And when the old woman came home at night, He said he could plainly see, That his wife could do more work in a day Than he could do in three. And then he said how well she plough'd, Said his wife could do more work in a day THE SANDS OF DEE. REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY. "Oh, Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee." The western wind was wild and dark with foam, The western tide crept up along the sand, And round and round the sand As far as eye could see. The rolling mist came down and hid the land: "Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair— A drowned maiden's hair, Above the nets at sea?" Was never salmon yet that shone so fair Among the stakes of Dee. They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea. But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee. (By permission of Messrs. Macmillan.) 171 THE ALMA. THE RIGHT REV. RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH, D.D., THOUGH till now ungraced in story, scant although thy waters be, Alma, roll those waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea: Yesterday, unnamed, unhonoured, but to wandering Tartar known Now thou art a voice for ever, to the world's four corners blown. In two nations' annals graven, thou art now a deathless name, And a star for ever shining in the firmament of fame. Many a great and ancient river, crowned with city, tower and shrine, Little streamlet, knows no magic, boasts no potency like thine, Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a living head, Cannot lend the light thou lendest to the memories of the dead. Yea, nor all unscathed their sorrow, who can, proudly mourning, say When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept itself away "He has pass'd from us, the loved one; but he sleeps with them that died By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hill-side." Yes, and in the days far onward, when we all are cold as those Who beneath thy vines and willows on their hero-beds repose, Thou on England's banners blazon'd with the famous fields of old, Shalt, where other fields are winning, wave above the brave and bold; And our sons unborn shall nerve them for some great deed to be done, By that Twentieth of September, when the Alma's heights were won. Oh! thou river; dear for ever to the gallant, to the free Alma, roll thy waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea. (By permission of the Author.) THE SPECTRE PIG. O. W. HOLMES. Ir was the stalwart butcher man And oh it was the gentle pig They took him then, those wicked men, And round and round an oaken beam And like a mighty pendulum Now say thy prayers, thou sinful man, And read thy catechism well, Thou sanguinary one. For if his sprite should walk by night, It better were for thee, That thou were mouldering in the ground, Or bleaching in the sea. It was the savage butcher then It was the butcher's youngest son, All young and ignorant was he, Out spoke the tender child "Oh! father, father, list to me; It was the naughty butcher then "Oh! Nathan, Nathan, what's a pig, It was the butcher's daughter then, That sobbed as if her heart would break, And thus she spoke in thrilling tone,- The pig! the pig! the pig!" Then did her wicked father's lips Ye need not weep, ye gentle ones, The bright sun folded on his breast And softly over all the west The shades of evening came. He slept, and troops of murdered pigs Loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks, The clock struck twelve; the dead hath heard; And sullenly he shook his tail To lash the feeding flies. One quiver of the hempen cord,- The pig was on the ground. And straight towards the sleeper's house And hooting owl, and hovering bat, On midnight wing attended. |