SONG "MEN OF ENGLAND" Men of England! who inherit Rights that cost your sires their blood, Men whose undegenerate spirit Has been proved on land and flood: By the foes ye've fought uncounted, By the glorious deeds ye've done, Trophies captured-breaches mounted, Navies conquered-kingdoms won! Yet, remember, England gathers Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame, If the patriotism of your fathers Glow not in your hearts the same. What are monuments of bravery, Where no public virtues bloom? What avail in lands of slavery, Trophied temples, arch and tomb? Pageants!-Let the world revere us For our people's rights and laws, And the breasts of civic heroes Bared in Freedom's holy cause. Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory, Sydney's matchless fame is yours,— Martyrs in heroic story, Worth a hundred Agincourts! We're the sons of sires that baffled Crowned and mitred tyranny: They defied the field and scaffold For their birthrights-so will we! SONG TO THE EVENING STAR Star that bringest home the bee, And sett'st the weary labourer free! If any star shed peace, 'tis thou, That send'st it from above, 5 10 15 20 25 Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow, 5 Are sweet as hers we love. Come to the luxuriant skies, Whilst the landscape's odours rise, Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard, 60 And songs, when toil is done, From cottages whose smoke unstirred Curls yellow in the sun. 10 Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave! Singing glory to the souls Of the brave! 70 2 A Danish sea-port town about twenty miles from Copenhagen. Captain Riou, who distinguished himself in an important part of the engagement. By absence from the heart. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER (1804) A Chieftan to the Highlands bound, And, when in other climes we meet Some isle or vale enchanting, Where all looks flow'ry, mild and sweet, Of joy that's left behind us. 20 25 30 For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, 45 His child he did discover: And hearts, that once beat high for praise, One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover. Now feel that pulse no more! No more to chiefs and ladies bright "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water: The harp of Tara swells; 10 The chord, alone, that breaks at night, 50 Its tale of ruin tells: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-oh, my daughter!" Thus freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing: Is when some heart indignant breaks, 15 To show that still she lives! The waters wild went o'er his child, 55 And he was left lamenting. 1 The palace of the ancient kings of Ireland, which is said to have stood on the Hill of Tara, in County Meath, Ireland. 2 Cord, string. SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND (From the same) She is far from the land where her young Hero sleeps, And lovers are round her, sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying! 6 She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest, From her own loved island of sorrow! OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT (1816) Oft, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Mem'ry brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; 15 20 GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! 10 Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Mem'ry brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all 15 20 (From Poems, 1850) Touch us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream Gently, as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream! Humble voyagers are We, Husband, wife, and children three 5 I love (oh! how I love) to ride On the fierce foaming bursting tide, When every mad wave drowns the moon, Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, I never was on the dull tame shore, The waves were white, and red the morn, 15 20 25 30 That hue which haunts it to the tomb, Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay, The farewell beam of feeling past away! 100 Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth! Clime of the unforgotten brave! Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was freedom's home, or glory's grave! Shrine of the mighty! can it be, 105 That this is all remains of thee? While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom What can he tell who treads thy shore? No legend of thine olden time, No theme on which the muse might soar High as thine own in days of yore, When man was worthy of thy clime.. 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 |