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The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Went light along the stream ;
Like Edmund's drowning scream.
A child's distressful cry !”
Lord William made reply. Haste, haste ! ply swift and strong the oar !
Haste, haste across the stream !” Again Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream.
The boatman cried again.
And we should search in vain."
How dreadful 'tis to die?
A child's expiring cry?
Beneath the chilly stream ;
In vain for help to scream !”
more piercing loudThat instant, o'er the flood, the moon
Shone through a broken cloud ; And near them they beheld a child;
Upon a crag he stood,-
Was spread the rising flood.
Approached his resting-place;
Plied, employed with diligence and force.
The moonbeam shone upon the child,
And showed how pale his face.
“ Lord William, reach and save !”
To grasp the hand he gave.
Was cold and damp and dead !
A heavier weight than lead.
Beneath the avenging stream ;
Heard William's drowning scream.
1 Hatto. According to tradition, Hatto, Archbishop of Mayence on the Rhine, during a great famine which happened in the oth century, assembled the poor in a barn, and burnt them to death, saying, They are like mice, only good to devour corn.' Soon after, an army of mice came against the archbishop; and to escape the plague, he removed to a tower on the Rhine, -since called the Mouse Tower,—whither thousands of mice followed and devoured him. From the ballad here given, however, it will be seen that Southey makes rats, and not mice, the instruments of God's judg
He bade them to his great barn repair,
Then, when he saw it could hold no more,
l' faith 'tis an excellent bonfire !” quoth he, And the country is greatly obliged to me, For ridding it, in these times forlorn, Of rats that only consume the corn." So then to his palace returned he, And he sat down to supper merrily, And he slept that night like an innocent man, But bishop Hatto never slept again. In the morning as he entered the hall, Where his picture hung against the wall, A sweat like death all over him came, For the rats had eaten it out of the frame.
As he looked, there came a man from his farm, He had a countenance white with alarm, My lord, I opened your granaries this morn, And the rats had eaten all your corn. Another came running presently, And he was as pale as pale could be, "Fly! my lord bishop, fly!” quoth he, “Ten thousand rats are coming this wayThe Lord forgive you for yesterday !” “I'll go to my tower in the Rhine,” replied he, “ 'Tis the safest place in Germany, The walls are high, and the shores are steep, And the tide is strong and the water deep.”
Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,
THOMAS CAMPBELL. (1777–1844.) BORN at Glasgow, and educated at the university of his native city. After leaving the university he resided for some time in Edinburgh, where he published his first work (The Pleasures of Hope). The profits which he derived from the sale of this poem enabled him to visit the Continent in the year 1800. He reached Bavaria (then the seat of war), and from a safe distance had a view of the battle of Hohenlinden. Soon after his return from the Continent he settled in London and commenced the pursuit of literature as a profession. In 1806 a pension of £200 a year was bestowed upon him by the Fox ministry. Campbell died at Boulogne in 1844, and his body was brought to England and interred in Westminster Abbey.
His chief works are, The Pleasures of Hope ; Gertrude of Wyoming; The Battle of the Baltic; Hohenlinden ; Lord Ullin's Daughter, etc.
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. Our bugles sang trucel-for the night-cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars? set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallets of straw,
By the wolf-scaring faggot* that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track ; 'Twas autumn-and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged 5 we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fullness of heart.
1 Sang truce, sounded for a short peace, or rest from battle. 2 Sentinel stars, watchful stars. 3 Pallet, a small bed.
4 Wolf - scaring faggot, a lighted faggot to frighten away the wolves. 5 Pledged the wine-cup, drank to the health of one another.