The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row Of smiths, that stand, an ardent band, like men before

the foe!

As quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow

-

Sinks on the anvil, all about, the faces fiery grow. "Hurrah!" they shout, "leap out, leap out!" Bang, bang! the sledges go;

Hurrah! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low; A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow; The leathern mail rebounds the hail; the rattling cinders

strow

The ground around; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow;

And, thick and loud, the swinking crowd at every stroke pant "ho!"

Leap out, leap out, my masters! leap out and lay on load! Let's forge a goodly anchor, a bower thick and broad; For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode; And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road; The low reef roaring on her lee; the roll of ocean poured From stem to stern, sea after sea, the mainmast by the

board;

The bulwarks down; the rudder gone; the boats stove at the chains;

But courage still, brave mariners, the bower yet remains!

And not an inch to flinch he deigns, - save when ye pitch sky high;

Then moves his head, as though he said, "Fear nothing, - here am I!"

Swing in your strokes in order! let foot and hand keep

time;

Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's

chime.

But while ye swing your sledges, sing; and let the burden be,

The anchor is the anvil-king, and royal craftsmen we! Strike in, strike in!-the sparks begin to dull their rustling red;

Our hammers ring with sharper din,

soon be sped;

our work will

Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich

array

For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of

clay;

Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here

For the yeo-heave-o, and the heave-away, and the sighing seamen's cheer,

When, weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far from love and home;

And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam.

In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last ;
A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was

cast.

O trusted and trustworthy guard! if thou hadst life like

me,

What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea!

O deep-sea diver, who might then behold such sights as

To go plumb-plunging down, amid the assembly of the whales,

And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their Scourging tails!

Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea-unicorn, And send him foiled and bellowing back, for all his ivory

horn;

To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn; And for the ghastly-grinning shark, to laugh his jaws to

scorn;

To leap down on the kraken's back, where 'mid Norwegian isles

He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shallowed miles, Till, snorting like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls; Meanwhile to swing a-buffeting the far astonished shoals Of his back-browsing ocean-calves; or, haply, in a cove Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undine's love, To find the long-haired mermaidens; or, hard by icy lands, To wrestle with the sea-serpent, upon cerulean sands.

O broad-armed fisher of the deep! whose sports can equal thine?

The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons that tugs thy cable

line;

And night by night 't is thy delight, thy glory day by day, Through sable sea and breaker white the giant game to

play.

But, shamer of our little sports, forgive the name I gave; A fisher's joy is to destroy, thine office is to save.

A lodger in the sea-king's halls! couldst thou but under

stand

Whose be the white bones by their side,

dripping band,

or who that

Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee

bend,

With sounds like breakers in a dream blessing their ancient friend!

O, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps

round thee,

Thine iron side would swell with pride,

within the sea!

thou 'dst leap

Give honor to their memories who left the pleasant strand To shed their blood so freely for the love of fatherland, Who left their chance of quiet age and

yard grave

grassy

church

So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave!
O, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung,
Honor him for their memory whose bones he goes among !

MORTE D'ARTHUR.

BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

S

O all day long the noise of battle rolled
Among the mountains by the winter sea;
Until King Arthur's table, man by man,

Had fallen in Lyonness about their lord,

King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep,
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,

Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights,
And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,
A broken chancel with a broken cross,
That stood on a dark strait of barren land.
On one side lay the Ocean, and on one
Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere :
"The sequel of to-day unsolders all
The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
Whereof this world holds record.

Such a sleep

They sleep, the men I loved. I think that we

Shall never more, at any future time,

Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
Walking about the gardens and the halls

Of Camelot, as in the days that were.