The spirit of your fathers

Shall start from every wave;

For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave.
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below,
As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;

Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more

And the storm has ceased to blow.

Thomas Campbell.

BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword,

His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;

I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps,

His days are marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel;

"As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal;

Let the Hero born of woman, crush the serpent with His heel,

Since God is marching on."

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call

retreat;

He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment

seat;

O, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant my feet!

Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and

me;

As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

While God is marching on.

Julia Ward Howe.

HIGH-TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE.

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,

The ringers run by two, by three;

"Pull! if ye never pulled before;

Good ringers, pull your best," quoth hee.
"Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells!
Ply all your changes, all your swells!
Play uppe The Brides of Enderby!"

Men say it was a "stolen tyde,

The Lord that sent it, He knows all,
But in myne ears doth still abide

The message that the bells let fall;
And there was naught of strange, beside
The flights of mews and peewits pied,

By millions crouched on the old sea-wall.

I sat and spun within the doore;

My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes:
The level sun, like ruddy ore,

Lay sinking in the barren skies;
And dark against day's golden death
She moved where Lindis wandereth!-
My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling
Ere the early dews were falling,
Farre away I heard her song.
"Cusha! Cusha!" all along

Where the reedy Lindis floweth
Floweth, floweth,

From the meads where melick groweth,
Faintly came her milking-song.

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling

"For the dews will soone be falling;

Leave your meadow grasses mellow,

Mellow, mellow,

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow!

Come uppe, Whitefoot! come uppe, Lightfoot!
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow!

Come uppe, Jetty! rise and follow;

From the clovers lift your head!

Come uppe, Whitefoot! come uppe, Lightfoot!
Come uppe, Jetty! rise and follow,
Jetty, to the milking-shed.”

If it be long-ay, long ago

When I beginne to think howe long,
Againe I hear the Lindis flow,

Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong;
And all the aire, it seemeth mee,
Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee),
That ring the tune of Enderby.

Alle fresh the level pasture lay,

And not a shadowe mote be seene,
Save where, full fyve good miles away,
The steeple towered from out the greene.
And lo! the great belle farre and wide
Was heard in all the country side
That Saturday at eventide.

The swannerds, where their sedges are,
Moved on in sunset's golden breath;
The shepherde lads I heard afarre,
And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth;
Till, floating o'er the grassy sea,
Came downe that kyndly message free,
The Brides of Mavis Enderby.

Then some looked uppe into the sky,
And all along where Lindis flows

To where the goodly vessels lie,

And where the lordly steeple shows. They sayde, "And why should this thing be, What danger lowers by land or sea?

They ring the tune of Enderby.

"For evil news from Mablethorpe,

Of pyrate galleys, warping down,— For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe,

They have not spared to wake the towne;

But while the west bin red to see,
And storms be none, and pyrates flee,
Why ring The Brides of Enderby?"

I looked without, and lo! my sonne

Came riding downe with might and main; He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again: "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.)

"The old sea-wall" (he cried) "is downe!
The rising tide comes on apace;
And boats adrift in yonder towne

Go sailing uppe the market-place!". He shook as one that looks on death: "God save you, mother!" straight he sayth; "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?"

"Good sonne, where Lindis winds away
With her two bairns I marked her long;

And ere yon bells beganne to play,
Afar I heard her milking-song.
He looked across the grassy sea,
To right, to left, Ho, Enderby!
They rang The Brides of Enderby.

With that he cried and beat his breast;
For lo! along the river's bed
A mighty eygre reared his crest,
And uppe the Lindis raging sped.
It swept with thunderous noises loud,-
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.

And rearing Lindis, backward pressed,
Shook all her trembling bankes amaine;

Then madly at the eygre's breast

Flung uppe her weltering walls again. Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout, Then beaten foam flew round about,— ·

Then all the mighty floods were out.