'And this,' they said, 'by the sunrise, In the weaver's croft shall grow. "Oh, the poor, lame weaver, "And then outspoke a brownie, With a long beard on his chin: "I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, A little sheet for Mary's bed, "With that I could not help but laugh, And I laughed out loud and free; And then on the top of the Caldon Low There was no one left but me. "And all on the top of the Caldon Low The mists were cold and gray, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones, That round about me lay. "But coming down from the hilltop I heard afar below How busy the jolly miller was, And how the wheel did go. THE PHANTOM SHIP "And I peeped into the widow's field, The yellow ears of the mildewed corn "And down by the weaver's croft I stole, And I met the weaver at his gate, "Now this is all I heard, mother, And all that I did see; So, prythee, make my bed, mother, For I'm tired as I can be." Mary Howitt. 95 THE PHANTOM SHIP IN Mather's Magnalia Christi, May be found in prose the legend A ship sailed from New Haven, That filled her sails at parting, Were heavy with good men's prayers. "O Lord! if it be thy pleasure Thus prayed the old divine "To bury our friends in the ocean, Take them, for they are thine!" But Master Lamberton muttered, And under his breath said he, "This ship is so crank and walty I fear our grave she will be!" And the ships that came from England, This put the people to praying That the Lord would let them hear What in his greater wisdom He had done with friends so dear. And at last their prayers were answered: It was in the month of June, An hour before the sunset Of a windy afternoon, When, steadily steering landward, A ship was seen below, And they knew it was Lamberton, Master, Who sailed so long ago. On she came, with a cloud of canvas, The faces of the crew. Then fell her straining topmasts, Hanging tangled in the shrouds, THE BAREFOOT BOY And her sails were loosened and lifted, And the masts, with all their rigging, And the hulk dilated and vanished, As a sea-mist in the sun! And the people who saw this marvel That this was the mould of their vessel, And the pastor of the village Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 97 THE BAREFOOT BOY BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Prince thou art, Only is republican. the grown-up man Let the million-dollared ride! O for boyhood's painless play, Where the whitest lilies blow, And the architectural plans For, eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks; |