"O Lord! if it be thy pleasure "- But Master Lamberton muttered, And the ships that came from England, When the winter months were gone, Brought no tidings of this vessel Nor of Master Lamberton. This put the people to praying Then fell her straining topmasts, Hanging tangled in the shrouds, And her sails were loosened and lifted, And blown away like clouds. And the masts, with all their rigging, And the people who saw this marvel And thus her tragic end. And the pastor of the village Gave thanks to God in prayer, That, to quiet their troubled spirits, He had sent this Ship of Air. THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. That the Lord would let them hear A MIST was driving down the British What in his greater wisdom He had done with friends so dear. And at last their prayers were answered : It was in the month of June, An hour before the sunset Of a windy afternoon, When, steadily steering landward, Who sailed so long ago. On she came, with a cloud of canvas, Ch. VI. It is contained in a letter from Channel, The day was just begun, And through the window-panes, on floor and panel, Streamed the red autumn sun. It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon, And the white sails of ships; And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon Hailed it with feverish lips. Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hythe, and Dover Were all alert that day, To see the French war-steamers speeding over, When the fog cleared away. the Rev. James Pierpont, Pastor of New Sullen and silent, and like couchant Haven. To this account Mather adds these words: "Reader, there being yet living so many credible gentlemen, that were eye-witnesses of this wonderful thing, I venture to publish it for a thing as undoubted as is wonderful." lions, Their cannon, through the night, Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance, The sea-coast opposite. Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure, No drum-beat from the wall, No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure, Awaken with its call! No more, surveying with an eye impartial The long line of the coast, Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Marshal Be seen upon his post! For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, In sombre harness mailed, Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, The rampart wall has scaled. He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, The dark and silent room, And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, The silence and the gloom. He did not pause to parley or dissemble, But smote the Warden hoar; Ah! what a blow that made all England tremble And groan from shore to shore. Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, The sun rose bright o'erhead; Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated That a great man was dead. Our little lives are kept in equipoise By opposite attractions and desires; The struggle of the instinct that enjoys, And the more noble instinct that aspires. These perturbations, this perpetual jar Of earthly wants and aspirations high, Come from the influence of an unseen star, An undiscovered planet in our sky. And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge of light, Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd Into the realm of mystery and night, So from the world of spirits there descends A bridge of light, connecting it with this, O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends, Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss. IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE. IN the village churchyard she lies, At her feet and at her head Was she a lady of high degree, ours? Or was it Christian charity, And lowliness and humility, The richest and rarest of all dowers ? Who shall tell us? No one speaks; No color shoots into those cheeks, Either of anger or of pride, Nor will the mystery be unmasked At the rude question we have asked; By those who are sleeping at her side. Hereafter?-And do you think to look On the terrible pages of that Book To find her failings, faults, and errors? Ah, you will then have other cares, In your own short-comings and despairs, In your own secret sins and terrors! THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST. I forget in what campaign, Up and down the dreary camp, In great boots of Spanish leather, Striding with a measured tramp, These Hidalgos, dull and damp, Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather. Thus as to and fro they went, Over upland and through hollow, Giving their impatience vent, Perched upon the Emperor's tent, In her nest, they spied a swallow. Yes, it was a swallow's nest, Built of clay and hair of horses, Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest, Found on hedgerows east and west, After skirmish of the forces. Then an old Hidalgo said, As he twirled his gray mustachio, And the soldiers, as they quaffed So unharmed and unafraid Sat the swallow still and brooded, Till the constant cannonade Through the walls a breach had made, And the siege was thus concluded. Then the army, elsewhere bent, Struck its tents as if disbanding, Only not the emperor's tent, For he ordered, ere he went, Very curtly, "Leave it standing!" So it stood there all alone, Loosely flapping, torn and tattered, Till the brood was fledged and flown, Singing o'er those walls of stone Which the cannon-shot had shattered. THE TWO ANGELS. Two angels, one of Life and one of Death, Passed o'er our village as the morn ing broke ; 1 Macho, in Spanish, signifies a mule. Golondrina is the feminine form of Golon drino, a swallow, and also a cant name for a deserter. |