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So he thinks he shall take to the sea again

For one more cruise with his buccaneers,
To singe the beard of the King of Spain,
And capture another Dean of Jaen
And sell him in Algiers.

A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET

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October, 1746.

MR. THOMAS PRINCE, loquitur

A fleet with flags arrayed

Sailed from the port of Brest,
And the Admiral's ship displayed
The signal "Steer south-west."
For this Admiral D'Anville

Had sworn by cross and crown
To ravage with fire and steel

Our helpless Boston town.

There were rumors in the street,
In the houses there was fear
Of the coming of the fleet,

And the danger hovering near;
And while from mouth to mouth
Spread the tidings of dismay,
I stood in the Old South,

Saying humbly, "Let us pray!

O Lord! we would not advise;
But if in Thy Providence

A tempest should arise,

To drive the French fleet hence,

And scatter it far and wide,

Or sink it in the sea,
We should be satisfied,
And Thine the glory be."

This was the prayer I made,
For my soul was all on flame,
And even as I prayed

The answering tempest came.
It came with a mighty power,

Shaking the windows and walls, And tolling the bell in the tower, As it tolls at funerals.

The Lightning suddenly

Unsheathed its flaming sword,
And I cried, "Stand still, and see
The salvation of the Lord!"
The heavens were black with cloud,

The sea was white with hail,
And ever more fierce and loud
Blew the October gale.

The fleet it overtook,

And the broad sails in the van,
Like the tents of Cushan shook,
Or the curtains of Midian.
Down on the reeling decks
Crashed the o'erwhelming seas;
Ah, never were there wrecks
So pitiful as these!

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Like a potter's vessel broke
The great ships of the line;
They were carried away as a smoke,
Or sank like lead in the brine.
O Lord! before thy path

They vanished and ceased to be,
When thou didst walk in wrath,

With thine horses through the sea.

NATURE

10 As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led,

And leave his broken playthings on the floor, Still gazing at them through the open door. 15 Nor wholly reassured and comforted

By promises of others in their stead,

Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;

So Nature deals with us, and takes away

20 Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go,
Scarce knowing if we wished to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand

How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

CHAUCER

An old man in a lodge within a park;

The chamber walls depicted all around

With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound, And the hurt deer. He listeneth to the lark,

Whose song comes with the sunshine through the dark
Of painted glass in leaden lattice bound;

He listeneth and he laugheth at the sound,
Then writeth in a book like any clerk.
He is the poet of the dawn, who wrote
The Canterbury Tales, and his old age
Made beautiful with song; and as I read

I hear the crowing cock, I hear the note

Of lark and linnet, and from every page
Rise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead.

THE REPUBLIC

(From The Building of the Ship)

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
Sail on, O UNION, strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what Master laid thy keel,

What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge and what a heat
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!

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Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
'Tis of the wave and not the rock;
'Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale!
In spite of rock and tempest's roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,

Are all with thee, are all with thee!

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ULTIMA THULE

With favoring winds, o'er sunlit seas,
We sailed for the Hesperides,

The land where golden apples grow;
But that, ah! that was long ago.

How far since then the ocean streams
Have swept us from the land of dreams,
That land of fiction and of truth,
The lost Atlantis of our youth!

Whither, ah, whither? are not these

The tempest-haunted Hebrides,

Where sea-gulls scream, and breakers roar,
And wreck and sea-weed line the shore?

Ultima Thule! Utmost Isle!

Here in thy harbors for awhile

We lower our sails, awhile we rest

From the unending endless quest.

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