Children dear, were we long alone? "The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say; Come ! I said; and we rose through the surf in the bay. We went up the beach, by the sandy down Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the whitewall'd town ; Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, To the little grey church on the windy hill. From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. We climb'd on the graves, on the stones worn with rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: 'Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here! Dear heart," I said, we are long alone; The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.” But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were sealed to the holy book! Down, down, down! Down to the depths of the sea! She sits at her wheel in the humming town, Singing most joyfully. Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy, For the humming street, and the child with its toy! [well; For the priest, and the bell, and the holy For the wheel where I spun, And the blessed light of the sun! Singing most joyfully, Till the spindle drops from her hand, She steals to the window, and looks at the sand, And over the sand at the sea; And her eyes are set in a stare ; A long, long sigh; For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden, And the gleam of her golden hair. Come away, away, children; Come children, come down! She will start from her slumber t When gusts shake the door ; We shall see, while above us A pavement of pearl. Singing : "Here came a mortal, But faithless was she! And alone dwell for ever The kings of the sea.' But, children, at midnight, We will gaze, from the sand-hills; At the church on the hill-side- Singing: "There dwells a loved one, She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea." They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead; They brought me bitter news to hear, and bitter tears to shed. I wept as I remembered how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking, and sent him down the sky.. And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest, Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake, For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take. CANON BRIGHT. 1825-1901 CROWNED AND DISCROWNED Wherefore thus 'mid foemen lurking, when my place is far away, Here's no room for feet of Stuarts on a Brunswick's crowning day; Yet awhile I fain would linger--needless now this veiling guise In an hour of regal joyance, safe 'mid unsuspecting eyes. There be those within this presence, Lordships some, perhaps a Grace, Who, if questioned, might bethink them they have seen Charles Stuart's face; But that face is changed and saddened, I am not what I was then, Foes, that thirsted for my life-blood, gaze on me with harmless ken: Let us watch this cursed pageant, high of heart and calm of brow, Oh, ye roofs of old St. Peter's, wot ye whom ye shelter now? Ye beheld my martyred grandsire in his robes of boding white, Better ye were levin-blasted ere ye looked on this day's rite! Oh! ye perjured English traitors, pledged to be our liegemen true, |