I see him in the blazing sun, That rusheth through the forests hoar I feel him in the silent dews, By grateful earth betrayed; I feel him in the gentle showers, The soft south wind, the breath of flowers, I see him, hear him, everywhere, In the silent hour of night. ANONYMOUS. WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT? SAY, watchman, what of the night? Do the dews of the morning fall? Have the orient skies a border of light, The night is fast waning on high, And soon shall the darkness flee, And the morn shall spread o'er the blushing sky, But, watchman, what of the night, And the pleasures of life, so sweet and bright, No longer around me shine?— That night of sorrow thy soul May surely prepare to meet, But away shall the clouds of thy heaviness roll, And the morning of joy be sweet. But, watchman, what of the night, When the arrow of death is sped, And the grave, which no glimmering star can light, That night is near, and the cheerless tomb Shall keep thy body in store, Till the morn of eternity rise on the gloom, And night shall be no more! ANONYMOUS. THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. COME, see the Dolphin's Anchor forged; 'tis a white heat now; The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge's brow The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound; And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare; Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there. The windlass strains the tackle chains, the black mound heaves below, And red and deep, a hundred veins burst out at every throe; It rises, roars, rends all outright-O Vulcan, what a glow! 'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright; the high sun shines not so! The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery, fearful show; 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! S 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 bur den 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, our work will soon be sped; 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 seaman'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, 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 thou? The hoary monster's palaces! methinks what joy 'twere now To go plump plunging down amid the assembly of the whales, And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their scourging tails! Then deep in tangled 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 |