Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 97

Deep graved in every British heart, O never let those names depart!

Say to your sons,--Lo, here his grave, Who victor died on Gadite wave!

To him, as to the burning levin, Short, bright, resistless course was given.

Where'er his country's foes were found Was heard the fated thunder's sound, Till burst the bolt on yonder sh.o.r.e, Roll'd, blazed, destroy'd--and was no more.

Nor mourn ye less his perish'd worth, Who bade the conqueror go forth, And launch'd that thunderbolt of war On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar; Who, born to guide such high emprise, For Britain's weal was early wise; Alas! to whom the Almighty gave, For Britain's sins, an early grave!

--His worth, who in his mightiest hour A bauble held the pride of power, Spurn'd at the sordid l.u.s.t of pelf, And served his Albion for herself; Who, when the frantic crowd amain Strain'd at subjection's bursting rein, O'er their wild mood full conquest gain'd, The pride he would not crush, restrain'd, Show'd their fierce zeal a worthier cause, And brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's laws.

Hadst thou but lived, though stripp'd of power, A watchman on the lonely tower, Thy thrilling trump had roused the land, When fraud or danger were at hand; By thee, as by the beacon-light, Our pilots had kept course aright; As some proud column, though alone, Thy strength had propp'd the tottering throne.

Now is the stately column broke, The beacon-light is quench'd in smoke, The trumpet's silver voice is still, The warder silent on the hill!

O think, how to his latest day, When Death, just hovering, claim'd his prey, With Palinure's unalter'd mood Firm at his dangerous post he stood; Each call for needful rest repell'd, With dying hand the rudder held, Till in his fall with fateful sway The steerage of the realm gave way.

Then--while on Britain's thousand plains One polluted church remains, Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around The b.l.o.o.d.y tocsin's maddening sound, But still upon the hallow'd day Convoke the swains to praise and pray; While faith and civil peace are dear, Grace this cold marble with a tear:-- He who preserved them, PITT, lies here!

Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, Because his rival slumbers nigh; Nor be thy Requiescat dumb Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb.

For talents mourn, untimely lost, When best employ'd, and wanted most; Mourn genius high, and lore profound, And wit that loved to play, not wound; And all the reasoning powers divine To penetrate, resolve, combine; And feelings keen, and fancy's glow-- They sleep with him who sleeps below: And, if thou mourn'st they could not save From error him who owns this grave, Be every harsher thought suppress'd, And sacred be the last long rest.

Here, where the end of earthly things Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings; Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue, Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung; Here, where the fretted vaults prolong The distant notes of holy song, As if some angel spoke agen, 'All peace on earth, good-will to men'; If ever from an English heart, O, here let prejudice depart, And, partial feeling cast aside, Record that Fox a Briton died!

When Europe crouch'd to France's yoke, And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, And the firm Russian's purpose brave Was barter'd by a timorous slave-- Even then dishonour's peace he spurn'd, The sullied olive-branch return'd, Stood for his country's glory fast, And nail'd her colours to the mast!

Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave A portion in this honour'd grave; And ne'er held marble in its trust Of two such wondrous men the dust.

With more than mortal powers endow'd, How high they soar'd above the crowd!

Theirs was no common party race, Jostling by dark intrigue for place; Like fabled G.o.ds, their mighty war Shook realms and nations in its jar; Beneath each banner proud to stand, Look'd up the n.o.blest of the land, Till through the British world were known The names of PITT and Fox alone.

Spells of such force no wizard grave E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave, Though his could drain the ocean dry, And force the planets from the sky.

These spells are spent, and, spent with these, The wine of life is on the lees.

Genius, and taste, and talent gone, For ever tomb'd beneath the stone, Where--taming thought to human pride!-- The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.

Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 'Twill trickle to his rival's bier; O'er PITT'S the mournful requiem sound, And Fox's shall the notes rebound.

The solemn echo seems to cry, 'Here let their discord with them die.

Speak not for those a separate doom Whom fate made Brothers in the tomb; But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like agen?'

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 1772-1834

549. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

PART I An ancient Mariner meeteth three gallants bidden to a wedding feast, and detaineth one.

IT is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three.

'By thy long beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din.'

He holds him with his skinny hand, 'There was a s.h.i.+p,' quoth he.

'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'

Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

The Wedding-Guest is spell-bound by the eye of the old seafaring man, and constrained to hear his tale.

He holds him with his glittering eye-- The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child: The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner.

'The s.h.i.+p was cheer'd, the harbour clear'd, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top.

The Mariner tells how the s.h.i.+p sailed southward with a good wind and fair weather, till it reached the Line.

The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he!

And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon----'

The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud ba.s.soon.

The Wedding-Guest heareth the bridal music; but the Mariner continueth his tale.

The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner.

The s.h.i.+p drawn by a storm toward the South Pole.

'And now the Storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The s.h.i.+p drove fast, loud roar'd the blast, The southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald.

The land of ice, and of fearful sounds, where no living thing was to be seen.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-- The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd, Like noises in a swound!

Till a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, came through the snow-fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality.

At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hail'd it in G.o.d's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew.

The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steer'd us through!

And lo! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the s.h.i.+p as it returned northward through fog and floating ice.

And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariners' hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perch'd for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmer'd the white moons.h.i.+ne.'

The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good omen.

'G.o.d save thee, ancient Mariner!

From the fiends, that plague thee thus!-- Why look'st thou so?'--'With my crossbow I shot the Albatross.