Upon thy brow-the stain of guilt and gore:
Thy course was bright, bold, treach'rous-and 'tis o'er.
The spear and diadem are from thee gone;
Silence is now sole monarch of thy throne!
THE flowers are Nature's jewels, with whose wealth
She decks her Summer beauty; Primrose sweet,
With blossoms of pure gold; enchanting Rose,
That, like a virgin queen, salutes the Sun,
Dew-diadem'd; the perfumed Pink, that studs
The earth with clustering ruby; Hyacinth,
The hue of Venus' tresses; Myrtle green,
That maidens think a charm for constant love,
And give night-kisses to it, and so dream;
Fair Lily! woman's emblem, and oft twined
Round bosoms, where its silver is unseen,
Such is their whiteness; downcast Violet,
Turning away its sweet head from the wind,
As she her delicate and startled ear
From passion's tale!
THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR.
COME, see the Dolphin's Anchor forged; 'tis at 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!
Let's forge a goodly anchor; a Bower, thick and broad:
For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow I bode;
And I see the good ship riding all in a perilous road,
The low reef rolling on her lee; the roll of ocean poured
From stem to stern, sea after sea; the mainmast by the board;
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 burden 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;
A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was 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 monsters' palaces! methinks what joy 'twere now
To go plumb plunging down amid the assembly of the whales,
And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their scourging tails!
Then deep in tangle-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 line;
And night by night 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day,
Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant game to play;
But, shamer of our little sports! forgive the name I gave,
A fisher's joy is to destroy-thine office is to save.
O lodger in the sea-king's halls, couldst thou but understand
Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that dripping band,
Slow swaying in the heaving waves that round about thee bend,
With sounds like breakers in a dream blessing their ancient friend:
Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps round thee,
Thine iron side would swell with pride; thou'dst leap within the sea!
Give honour to their memories who left the pleasant strand,
To shed their blood so freely for the love of fatherland.
Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy churchyard grave,
So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave:
Oh, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung,
Honour him for their memory, whose bones he goes among!
I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old,
With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle mould;
They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears,
That my child is grave and wise of heart beyond his childish years.
I cannot say how this may be,-I know his face is fair,
And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious air:
I know his heart is kind and fond, I know he loveth me,
But loveth yet his mother more with grateful fervency.
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