Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget-lest we forget! If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe Such boasting as the Gentiles use Or lesser breeds without the law- For heathen heart that puts her trust And guarding calls not Thee to guard- 371 William Ernest IIenley (1849-1903) was an English critic and journalist of great force and a poet whose verse is full of manliness and tenderness. His life was a constant and courageous struggle against disease. The spirit in which he faced conditions that would have conquered a weaker man breathes through the famous poem quoted below. Such a spirit is not confined to any particular stage of maturity as represented by years, and many young people will find themselves buoyed up in the face of difficulties by coming into touch with the unconquered and unconquerable voice in this poem. The last two lines in particular are often quoted. INVICTUS WILLIAM E. HENLEY Out of the night that covers me, In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud: Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; 372 James Russell Lowell (1819-1891) is a poet of such high idealisms that many of his poems seem to form the natural heritage of youth. Among such are "The Vision of Sir Launfal," "The Present Crisis," "The Fatherland," and "Aladdin." "The Falcon" is not so well known as any of these, but its fine image for the seeker after truth should appeal to most children of upper grades. "The Shepherd of King Admetus" is a very attractive poetizing of an old myth (see No. 261) and lets us see something of how the public looks upon its poets and other artistic folk. THE FALCON JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL Or wing so strong as this of mine. The winds not better love to pilot A cloud with molten gold o'errun, For with a lark's heart he doth tower, Than he in the bursting rose of dawn. No harmless dove, no bird that singeth, Shudders to see him overhead; He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, The rush of his fierce swooping bringeth It seemed the loveliness of things To innocent hearts no thrill of dread. Let fraud and wrong and baseness shiver, For still between them and the sky The falcon Truth hangs poised forever And marks them with his vengeful eye. 373 THE SHEPHERD OF KING JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL Upon an empty tortoise-shell He stretched some chords, and drew Music that made men's bosoms swell Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew. Then King Admetus, one who had Pure taste by right divine, Decreed his singing not too bad To hear between the cups of wine: And so, well pleased with being soothed Into a sweet half-sleep, Three times his kingly beard he smoothed, And made him viceroy o'er his sheep. His words were simple words enough, And yet he used them so, That what in other mouths was rough Men called him but a shiftless youth, In whom no good they saw; They knew not how he learned at all, Did teach him all their use, For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs, He found a healing power profuse. Yet after he was dead and gone, And e'en his memory dim, Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, More full of love, because of him. And day by day more holy grew Each spot where he had trod, 374 Sir William S. Gilbert (1837-1911), an English dramatist, is known to us as the librettist of the popular Gilbert and Sullivan operas, The Mikado, Pinafore, etc. In his earlier days he wrote a book of humorous poetry called The Bab Ballads. Many of these still please readers who like a little nonsense now and then of a supremely ridiculous type. "The Yarn of the Nancy Bell" is a splendid take-off on "travelers' tales," and is not likely to deceive anyone. However, Gilbert said that when he sent the poem to Punch, the editor made objection to its extremely cannibalistic nature! THE YARN OF THE NANCY BELL WILLIAM S. GILBERT 'T was on the shores that round our coast From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone on a piece of stone An elderly naval man. There was me and the cook and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, His hair was weedy, his beard was long, And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And weedy and long was he, And I heard this wight on the shore recite, In a singular minor key: "Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, And he shook his fists and he tore his hair, Till I really felt afraid, For I could n't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said: "Oh, elderly man, it's little I know Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand However you can be "At once a cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig." Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which Is a trick all seamen larn, And having got rid of a thumping quid, He spun this painful yarn: "'T was in the good ship Nancy Bell That we sailed to the Indian Sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me. "And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned (There was seventy-seven o' soul), And only ten of the Nancy's men Said 'Here!' to the muster-roll. And the crew of the captain's gig. "For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a-hungry we did feel, So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot "The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate, "And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, "Then only the cook and me was left, And the delicate question, 'Which Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, And we argued it out as sich. "For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he worshipped me; But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see. "I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom; 'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be,''I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I; And 'Exactly so,' quoth he. "Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me "So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot, And some sage and parsley, too. "Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, Which his smiling features tell, "T will soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you'll smell.' "And he stirred it round and round and round And he sniffed at the foaming froth; When I ups with his heels and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth. "And I eat that cook in a week or less, And as I eating be The last of his chops, why, I almost drops, For a wessel in sight I see! "And I never larf, and never smile, And I never lark nor play, But sit and croak, and a single joke "Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, 375 John T. Trowbridge (1827-1916) is one of the important figures in modern literature for young folks. He wrote a popular series of books for them beginning with Cudjo's Cave, and many poems, the most famous of which are "The Vagabonds" and the one given below. Trowbridge's autobiography will interest children with its story of a literary life devoted to the problems of their entertainment. "Darius Green and His Flying Machine" first appeared in Our Young Folks in 1867. It is to be read for its fun-fun of dialect, fun of character, and fun of incident. If it has any lesson, it must be that dreamers may come to grief unless they have some plain practical common sense to balance their enthusiasm! DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING MACHINE JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE If ever you knew a country dunce He never would do for a hero of mine. And working his face as he worked the wings, And with every turn of gimlet and screw Turning and screwing his mouth round too, Till his nose seemed bent to catch the scent, Around some corner, of new-baked pies, And his wrinkled cheek and his squinting eyes Grew puckered into a queer grimace, That made him look very droll in the face, And also very wise. And wise he must have been, to do more Upon their backs those wings of wax Hear how Darius reasoned about it: Jest fold our hands, an' see the swaller Jest show me that! er prove 't bat Hez got more brains than's in my hat, Fer to git a livin' with, more'n to me;- wax Wouldn't stan' sun-heat an' hard whacks: I'll make mine o' luther, er suthin' er other." And he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned: "But I ain't goin' to show my hand To nummies that never can understand The fust idee that's big an' grand. They'd 'a' laft an' made fun O' Creation itself afore it was done!" Himself he locks, with thimble and thread screws, And all such things as geniuses use;— His grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke And Nathan and Jotham and Solomon, lurk Around the corner to see him work,- And boring the holes with a comical quirk Of his wise old head, and a knowing smirk. But vainly they mounted each other's backs, And poked through knot-holes and pried through cracks; With wood from the pile and straw from the stacks He plugged the knot-holes and calked the cracks; And a bucket of water, which one would think He had brought up into the loft to drink When he chanced to be dry, Stood always nigh, for Darius was sly! And, whenever at work he happened to spy, |