beauty!"

Thus ending life as he began; England confessed that every man That day had done his duty.

ARNOLD.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHARLES KINGSLEY.]

ODE TO THE NORTHEAST WIND.

Welcome, wild Northeaster!

Shame it is to see Odes to every zephyr; Ne'er a verse to thee.

Welcome, black Northeaster!

O'er the German foam; O'er the Danish moorlands, From thy frozen home.

Tired we are of summer, Tired of gaudy glare, Showers soft and steaming, Hot and breathless air.

Tired of listless dreaming, Through the lazy day; Jovial wind of winter Turn us out to play!

Sweep the golden reed beds; Crisp the lazy dike; Hunger into madness Every plunging pike.

Fill the lake with wild fowl; Fill the marsh with snipe; While on dreary moorlands Lonely curlew pipe.

Through the black fir forest Thunder harsh and dry, Shattering down the snowflakes Off the curdled sky.

Hark! the brave Northeaster!

Breast high lies the scent, On by bolt and headland, Over heath and bent.

Chime, ye dappled darlings, Through the sleet and snow, Who can override you?

Let the horses go!

Chime, ye dappled darlings, Down the roaring blast; You shall see a fox die Ere an hour be past.

Go! and rest to-morrow, Hunting in your dreams, While our skates are ringing O'er the frozen streams.

Let the luscious South wind Breathe in lovers' sighs, While the lazy gallants Bask in ladies' eyes.

What does he but soften Heart alike and pen?

'Tis the hard gray weather Breeds hard English men.

What's the soft Southwester?

'Tis the ladies' breeze, Bringing home their true loves Out of all the seas; But the black Northeaster, Through the snowstorm hurled, Drives our English hearts of oak Seaward round the world!

Come! as came our fathers, Heralded by thee, Conquering from the eastward, Lords by land and sea.

Come! and strong within us Stir the Vikings' blood; Bracing brain and sinew; Blow, thou wind of G.o.d!

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

ENGLAND.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

_From "Richard II."_

SONG OF THE GREEKS.

Again to the battle, Achaians!

Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance!

Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree-- It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free.