Poems Every Child Should Know Part 35

"Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender; And as the white stars s.h.i.+ne On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendour.

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest's shade Our vows were plighted.

Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted.

"Bright in her father's hall s.h.i.+elds gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chanting his glory; When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter's hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story.

"While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed, And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly.

"She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded!

Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew's flight?

Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded?

"Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me,-- Fairest of all was she Among the Nors.e.m.e.n!-- When on the white sea-strand, Waving his armed hand, Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty hors.e.m.e.n.

"Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us.

"And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, 'Death!' was the helmsman's hail, 'Death without quarter!'

Mids.h.i.+ps with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water!

"As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt, With his prey laden, So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden.

"Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the sh.o.r.e Stretching to leeward; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower Which to this very hour Stands looking seaward.

"There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes; Under that tower she lies; Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another.

"Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen!

Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful!

In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, Oh, death was grateful!

"Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended!

There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, _Skoal_! to the Northland! _skoal_!"

Thus the tale ended.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

THE REVENGE.

A BALLAD OF THE FLEET

Tennyson's (1807-92) "The _Revenge_" finds a welcome here because it is a favourite with teachers of elocution and their audiences. It teaches us to hold life cheap when the nation's safety is at stake.

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay, And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from away: "Spanish s.h.i.+ps of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!"

Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: "'Fore G.o.d, I am no coward; But I cannot meet them here, for my s.h.i.+ps are out of gear, And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick.

We are six s.h.i.+ps of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?"

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: "I know you are no coward; You fly them for a moment, to fight with them again.

But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ash.o.r.e.

I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard, To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain."

So Lord Howard pa.s.sed away with five s.h.i.+ps of war that day, Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven; But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land Very carefully and slow, Men of Bideford in Devon, And we laid them on the ballast down below; For we brought them all aboard, And they blest him in their pain that they were not left to Spain, To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.

He had only a hundred seamen to work the s.h.i.+p and to fight, And he sail'd away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight, With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow.

"Shall we fight or shall we fly?

Good Sir Richard, tell us now, For to fight is but to die!

"There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set"

And Sir Richard said again: "We be all good Englishmen.

Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil, For I never turn'd my back upon Don or devil yet."

Sir Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a hurrah, and so The little _Revenge_ ran on sheer into the heart of the foe, With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below; For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, And the little _Revenge_ ran on thro' the long sea-lane between.

Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks and laugh'd, Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft Running on and on, till delay'd By their mountain-like _San Philip_ that, of fifteen hundred tons, And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd.

And while now the great _San Philip_ hung above us like a cloud Whence the thunderbolt will fall Long and loud.

Four galleons drew away From the Spanish fleet that day, And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay, And the battle-thunder broke from them all.

But anon the great _San Philip_, she bethought herself and went, Having that within her womb that had left her ill content; And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand, For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers, And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes his ears When he leaps from the water to the land.

And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three; s.h.i.+p after s.h.i.+p, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came, s.h.i.+p after s.h.i.+p, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder and flame; s.h.i.+p after s.h.i.+p, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame.

For some were sunk and many were shatter'd, and so could fight us no more-- G.o.d of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?

For he said, "Fight on! fight on!"

Tho' his vessel was all but a wreck; And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone, With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck, But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead, And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head, And he said, "Fight on! Fight on!"

And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea, And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring; But they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd that we still could sting, So they watched what the end would be.

And we had not fought them in vain, But in perilous plight were we, Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, And half of the rest of us maim'd for life In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife; And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold, And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent; And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; But Sir Richard cried in his English pride: "We have fought such a fight for a day and a night As may never be fought again!

We have won great glory, my men!

And a day less or more At sea or ash.o.r.e, We die--does it matter when?

Sink me the s.h.i.+p, Master Gunner--sink her, split her in twain!

Fall into the hands of G.o.d, not into the hands of Spain!"

And the gunner said. "Ay, ay," but the seamen made reply: "We have children, we have wives, And the Lord hath spared our lives.

We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go; We shall live to fight again, and to strike another blow."

And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe.

And the stately Spanish men to their flags.h.i.+p bore him then, Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last, And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace; But he rose upon their decks, and he cried: "I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true; I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do.

With a joyful spirit I, Sir Richard Grenville, die!"

And he fell upon their decks, and he died.

And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true, And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap That he dared her with one little s.h.i.+p and his English few.

Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew, But they sank his body with honour down into the deep, And they mann'd the _Revenge_ with a swarthier alien crew, And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her own; When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke from sleep, And the water began to heave and the weather to moan, And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew, And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew, Till it smote on their hulls, and their sails, and their masts, and their flags, And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter'd navy of Spain, And the little _Revenge_ herself went down by the island crags, To be lost evermore in the main.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

SIR GALAHAD.

Sir Galahad is the most moral and upright of all the Knights of the Round Table. The strong lines of the poem (Tennyson, 1809-92) are the strong lines of human destiny--