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The cooling sense,
With dreamful eyes
My spirit lies
Where summer sings and never dies,O'erveiled with vines,
She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines.
Her children hid
The cliffs amid,
Are gamboling with the gamboling kid;
Or down the walls,
With tipsy calls,
Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls.
The fisher's child,
With tresses wild,
Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled,
With glowing lips
Sings as she skips,
Or gazes at the far-off ships.
Yon deep bark goes
Where traffic blows,
From lands of sun to lands of snows;
This happier one,
Its course is run
From lands of snow to lands of sun.
Oh, happy ship,
With the blue crystal at your lip!
Oh, happy crew,
My heart with you
Sails, and sails, and sings anew!
No more, no more
The worldly shore
Upbraids me with its loud uproar!
My spirit lies
Under the walls of Paradise.
THE SAXON TONGUE
It is no matter where the authors live, whether in New York or in Montreal, in London, in Melbourne or in Calcutta, what they write in the English language belongs to English literature. English literature is therefore likely to grow, as it is the record of the English-speaking race and as this race is steadily spreading abroad over the globe.
It has been estimated that in the time of Chaucer less than three millions of men and women spoke English, and in the time of Shakespeare less than seven millions; and all these lived in the British Isles. But after a while the British Isles became too small for those who spoke English. Men and women went east and west out of England, and settled in the four quarters of the earth. They grew in numbers rapidly.
Another estimate shows that at the beginning of the nine
teenth century probably about twenty millions of men and women spoke English, while about thirty-one millions spoke French, and about thirty millions spoke German. Now at the end of the nineteenth century, it is believed that about fifty millions speak French, and about seventy millions speak German, while more than a hundred and twenty-five millions speak English. Our language is spreading far more rapidly than any other; and the prophecy has been made that at the end of the twentieth century the number of those who use the English language will be fully a thousand millions.
Now gather all our Saxon bards, let harps and hearts be strung,
To celebrate the triumphs of our own good Saxon tongue; For, stronger far than hosts that march with battle-flags unfurled,
It goes with Freedom, Thought, and Truth, to rouse and rule the world.
Stout Albion learns its household lays on every surfworn shore,
And Scotland hears its echoing far as Orkney's breakers
From Jura's crags and Mona's hills it floats on every gale,
And warms with eloquence and song the homes of Innisfail.
On many a wide and swarming deck it scales the rough
Seeking its peerless heritage, the fresh and fruitful West
It climbs New England's rocky steeps, as vietor mounts
Niagara knows and greets the voice still mightier than its own.
It spreads where winter piles deep snows on bleak Canadian plains;
And where, on Essequibo's banks, eternal summer reignsIt glads Acadia's misty coasts, Jamaica's glowing isle; And bides where, gay with early flowers, green Texan prairies smile.
It tracks the loud, swift Oregon, through sunset valleys rolled;
And soars where Californian brooks' wash down their sands of gold.
It sounds in Borneo's camphor groves, on seas of fierce
In fields that curb old Ganges' flood, and towers of proud Bombay.
It wakes up Aden's flashing eyes, dusk brows, and swarthy limbs;
The dark Liberian soothes her child with English cradle
Tasmania's maids are wooed and won in gentle Saxon
Australian boys read Crusoe's life by Sydney's sheltered