THE NORTHERN STAR A Tynemouth Ship THE Northern Star Bound to the Baltic Sea; She stretch'd away : For many an hour In sleet and shower And watch till dark For the winged bark Of him that is far away. The castle's bound I wander round, Amidst the grassy graves: Is the north wind drear, And all I see are the waves. The Northern Star Is set afar! Set in the Baltic Sea : And the waves have spread The sandy bed That holds my Love from me. Unknown. "LIKE CRUSOE, WALKING BY THE LONELY STRAND" LIKE Crusoe, walking by the lonely strand Thomas Bailey Aldrich. SONG OF MARION'S MEN1 OUR band is few, but true and tried, When Marion's name is told. As seamen know the sea. Within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery, 1 Note 4. On them shall light at midnight And they who fly in terror deem A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind. Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil; We talk the battle over, We share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup. That in the pine-top grieves, On beds of oaken leaves. Well knows the fair and friendly moon The band that Marion leads, The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlit plain; "T is life to feel the night-wind That lifts his tossing mane, A moment in the British camp Back to the pathless forest, Grave men there are by broad Santee, William Cullen Bryant THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH UNDER a spreading chestnut tree With large and sinewy hands; His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, Week in, week out, from morn till night, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly He goes on Sunday to the church, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes |