I think, does the same wind that sweeps by me now,
As it shivers and moans,

Thrill the pools in that graveyard, of half-melted snow,
By the moss-dripping stones?

And I cry in my anguish, “Appear! as in life,-
And my soul shall not fear:-

:

Pass over this sea of my trouble and strife!"
But the winds only, hear.

I turn from the casement, and helplessly stare
At the light of my lamp;

The drift of the sleet on my arms and my hair
Lieth chilly and damp.

The rush of the wild river rolling along

Is loud in my ear

The wind through the beech-trees is heavy and strong, But that sound cometh clear.

I know that dark river—its waters sweep down,

Be the day ne'er so bright,

With the deep changeless hues of the Cairngorm's brown, Though its foam-flakes are white.

I know that dark river-it swells and it swirls

Past the hindering bridge;

And the trees topple down as the branches it hurls
Beat the bank's broken ridge.

The turbulent waters drive on in their force

Like the thoughts in my breast

But the stones lying deep in the torrent's wild course
Say "Under, is rest!"-

176

IN THE STORM.

Under-deep under those arches' wide girth,

Where nothing is stirred,—

And the sound of Life's whirlwinds that traverse the earth Can never be heard!

Under-deep under. But lo! while I dream,

From a vanishing cloud

The pale moon looks forth, with her strange tranquil gleam, Like a ghost in its shroud.

Her white smile the brown rolling river hath kissed;
And I lift my sad eyes

To see her sail past through a rift in the mist

That is veiling the skies.

And I think of the rest, in the dark waters near,

To its stony bed given;

And I think of that light shining gentle and clear;—
There is rest, too, in Heaven!

Till, the wild storm subsiding, forth comes by the moon One uprising star:

Is there rest? but the earth seems so near, as I swoon— And the Heavens so far!

Caroline Norton.

AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.

ALL hail! thou noble land,
Our fathers' native soil!
O stretch thy mighty hand,
Gigantic grown by toil,

O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore;
For thou, with magic might,
Canst reach to where the light
Of Phoebus travels bright
The world o'er.

The genius of our clime,

From his pine-embattled steep,
Shall hail the great sublime;

While the Tritons of the deep

With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim;
Then let the world combine-

O'er the main our naval line,
Like the milky-way shall shine,
Bright in fame!

Though ages long have passed
Since our fathers left their home,
Their pilot in the blast,

O'er untravelled seas to roam,

Yet lives the blood of England in our veins!
And shall we not proclaim

That blood of honest fame,
Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains?

Modern Poets.

12

178

AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.

While the language free and bold
Which the bard of Avon sung,
In which our Milton told

How the vault of heaven rung,
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host;
While this, with reverence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
From rock to rock repeat
Round our coast;

While the manners, while the arts,
That mould a nation's soul,
Still cling around our hearts,
Between let ocean roll,

Our joint communion breaking with the sun:
Yet, still, from either beach,

The voice of blood shall reach

More audible than speech,

"We are one!"

Washington Allston.

THE ARMADA.

ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise; I sing of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, When that great fleet invincible against her bore, in vain The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts in Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer's day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth

bay;

The crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's

isle,

At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile. At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace; And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase. Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall; The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty hall; Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast; And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post.

With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff

comes;

Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums:

The yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample

space;

For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace: And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells, As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.