With his white hair unbonneted the stout old

sheriff comes;

1

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

His 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.

Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient

crown,

And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down.

So stalked he when he turned to flight on that famed Picard field,

Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield:

So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned

to bay,

And crushed and torn beneath his paws the princely hunters lay.

Ho! strike the flag-staff deep, Sir Knight; ho! scatter flowers, fair maids:

Ho! gunners fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw your blades;

Thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes waft her wide;

Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner of our pride.

The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold,

The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;

Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea,

Such night in England ne'er had been, nor ne'er again shall be.

From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,

That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;

For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly warflame spread;

High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head.

Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,

Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire;

The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering

waves,

The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves.

O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew ;

He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.

Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town,

And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down;

The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,

And saw, o'erhanging Richmond Hill, the streak of blood-red light.

Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like

silence broke,

And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city

woke.

At once on all her stately gates arose the answering

fires;

At once the loud alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;

From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear;

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer:

And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,

And the broad streams of flags and pikes rushed down each roaring street:

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,

As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in :

And eastward straight, from wild Blackheath, the warlike errand went,

And raised in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.

Southward, from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;

High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the North;

And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still,

All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill,

Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales,

Till like volcanoes flared to Heaven the stormy hills of Wales,

Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height,

Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light,

Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,

And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain;

Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln

sent,

And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent;

Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile,

And the red glare of Skiddaw roused the burghers Lord Macaulay

of Carlisle.

XLII

THE TAR FOR ALL WEATHERS

I sail'd from the Downs in the Nancy,
My jib how she smack'd through the breeze!
She's a vessel as tight to my fancy

As ever sail'd on the salt seas.

So adieu to the white cliffs of Britain,
Our girls and our dear native shore !
For if some hard rock we should split on,
We shall never see them any more.
But sailors were born for all weathers,
Great guns let it blow, high or low,
Our duty keeps us to our tethers,

And where the gale drives we must go.

When we entered the Straits of Gibraltar
I verily thought she'd have sunk,

For the wind began so for to alter,

She yaw'd just as tho' she was drunk. The squall tore the mainsail to shivers, Helm a-weather, the hoarse boatswain cries; Brace the foresail athwart, see she quivers, As through the rough tempest she flies. But sailors were born for all weathers, Great guns let it blow, high or low, Our duty keeps us to our tethers,

And where the gale drives we must go.

The storm came on thicker and faster,
As black just as pitch was the sky,
When truly a doleful disaster

Befel three poor sailors and I.

Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail,
By a blast that came furious and hard,
Just while we were furling the mainsail,
Were every soul swept from the yard.
But sailors were born for all weathers,
Great guns let it blow, high or low,
Our duty keeps us to our tethers,

And where the gale drives we must go.

Poor Ben, Sam, and Dick cried peccavi,
As for I, at the risk of my neck,

While they sank down in peace to old Davy,
Caught a rope, and so landed on deck.

Well, what would you have? We were stranded,

And out of a fine jolly crew

Of three hundred that sail'd, never landed

But I, and I think, twenty-two.