10 The Press! the Press! the Press! PRESTON MILLS The day was fair, the cannon roar'd, 5 All in their best they paced the street, But from their lips the rose had fled, Flags waved, and men-a ghastly crew- 15 While, hand in hand, and two by two, They moved a living tide. Into the petals of the hedge-side rose 5 Day's golden beams and all-embracing air! Rise! for the morn of Sabbath riseth fair! The clouds expect thee-Rise! the stonechat1 hops Among the mosses of thy granite chair: Go tell the plover, on the mountain tops, 10 That we have cherish'd nests and hidden wings. Wings? Ay, like those on which the seraph flings, His sun-bright speed from star to star abroad; And we have music, like the whisperings Of streams in Heav'n-our labor is an ode 15 Of sweet sad praise to Him who loves the right. And cannot He who spins the beauteous light, And weaves the air into the wild flowers' hues, Give to thy soul the mountain torrent's Yet why should he who shrieking goes Alone with God, where no wind blows, 20 And Death, his shadow-doomed, he goes: That God is there the shadow shows. Oh, shoreless Deep, where no wind blows! BRYAN WALLER PROCTER ("Barry Cornwall") (1787-1874) THE SEA 1832 The sea! the sea! the open sea! The blue, the fresh, the ever free! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round; 5 It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; 10 15 Or like a cradled creature lies. I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea! With the blue above, and the blue below, If a storm should come and awake the deep, I love (oh! how I love) to ride I never was on the dull tame shore, 25 The waves were white, and red the morn, In the noisy hour when I was born; And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, And the dolphins bared their backs of gold; And never was heard such an outery wild 30 As welcomed to life the ocean-child! I've lived since then, in calm and strife, change; 35 And Death, whenever he come to me. Shall come on the wide unbounded sea! O'er the deep! O'er the deep! Where the whale, and the shark, and the Outflying the blast and the driving rain, 25 For the mariner curseth the warning bird Who bringeth him news of the storms unheard! Ah! thus does the prophet, of good or ill, Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still: Yet he ne'er falters:-So, petrel! spring 30 Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing! THE HUNTER'S SONG Rise! Sleep no more! 'Tis a noble morn: Under the steaming, steaming ground. 5 Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by, And leave us alone in the clear gray sky! Our horses are ready and steady.-So, ho! I'm gone, like a dart from the Tartar's bow. Hark, hark!-Who calleth the maiden |