And one by one, through a hole in the wall, And a very astonishing sight was that, And Reuben slid The fastenings back, and the door undid. "Keep dark!" said he, "While I squint an' see what the' is to see." As knights of old put on their mail,— An iron suit, Iron jacket and iron boot, Iron breeches, and on the head No hat, but an iron pot instead, (I believe they called the thing a helm,) The dragons and pagans that plagued the realm,— 259 What's he got on? I van, it's wings! An' that 't other thing? I vum, it's a tail! Steppin' careful, he travels the length Of his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength. To see The dragon! he's goin' to fly: Away he goes! Jimminy! what a jump! Flop-flop-an' plump To the ground with a thump! Flutt'rin an' flound'rin', all 'n a lump!" As a demon is hurled by an angel's spear, In the midst of the barn-yard he came down, MORAL. I have just room for the moral here; On spreading your wings for a loftier flight, XCI. THE INCHCAPE ROCK. ROBERT SOUTHEY. No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, The ship was still as she could be; Her sails from heaven received no motion; Without either sign or sound of their shock, The Abbot of Aberbrothock Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; When the rock was hid by the surge's swell The sun in heaven was shining gay ; All things were joyful on that day; The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round, And there was joyance in their sound. The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen, A darker speck on the ocean green; Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, He felt the cheering power of spring; But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. His eye was on the Inchcape float; And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothock." The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float. Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound; The bubbles rose and burst around; Quoth Sir Ralph, “The next who comes to the rock, Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothock." Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; But even in his dying fear, One dreadful sound could the Rover hear, A sound, as if, with the Inchcape Bell, XCII. THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. ROBERT LOWELL. Oh that last day in Lucknow fort! We knew that it was the last, That the enemy's mines had crept surely in, To yield to that foe meant worse than death, There was one of us, a corporal's wife, Wasted with fever in the siege, And her mind was wandering. She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid, And I took her head on my knee; “When my father comes hame frae the pleugh,” she said, "Oh! please then waken me." She slept like a child on her father's floor, In the flecking of woodbine shade, When the house dog sprawls by the half-open door, And the mother's wheel is stayed. It was smoke, and roar, and powder stench, And hopeless waiting for death; |