Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like

silence broke, And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city

woke. At once on all her stately gates arose the answering

fires ;

At once the loud alarum clashed from all her reel

ing spires; From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the

voice of fear; And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back

a louder cheer: And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of

hurrying feet, And the broad streams of flags and pikes rushed

down each roaring street : And broader still became the blaze, and louder

still the din, As fast from every village round the horse came

spurring in : And eastward straight, from wild Blackheath, thu

warlike errand went, And raised in many an ancient hall the gallant

squires of Kent. Southward, from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those

bright couriers forth; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they

started for the North; And on, and on, without a pause, untired they

bounded still, All night from tower to tower they sprang; they

sprang from hill to hill, Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o’er Darwin's

rocky dales,

Till like volcanoes flared to Heaven the stormy

hills of Wales, Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's

lonely height, Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's

crest of light, Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's

stately fane, And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the

boundless plain ; Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln

sent, And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide

vale of Trent ; Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's

embattled pile, And the red glare of Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.

Lord Macaulay

XLII

THE TAR FOR ALL WEATHERS

I sail'd from the Downs in the Nancy,

My jib how she smack'd through the breeze !
She's a vessel as tight to my fancy

As ever sail'd on the salt seas.
So adieu to the white cliffs of Britain,

Our girls and our dear native shore !
For if some hard rock we should split on,

We shall never see them any more. But sailors were born for all weathers,

Great guns let it blow, high or low, Our duty keeps us to our tethers,

And where the gale drives we must go.

When we entered the Straits of Gibraltar

I verily thought she'd have sunk, For the wind began so for to alter,

She yawd just as tho’ she was drunk. The squall tore the mainsail to shivers,

Helm a-weather, the hoarse boatswain cries; Brace the foresail athwart, see she quivers,

As through the rough tempest she flies. But sailors were born for all weathers,

Great guns let it blow, high or low, Our duty keeps us to our tethers,

And where the gale drives we must go.

The storm came on thicker and faster,

As black just as pitch was the sky, When truly a doleful disaster

Befel three poor sailors and I. Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail,

By a blast that came furious and hard, Just while we were furling the mainsail,

Were every soul swept from the yard. But sailors were born for all weathers,

Great guns let it blow, high or low, Our duty keeps us to our tethers,

And where the gale drives we must go.

Poor Ben, Sam, and Dick cried peccavi,

As for I, at the risk of my neck,
While they sank down in peace to old Davy,

Caught a rope, and so landed on deck.
Well, what would you have ? We were stranded,

And out of a fine jolly crew
Of three hundred that sail'd, never landed

But I, and I think, twenty-two.

But sailors were born for all weathers,

Great guns let it blow, high or low,
Our duty keeps us to our tethers,
And where the gale drives we must go.

C. Dibdin

XLIII

THE FISHERMAN A perilous life, and sad as life may be, Hath the lone fisher, on the lonely sea, O’er the wild waters labouring far from home, For some bleak pittance e'er compelled to roam : Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life, And none to aid him in the stormy strife: Companion of the sea and silent air, The lonely fisher us must ever fare: Without the comfort, hope,-with scarce a friend, He looks through life and only sees its end !

B. Cornwall

XLIV

THE SAILOR

Thou that hast a daughter

For one to woo and wed,
Give her to a husband

With snow upon his head :
Oh, give her to an old man,

Though little joy it be,
Before the best young sailor

That sails upon the sea !

How luckless is the sailor

When sick and like to die, He sees no tender mother,

No sweetheart standing by. Only the captain speaks to him,

Stand up, stand up, young man,
And steer the ship to haven,

As none beside thee can.
Thou sayst to me, 'Stand, stand up;'
I

say to thee, take hold, Lift me a little from the deck,

My hands and feet are cold. And let my head, I pray thee,

With handkerchiefs be bound : There, take my love's gold handkerchief,

And tie it tightly round. Now bring the chart, the doleful chart;

See where these mountains meet
The clouds are thick around their head,

The mists around their feet :
Cast anchor here; 'tis deep and safe

Within the rocky cleft;
The little anchor on the right,

The great one on the left.
And now to thee, O captain,

Most earnestly I pray,
That they may never bury me

In church or cloister grey ;
But on the windy sea-beach,

At the ending of the land, All on the surfy sea-beach,

Deep down into the sand.