Song of the Emigrants in Bermuda WHERE the remote Bermudas ride Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage: A. MARVELL. The Light of Other Days Ere slumber's chain has bound me, The words of love then spoken; Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends so link'd together I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. T. MOORE. The Fire of Drift-Wood 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. Not far away we saw the port, The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, The light-house, the dismantled fort, We sat and talked until the night, Our voices only broke the gloom. We spake of many a vanished scene, The first light swerving of the heart, Or say it in too great excess. The very tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but mark ; The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips, The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their splendour flashed and failed, And sent no answer back again. The windows, rattling in their frames, O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned! The thoughts that burned and glowed within. LONGFELLOW. The War-Song of Dinas Vawr THE mountain sheep are sweeter, On Dyfed's richest valley, Where herds of kine were browsing, To furnish our carousing. Fierce warriors rushed to meet us; As we drove our prize at leisure, We there, in strife bewildering, We brought away from battle, And the head of him who owned them : His head was borne before us; His wine and beasts supplied our feasts, Arethusa ARETHUSA arose From her couch of snows PEACOCK. In the Acroceraunian mountains,— Shepherding her bright fountains. Which slopes to the western gleams: She went, ever singing, In murmurs as soft as sleep. The Earth seemed to love her As she lingered towards the deep. Then Alpheus bold, With his trident the mountains strook, And opened a chasm In the rocks -with the spasm All Erymanthus shook. And the black south wind It concealed behind The urns of the silent snow, And earthquake and thunder The bars of the springs below. |