HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA.-Browning. NOBLY, nobly, Cape St. Vincent to the North-West died away; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay ; In the dimmest North-East distance, dawned Gibraltar grand and gray; 'Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?'—say, Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray, While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. THE LAST BUCCANIER.-Kingsley. OH England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high, But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I; All furnished well with small arms and cannons round about; And a thousand men in Avés made laws so fair and free To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally. Thence we sailed against the Spaniard, with his hoards of plate and gold, 1 Which he wrung with cruel tortures from Indian folk of old; Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as stone, Who flog men and keel-haul them, and starve them to the bone. Oh the palms grow high in Avés, and fruits that shone like gold, And the colibris and parrots, they were gorgeous to behold; And the negro maids of Avés from bondage fast did flee, To welcome gallant sailors, a sweeping in from sea. Oh, sweet it was in Avés to hear the landward breze roar Of the breakers on the reef outside, that never touched the shore. But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be ; So the king's ships sailed on Avés, and quite pu'. down were we. All day we fought like bull-dogs, but they burst the booms at night; And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the fight. Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside, Till for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing, she died; But as I lay a-gasping, a Bristol sail came by, And brought me home to England here, to beg until I die. And now I'm old and going-I'm sure I can't tell where; One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be worse off there : If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main, MY LADY NATURE AND HER DAUGHTERS. 7. H. Newman. LADIES, well I deem, delight Are the robes they love. Silks, where hues alternate play, Shawls, and scarfs, and mantles gay, Gold, and gems, and crispèd hair, Fling their light o'er lady fair. 'Tis not waste, nor sinful pride, -Name them not, nor fault beside, But her very cheerfulness Prompts and weaves the curious dress; While her holy thoughts still roam All forms of grace, all tints of light, Sun-lit heaven, and rainbow cloud, 'Tis not pride, this vaunt of beauty; Ladies, shrinking from the view In tranquil diligence pursue And, her deft hand still concealing, Ladies love to laugh and sing, Where dancers gather round. Moss uncouth and twigs grotesque, Where the birth of Poesy? Its fancy and its fire? Nature's earth, and sea, and sky, Fervid thoughts inspire. Where do wealth and power find rest, From the rude world and unkind? Nature 'mid the spheres holds sway, VICTORIA'S TEARS.-Mrs. Browning. 'O MAIDEN! heir of kings! All other from his face. And thou upon thy mother's breast, She wept to wear a crown! ; They decked her courtly halls 'A noble queen succeeds!' Her name has stirr'd the mountain's sleep, Who wept to wear a crown! She saw no purples shine, For tears had dimmed her eyes : She only knew, her childhood's flowers Were happier pageantries! And while the heralds played their part, 'God save the Queen!' from hill to mart- God save thee, weeping Queen! |