My bark! the winds are fair unfurl'd
To waft thee on thy watery road,
Oh haste that I to this new world
May give glad tidings of her God;
That I may lead those tribes aright,
So long on error's ocean driven,
And point to their bewilder'd sight,
A fairer path to heaven.
What have the proudest conquerors rear'd To hold their honours forth to fame? Things which a few short years have sear'd And left without a name!
But I 'mid empires prostrate hurl'd, 'Mid all the glories time has rentWill raise no column, but a world,
To stand my monument!-D. MORE.
"But, see! look up-on Flodden bent,
The Scottish foe has fired his tent."-
And sudden, as he spoke,
From the sharp ridges of the hill,
All downward to the banks of Till,
Was wreathed in sable smoke;
Volumed and vast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,
As down the hill they broke;
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march; their tread alone,
At times one warning trumpet blown,
At times a stifled hum,
Told England, from his mountain-throne
King James did rushing come.-
Scarce could they hear, or see their foes,
Until at weapon-point they close.
They close, in clouds of smoke and dust,
With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust; And such a yell was there,
Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon the earth,
And fiends in upper air.
Long looked the anxious squires; their eye Could in the darkness nought descry.
At length the freshening western blast
Aside the shroud of battle cast;
And, first, the ridge of mingled spears
Above the brightening cloud appears;
And in the smoke the pennons flew,
As in the storm the white sea-mew.
Then marked they, dashing broad and far,
The broken billows of the war;
And plumed crests of chieftains brave,
Floating like foam upon the wave;
But nought distinct they see:
Wide raged the battle on the plain;
Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain;
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain;
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,
Wild and disorderly.
Amid the scene of tumult, high
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly:
And stainless Tunstall's banner white,
And Edmund Howard's lion bright,
Still bear them bravely in the fight;
Although against them come,
Of gallant Gordons many a one,
And many a stubborn Highlandman,
And many a rugged Border clan,
With Huntly, and with Home.
Far on the left, unseen the while,
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;
Though there the western mountaineer
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear,
And flung the feeble targe aside,
And with both hands the broad-sword plied:
"Twas vain-But Fortune, on the right,
With fickle smile cheered Scotland's fight,
Then fell that spotless banner white,-
The Howard's lion fell:
Yet still Lord Marmion's faleon flew
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew
Around the battle yell.
The border slogan rent the sky!
A Home! a Gordon! was the cry;
Loud were the clanging blows;
Advanced,-forced back,-now low, now high,
The pennon sunk and rose;
As bends the bark's mast in the gale,
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail,
It wavered 'mid the foes.
By this, though deep the evening fell,
Still rose the battle's deadly swell;
The English shafts in vollies hailed,
In headlong charge their horse assailed;
Front, flank, and rear, their squadrons sweep,
To break the Scottish circle deep,
That fought around their king!
But yet though thick the shafts as snow,
Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,
Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow,
Unbroken was the ring:
The stubborn spearmen still made good
Their dark impenetrable wood;
Each stepping where his comrade stood,
The instant that he fell.
No thought was there of dastard flight;
Linked in the serried phalanx tight,
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,-
As fearlessly as well;
Till utter darkness closed her wing
O'er their thin host and wounded king;
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands
Led back from strife his shattered bands;
And from the charge they drew,
As mountain waves, from wasted lands,
Sweep back to ocean blue.
Then did their loss his foemen know;
Their king, their lords, their mightiest low,
They melted from the field as snow
When streams are swollen, and south winds blow-
Dissolves in silent dew.-SCOTT.
How many grand interests-maritime discovery kindling the imagination, national growth awakening patriotism, dawning science quickening intellect, prowess and passion incited by free and earnest social conditions-united to awaken the genius and enrich the manhood of England in Elizabeth's age! There was an earnest call upon all the powers, and large natures could scarcely avoid their use. Bacon was not only a chancellor but a philosopher and an essayist; Raleigh was not only an admiral but a statesman and an annalist; Sidney not only wielded a sword, but struck a lyre; and as if to mirror in one broad and eternal picture, the wide activity and universal humanity then projected into coming time, Shakspeare unfolded in the drama all the experience that life includes, and all the powers it enlists and illustrates.
