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But be it so or not, I only know

My present duty, and my Lord's command
To occupy till He come. So at the post
Where He hath set me in his providence,
I choose, for one, to meet Him face to face,
No faithless servant frightened from my task,
But ready when the Lord of the harvest calls;
And therefore, with all reverence, I would say,
Let God do his work, we will see to ours:
Bring in the candles." And they brought them in.

Then by the flaring lights the Speaker read,
Albeit with husky voice and shaking hands,
An act to amend an act to regulate

The shad and alewive fisheries. Whereupon
Wisely and well spake Abraham Davenport,
Straight to the question, with no figures of speech
Save the ten Arab signs, yet not without
The shrewd dry humor natural to the man:
His awestruck colleagues listening all the while,
Between the pauses of his argument,

To hear the thunder of the wrath of God
Break from the hollow trumpet of the cloud.

And there he stands in memory to this day,
Erect, self-poised, a rugged face, half seen
Against the background of unnatural dark,
A witness to the ages as they pass,
That simple duty hath no place for fear.

John Greenleaf Whittier.

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SIR MARMADUKE

45

SIR MARMADUKE

SIR MARMADUKE was a hearty knight;
Good man! old man!

He's painted standing bolt upright,

With his hose rolled over his knee;
His periwig 's as white as chalk,
And on his fist he holds a hawk,
And he looks like the head
Of an ancient family.

His dining-room was long and wide,
Good man! old man!

His spaniels lay by the fireside;

And in other parts, d'ye see
Crossbows, tobacco-pipes, old hats,

A saddle, his wife, and a litter of cats;

And he looks like the head

Of an ancient family.

He never turned the poor from his gate,
Good man! old man!

But was always ready to break the pate

Of his country's enemy.

What knight could do a better thing

Than serve the poor, and fight for his king?

And so may every head

Of an ancient family!

Unknown.

THE NORTHERN STAR

A Tynemouth Ship

THE Northern Star
Sail'd over the bar
Bound to the Baltic Sea;
In the morning gray
She stretch'd away:
'T was a weary day to me!

For many an hour

In sleet and shower

By the lighthouse rock I stray;

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:
But all I hear

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.

SONG OF MARION'S MEN

47

"LIKE CRUSOE, WALKING BY THE LONELY STRAND"

LIKE Crusoe, walking by the lonely strand
And seeing a human footprint on the sand,
Have I this day been startled, finding here,
Set in brown mould and delicately clear,
Spring's footprint

O sweet invasion!

the first crocus of the year! Farewell, solitude!

Soon shall wild creatures of the field and wood

Flock from all sides with much ado and stir,

And make of me most willing prisoner!

Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

SONG OF MARION'S MEN1

OUR band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;
The British soldier trembles

When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,
Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us,

As seamen know the sea.

We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,

Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.

Woe to the English soldiery,
That little dread us near!

1 Note 4.

On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear:
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again.

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.
With merry songs we mock the wind

That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly

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,

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