Sir Roderick mark'd—and in his eyes Short space he stood-then waved his hand; It seemed as if their mother Earth Walter Scott. NAPOLEON AND THE SAILOR. I LOVE contemplating apart From all the homicidal glory, Napoleon's banners at Boulogne They suffered him—I know not how— His eye, methinks, pursued the flight A stormy midnight watch, he thought, To England nearer. At last, when care had banished sleep, Come shoreward floating. He hid it in a cave, and wrought Heaven help us! 'twas a thing beyond For ploughing in the salt sea field, It would have made the boldest shudder; Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled, No sail-no rudder! From neighbouring woods he interlaced But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, Till tidings of him chanced to reach With folded arms Napoleon stood, Addressed the stranger: "Rash man, that wouldst yon Channel pass, "I have no sweetheart," said the lad; "And so thou shalt !" Napoleon said; A noble mother must have bred He gave the tar a piece of gold, Our sailor oft could scantily shift Campbell. HENRY THE FIFTH BEFORE THE HIS day is called the feast of Crispian ; THIS He that outlives this day and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars, And say, "These wounds I had on Crispian's day." Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember with advantages What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster— We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, Shall think themselves accursed they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speak That fought with us upon Saint Crispian's day. Shakspeare. THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. OLL for the brave! TOLL The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore! Eight hundred of the brave, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side; |