Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

Salem, Jerusalem, capital of Judea.

Though the virgins of Salem * lament,

Be the judge and the hero unbent ! 35 I have won the great battle for thee,

And my father and country are free !
When this blood of thy giving hath gush’d, *
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd,
Let my memory * still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died :

Gush'd, flowed out
quickly as from &
wound.
Memory, remem-
brance; to keep in
the mind.

20

son

" HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN.”—Mrs. Hemans. FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS (1793–1835), a distinguished English poetess, was born at Liverpool, but spent her early life in Wales. Her best poem is the Forest Sanctuary, but her minor pieces are most popular, such as The Graves of a Household, The Voice of Spring, &c. She died at Dublin.

The bark * that held a prince went down, Bark, also spelt
The sweeping waves rolled on ;

barque, meaning a

small ship.
And what was England's glorious crown
To him that wept a son ?*

Son, Prince William,

of Henry I., 5 He lived, for life may long be borne

drowned in 1120, on Ere sorrow break its chain ;*

his return from Nor

mandy, a province in Why comes not death to those who mourn ? France. He never smiled again!

Break its chain, be

fore death comes and There stood proud forms * around his throne,

ends one's grief and

sufferings. IO The stately and the brave;

Proud forms, persons But which could fill the place of one

of high birth or title. That one beneath the wave ? Before him passed the young and fair

Reckless, not caring In pleasure's reckless * train,

for consequences. 15 But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair :

Festal, in the midst

of mirth and joy, as He never smiled again !

at a feast.

Minstrel, a man who He sat where festal * bowls went round, sang verses, accomHe heard the minstrels * sing,

panying himself on

the harp. He saw the tourney's * victor crowned

Tourney, tourna20 Amidst the knightly ring :

ment, a mock fight,

which knights A murmur of the restless deep

fought to show their Was blent * with every strain, *

skill in arms. A voice of winds that would not sleep :

Knightly ring, a com.

pany of knights. He never smiled again !

Knighthood was the

highest distinction 25 Hearts in that time closed o'er the trace for those who followed Of vows once fondly poured ;

the profession of arms.

Blent, mingled or
And strangers took the kinsman's place mixed.
At many a joyous board ;

Strain, sound, song,

in

Graves which true love had bathed with tears

Were left to Heaven's bright rain;
Fresh hopes were born for other years :

He* never smiled again !

30

[blocks in formation]

5

vessels.

IO

ness,

THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD.

Longfellow.
We sat within the farm-house old,

Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,
Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold,

An easy entrance, night and day. Port, a harbour, a Not far away we saw the port,* place of safety for

The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,Dismantled fort, a

The lighthouse,—the dismantled fort, *place of defence in The wooden houses, quaint * and brown. former times, now no longer used, so there. fore stripped of its We sat and talked until the night, cannon, &c.

Descending, filled the little room ;
Quaint, odd.

Our faces faded from the sight,
Gloom, partial Jark. Our voices only broke the gloom.*

We spake of many a vanished scene,

Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might have been,

And who was changed, and who was dead ;

And all that fills the hearts of friends, Secret, unknown, When first they feel, with secret * pain,

Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,

And never can be one again. Swerving, wandering, The first slight swerving

* of the heart,
departing from a cus-
tom, turning aside.

That words are powerless to express,
And leave it still unsaid in part,

Or say it in too great excess.
Tones, &c. , the sounds The very tones * in which we spake
of our voices.

Had something strange, I could but mark;
The leaves of memory seemed to make

A mournful rustling in the dark,

15

hidden,

20

25

ness.

Oft died the words upon our lips, 30 As suddenly from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded * ships,

Strand, to run The flames would leap and then expire. shore, to be wrecked. And, as their splendour * flashed and failed,

Splendour, brightWe thought of wrecks upon the main,35 Of ships dismasted,* that were hailed *

Dismasted, ships

whose masts had And sent no answer back again.

been torn away by

the storm. The windows, rattling in their frames,

Hail, to call to at a

distance, The ocean, roaring up the beach, *

Beach, the shore of * blast,—the bickering * flames,

the sea. Ali mingled vaguely * in our speech.

Gusty, stormy, tempestuous.

Bickering, to burn Until they made themselves a part

with an unsteady

light. Of fancies floating through the brain,

Vaguely, without cerThe long-lost ventures of the heart,

tainty, not sure. That send no answers back again.

Glow, to shine with 45 O flames that glowed !* O hearts that yearned !* intense heat.

They were indeed too much akin,*
The drift-wood fire without that burned,

Akin, resembling
The thoughts that burned and glowed within closely, relationship.

The gusty

40

an

Yearn, to feel earnest desire.

THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.-Mrs. Hemans.

sent owners.

