The boatman plied the oar, the boat The boatman paus'd, methought I heard Haste, haste! ply swift and strong the oar! I heard a child's distressful scream Nay hasten on-the night is dark— Oh God! Lord William dost thou know How horrible it is to sink Beneath the chilly stream, To stretch the powerless arms in vain, The shriek again was heard: it came And near them they beheld a child, A little crag, and all around The boatman plied the oar, the boat Now reach thine hand! the boatman cried, The child stretch'd forth his little hands Το grasp Then William shriek'd; the hand he touch'd The boat sunk down, the murderer sunk ST. MICHAEL'S CHAIR, AND WHO SAT THERE. MERRILY, merrily rung the bells, Richard Penlake was a cheerful man, Cheerful, and frank, and free, But he led a sad life with Rebecca his wife, Richard Penlake a scolding would take, Then Richard Penlake his crab-stick would take, Rebecca his wife had often wish'd To sit in St. Michael's chair; It chanced that Richard Penlake fell sick, "Now hear my prayer, St. Michael! and spare Richard Penlake repeated the vow, When Richard grew well, Rebecca his wife 66 "O mine own dear! for you I fear, If we the vow delay." Merrily, merrily rung the bells, The bells of St. Michael's tower, When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife Arrived at the church door. Six marks they on the altar laid, Up the tower Rebecca ran, Round and round and round; "A curse on the ringers for rocking "A blessing on St. Michael's chair!" Merrily, merrily, rung the bells, And Rebecca was shook to the ground. Tidings to Richard Penlake were brought "Now shall we toll for her poor soul The great church bell?" they said. "Toll at her burying," quoth Richard Penlake, "Toll at her burying," quoth he; " But don't disturb the ringers now, THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM. THE rage of Babylon is rous'd, The king puts forth his strength; And points her arrows for the coming war. Her walls are firm, her gates are strong, High are her chiefs in hope, For Egypt soon will send the promised aid. But who is he whose voice of woe Is heard amid the streets? Whose ominous voice proclaims Her strength and arms and promised succours vain? His meagre cheek is pale and sunk, Wild is his hollow eye, Yet fearful its strong glance; And who could bear the anger of his frown? Prophet of God! in vain thy lips Proclaim the woe to come! In vain thy warning voice Summoned her rulers timely to repent! The Ethiop changes not his skin. The rulers spurn thy voice, And now the measure of their crimes is full. And now around Jerusalem The countless foes appear; Spreads the wide horror of the circling siege. Why is the warrior's cheek so pale? Who late so high of heart Made sharp his javelin for the welcome war? "Tis not for terror that his eye Or rush to death, and in the grave His parents do not ask for food, have peace Her wretched meal, she utters no complain The consummating hour is come! How is she desolate, She that was great among the nations fallen! And thou-thou miserable king— Thy flock so beautiful, Thy father's throne, the temple of thy God? Repentance calls not back the past; Thy murdered sons to life, Or bring back vision to thy blasted sight! Thou wretched, childless, blind, old man— Heavy thy punishment! Dreadful thy present woes Alas, more dreadful thy remember'd guilt! |