There is many a glorious page in English history, but none more bright and radiant than that which records the doings of the Elizabethan era. It was a time when the national life was healthy and noble, as never national life had been before, or has been since.
The discovery of the New World kindled the imagination, and gave birth to great and glorious dreams; Protestantism gave earnestness to the dreamer, strengthened his arm, and inspired his every blow; Platonic idealism cast its divine radiance over all; the spirit of the chivalry which was expiring, ennobled that of the commercial enterprise, which was strengthening every day; and the sentiment of nationality, whilst fed by all these sources, blended them into one majestic stream, and sent them forth upon their errand, conquering and to conquer.
Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise:
I sing of the thrice famous deeds, she wrought in ancient days,
When the great fleet invincible, against her bore, in vain,
The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts in Spain.
It was about the lovely close of a warm summer's day,
There came a gallant merchant ship, full sail to Plymouth bay;
The crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,
At earliest twilight, on the waves, lie heaving many a mile.
At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace;
And until noon a Spanish ship had held her close in chase.
Forthwith a guard, at every gun, was placed along the wall;
The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecombe's lofty hall;
Many a light fishing bark put out, to pry along the coast;
And with loose rein, and bloody spur, rode inland many a post.
With his white hair, unbonnetted, the stout old sheriff comes;
Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums.
The yeomen, round the market cross, make clear an ample space,
For there behoves him to set up the standard of her grace:
And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,
As slow, upon the labouring wind, the royal blazon swells.
Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,
And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down!
So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,
Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield:
So glared he when, at Agincourt, in wrath he turned to bay,
And crushed and torn, beneath his claws, the princely hunters lay.
Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, sir Knight! Ho! scatter flowers,
fair maids!
Ho, gunners! fire a loud salute! ho, gallants! draw your blades!
Thou, sun, shine on her joyously! ye breezes, waft her wide!
Our glorious semper eadem! the banner of our pride!
The fresh'ning breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold-
The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold.
Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea;
Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be.
From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford bay,
That time of slumber was as bright, as busy as the day;
For swift to east, and swift to west, the warning radiance spread-
High on St. Michael's Mount it shone-it shone on Beachy Head.
Far o'er the deep, the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,
Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.
The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamer's glittering waves,
The rugged miners poured to war, from Mendip's sunless caves:
O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald
flew-
He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge-the rangers of Beaulieu. Right sharp and quick the bells rang out, all night, from Bristol town;
And, ere the day, three hundred horse had met on Clifton Down.
The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,
And saw, o'erhanging Richmond Hill, that streak of blood-red light.
The bugle's note, and cannon's roar, the deathlike silence broke,
And with one start, and with one cry the royal city woke;
At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering fires;
At once the wild alarm-bell clashed from all her reeling spires;
From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear,
And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer;
Then from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,
And the broad streams of flags and pikes dashed down each rousing
street;
And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,
As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in ; And eastward straight, for wild Blackheath, the warlike errand went;
Which roused, in many an ancient hall, the gallant squires of Kent; Southward, for Surrey's pleasant hills, flew those bright coursers forth;
High on black Hampstead's swarthy moor, they started for the
And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still;
All night from tower to tower they sprang, all night from hill to hill;
Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Derwent's rocky daies;
Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales;
Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height;
Till streamed in crimson, on the wind, the Wrekin's crest of light,
Till, broad and fierce the star came forth, on Ely's stately fane,
And town and hamlet rose in arms, o'er all the boundless plain:
Till Belvoir's lordly towers the sign to Lincoln sent,
And Lincoln sped the message on, o'er the wide vale of Trent;
Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burnt on Gaunt's embattled pile,
And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.
MACAULAY.
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