the sides of the trough, till their capacious stomachs are moistened with a gallon or two apiece, and they can afford time to breathe it in with sighs of calm enjoyment. How they roll their quiet eyes around the brim of their monstrous drinking vessel. An ox is your true toper. - NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. LXXVI. THE SHIPBUILDERS 1. The sky is ruddy in the east, And, spectral in the river mist, The ship's white timbers show. Then let the sounds of measured stroke The broadax to the gnarlèd oak, 2. Hark! roars the bellows, blast on blast, And fire sparks, rising far and fast, All day for us the smith shall stand The groaning anvil scourge. 3. From far-off hills, the panting team. For us the raftsmen down the stream Rings out for us the axman's stroke In forests old and still For us the century-circled oak Falls crashing down his hill. 4. Up! up! in nobler toil than ours Lay rib to rib, and beam to beam. 5. Where'er the keel of our good ship And seamen tread her reeling deck 6. Her oaken ribs the vulture beak The sunken rock and coral peak And know we well the painted shell 7. Ho! strike away the bars and blocks, In graceful beauty now! 8. God bless her! wheresoe'er the breeze 9. Or sultry Hindostan ! Where'er in mart or on the main, With peaceful flag unfurled, Be hers the prairie's golden grain, The clustered fruits of sunny Spain, The spice of morning-land! |