Sidor som bilder
PDF
ePub
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

SONG

"MEN OF ENGLAND"

Men of England! who inherit
Rights that cost your sires their blood,
Men whose undegenerate spirit
Has been proved on land and flood:
By the foes ye've fought uncounted,
By the glorious deeds ye've done,
Trophies captured--breaches mounted,
Navies conquered-kingdoms won!
Yet, remember, England gathers

Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame,
If the patriotism of your fathers
Glow not in your hearts the same.
What are monuments of bravery,
Where no public virtues bloom?
What avail in lands of slavery,

Trophied temples, arch and tomb?
Pageants!-Let the world revere us

For our people's rights and laws,
And the breasts of civic heroes
Bared in Freedom's holy cause.

Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory,
Sydney's matchless fame is yours,—
Martyrs in heroic story,

Worth a hundred Agincourts!
We're the sons of sires that baffled
Crowned and mitred tyranny:
They defied the field and scaffold
For their birthrights-so will we!

SONG

TO THE EVENING STAR

Star that bringest home the bee,

And sett'st the weary labourer free! If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,

That send'st it from above,

5

10

15

20

25

Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow, 5. Are sweet as hers we love.

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

65

Of thrilling vows thou art,

Too delicious to be riven

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!

And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave!

70

A Danish sea-port town about twenty miles from Copenhagen.

Captain Riou, who distinguished himself in an important part of the engagement.

By absence from the heart.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER (1804)

A Chieftan to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."-

[blocks in formation]

Thomas Moore

1779-1852

AS SLOW OUR SHIP
(From Irish Melodies, 1807-1834)
As slow our ship her foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving,
Her trembling pennant still look'd back
To that dear isle 'twas leaving.
So loath we part from all we love,
From all the links that bind us;
So turn our hearts, where'er we rove,
To those we've left behind us!

When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years
We talk, with joyous seeming,
And smiles that might as well be tears,

So faint, so sad their beaming;
While mem'ry brings us back again
Each early tie that twin'd us,

10

Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then To those we've left behind us!

15

[blocks in formation]

And, when in other climes we meet
Some isle or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flow'ry, mild and sweet,
And nought but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss,
If Heav'n had but assign'd us
To live and die in scenes like this,

With some we've left behind us!
As trav'llers oft look back at eve,
When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon the light they leave
Still faint behind them glowing-
So, when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consign'd us,
We turn to catch one fading ray

Of joy that's left behind us.

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

"Come back! come back!” he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water:

The harp of Tara swells;

10

The chord, alone, that breaks at night,

50

And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-oh, my daughter!"

Thus freedom now so seldom wakes,

ras vain: the loud waves lashed the shore, turn or aid preventing:

waters wild went o'er his child,

1 he was left lamenting.

39

55

Its tale of ruin tells:

The only throb she gives

Is when some heart indignant breaks,

To show that still she lives!

15

[blocks in formation]

SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND

(From the same)

She is far from the land where her young Hero sleeps,

And lovers are round her, sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying!

6

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
Every note which he lov'd awaking;-
Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking!
He had liv'd for his love, for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwin'd him, 10
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him!

Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from
the West,

From her own loved island of sorrow!

[blocks in formation]

15

5

10

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song-
In doors and out, summer and winter, Mirth.
Bryan Waller Procter
(Barry Cornwall)

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

2 This refers to an old custom of beating on pans, at the time of the swarming of the bees, which was thought to prevent their leaving the premises.

[blocks in formation]

If a storm should come and awake the deep, What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I love (oh! how I love) to ride

On the fierce foaming bursting tide,

When every mad wave drowns the moon,

Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the south-west blasts do blow.
I never was on the dull tame shore,
But I lov'd the great Sea more and more,
And backwards flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;
And a mother she was, and is to me;
For I was born on the open Sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcomed to life the Ocean-child!

10

That parts not quite with parting breath;
But beauty with that fearful bloom,
That hue which haunts it to the tomb,
Expression's last receding ray,

95

A gilded halo hovering round decay, The farewell beam of feeling past away!

100

15

Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly

birth,

Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished

earth!

Clime of the unforgotten brave!

20

Whose land from plain to mountain-cave

Was freedom's home, or glory's grave! Shrine of the mighty! can it be,

105

That this is all remains of thee?

25

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Oh servile offspring of the freePronounce what sea, what shore is this? The gulf, the rock of Salamis! These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That tyranny shall quake to hear, And leave his sons a hope, a fame They too will rather die than shame: For freedom's battle once begun, Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft, is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, Attest it many a deathless age! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid,

Thy heroes, though the general doom

Hath swept the column from their tomb,
A mightier monument command,
The mountains of their native land!
There points thy muse to stranger's eye
The graves of those that cannot die!
'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace,
Each step from splendour to disgrace;
Enough-no foreign foe could quell
Thy soul, till from itself it fell;
Yes! self-abasement paved the way
To villain-bonds and despot-sway.

What can he tell who treads thy shore?

No legend of thine olden time, No theme on which the muse might soar High as thine own in days of yore,

When man was worthy of thy clime.

115

120

125

130

135

140

145

[blocks in formation]
« FöregåendeFortsätt »