The stately * Homes of England,

Stately, very grand,

noble in appearance. How beautiful they stand ! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, *

Ancestral trees, very

old, planted by the O'er all the pleasant land !

forefathers of the pre5 The deer across their greensward * bound

Greensward, green Through shade and sunny gleam,

turf. And the swan glides* past them with the sound Glides

, moves quickly

and with ease.
Of some rejoicing stream.
The merry Homes of England !
Around their hearths * by night,

Hearth, the fireside.
What gladsome looks of household love Ruddy light,
Meet in the ruddy light !*

bright red light of

the fire. There woman's voice flows forth in song, Glorious page of old, Or childhood's tale is told ;

some story of olden

times in which great 15 Or lips move tunefully along

and noble deeds are Some glorious page of old.*

mentioned.

*

10

the Bower, a shady en. closure or recess in a garden ; the homes appear, from the number of trees surrounding them, as if they were built in bowers.

20

Silvery brooks, the
streams and brooks
look like silver in the
sunlight.
Hamlet-fane, the vil-
lage church.
Glowing orchards,
being bright with
blossoms or fruit.
Nook, a quiet little
place.
Lowly, the poor.
Eaves, that part of
the roof which juts
beyond the walls.
Hearts of native
proof, brave, strong
men; men of courage.
Hallowed, looked up-
on as being holy.

The blessed Homes of England !

How softly on their bowers
Is laid the holy quietness

That breathes fronı Sabbath hours !
Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bells chime

Floats through their woods at morn ;
All other sounds, in that still time,

Of breeze and leaf are born.
The cottage Homes of England !

25
By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, *

And round the hamlet-fanes. *
Through glowing orchards * forth they peep,
Each from its nook * of leaves ;

30 And fearless there the lowly * sleep,

As the bird beneath their eaves.*
The free, fair Homes of England ;

Long, long, in hut and hall,
May hearts of native proof * be reared 35

To guard each hallowed * wall !
And green for ever be the groves,

And bright the flowery sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God!

40

THE IVY GREEN.—Dickens.

CHARLES DICKENS (1812–1870), a native of Landport, Portsmouth. In early life he was connected with the press as a parliamentary reporter. The Pickwick Papers early established his reputation as the greatest living humorist. He was admired by a universal circle of readers. Chief works: Nicholas Nickleby, Old Curiosity Shop, David Copperfield, Dombey and Son, Bleak House, &c. Dainty, being very On a dainty * plant is the Ivy * green, particular as to one's

That creepeth o'er ruins old ! food ; hard to please. Ivy,

On right choice food are his meals, I ween, * evergreen creeping plant.

In his cell so lone and cold. I ween, I believe.

The walls must be crumbled, the stones decay'd, 5 Whim, a fancy, a

To pleasure his dainty whim ; sudden change of the And the mould'ring dust that years have made mind.

Is a merry meal for him.

Creeping where no life is seen,
Rare, uncommon.
A rare * old plant is the Ivy green.

an

Staunch, trusty, sound, firm.

Hug, to clasp tightly.

20

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,

And a staunch * old heart has he ;
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings

To his friend, the huge Oak Tree !
15 And slily lie traileth along the ground,

And his leaves he gently waves,
And he joyously twines and hugs * around
The rich mould of dead men's graves.

Creeping where grim death has been,

A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Whole ages have fled, and their works decay'd,

And nations have scattered been ;
But the stout old Ivy shall never fade

From its hale * and hearty green.
25 The brave old plant in its lonely days

Shall fatten on the past;
For the stateliest * building man can raise
Is the Ivy's food at last.

Creeping on where time has been, 30 A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Hale, healthy.

Stately, very beautiful, grand to look at.

of a clan.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.–Campbell. THOMAS CAMPBELL (1777–1844) was a native of Glasgow, and rose to early fame by the publication of his Pleasures of Hope in 1799. Other poems: Gertrude of Wyoming, a tale of Pennsylvania; Theodoric, a Swiss story; and a number of lyrics, which are, perhaps, the finest in the language.

A CHIEFTAIN,* to the Highlands * bound, Chieftain, the head
Cries : “Boatman, do not tarry !

Highlands, the moun.
And I'll give thee a silver pound

tainous districts in To row us o'er the ferry.

the north and west of

Scotland. 5 “Now, who be ye would cross Lochgyle, * Ferry, a place where This dark and stormy water ?”

people “Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, *

Lochgyle, a small arm And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.

of the sea which runs

off in a north-west « And fast before her father's men

direction from Loch

Long. 10 Three days we've fled together ;

Ulva's isle, a small For, should he find us in the glen,*

island on the west My blood would stain the heather.

Glen, a narrow valley

among “His horsemen hard behind us ride;

tains, Should they our steps discover,

Heather, the heath,

a smali 15 Then who will cheer my bonny bride

evergreen

sbrub. When they have slain her lover ?"

are rowed across a water.

coast of Mull.

the

moun

« ForrigeFortsæt »