32 THE THREE FISHERS. They hear no sound, the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fallen they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,"Oh, Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!" Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, And the ship sinks down beneath the tide. SOUTHEY. 27. THE THREE FISHERS. THREE fishers went sailing away to the West, And there's little to earn, and many to keep; Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the night-rack came rolling up, ragged and brown. But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbour bar be moaning. Three corpses lay out on the shining sands In the morning gleam as the tide went down, KINGSLEY. PRAYER. 28. PRAYER. PRAYER is the soul's sincere desire The motion of a hidden fire Prayer is the burthen of a sigh, The upward glancing of an eye, Prayer is the simplest form of speech Prayer the sublimest strains that reach Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, His watchword at the gates of death: O! Thou, by whom we come to God, MONTGOMERY. 28* He prayeth best who loveth best COLERIDGE. 33 34 THE NORMAN BARON. 29. THE NORMAN BARON. In his chamber, weak and dying, In this fight was Death the gainer, And the lands his sires had plundered, By his bed a monk was seated, From the missal on his knee; And, amid the tempest pealing, In the hall, the serf and vassal Sang the minstrels and the waits. And so loud these Saxon gleemen Till at length the lays they chaunted Whispered at the baron's ear. THE NORMAN BARON. Tears upon his eyelids glistened, Turned his weary head to hear. "Wassail for the kingly stranger And the light'ning shewed the sainted In that hour of deep contrition, All the pomp of earth had vanished, Every vassal of his banner, Every serf born to his manor, All those wrong'd and wretched creatures, And, as on the sacred missal He recorded their dismissal, And the monk replied, "Amen." Many centuries have been numbered Mingling with the common dust. But the good deed, through the ages Brighter glows and gleams immortal, LONGFELLOW. 30. LUCY. SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways, A maid whom there were none to praise, A violet in a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye; Fair as a star when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and oh, The difference to me. WORDSWORTH. |