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Hark! 'tis bellowed from the caves
No voice of life was there—
"Rule, Britannia," sang the crew
Bright rose the laughing morn—
From the lonely beacon's height,
But no mortal power shall now
* Warrior-crow, the union flag, the national ensign of Great Britain.
There are spirits of the deep,
High the eddying mists are whirled,
O'er Swilly's rocks they soar,
The dread behest is past!
Beneath the wave.
"Britannia rules the waves!"
BERNARDO AND KING ALPHONSO.
With some good ten of his chosen men,
Bernardo hath appeared
The lying king to beard.
With cap in hand and eye on ground,
He came in reverent guise; But ever and anon he frowned,
And flame broke from his eyes.
"A curse upon thee," cries the king,
"Who com'st unbid to me!
Save traitor like to thee 1
Perchance our champion brave
To share Don Sancho's grave."
"Whoever told this tale,
The king hath rashness to repeat,"
Before the liar's feet.
No stain in mine doth lie:
The coward calumny?
Ye swore upon your kingly faith
To set Don Sancho free;
The light he ne'er did see:
By Alphonso's base decree;
Were all they gave to me.
The king that swerveth from his word,
Hath stained his purple black:
Behind a liar's back.
And open hate I'll show ;—
And Bernard is his foe!"
"Seize—seize him!" loud the king doth scream:
"There are a thousand here;
What! caitiffs, do ye fear?
To move a finger dareth:
And calm his sword he bareth.
He drew the falchion from its sheath,
And held it up on high;
Cries Bernard, "Here am I;
Excepting Heaven and me:
King, conde, or grandee."
Then to his mouth his horn he drew—
It hung below his cloak;
And through the ring they broke.
The knights the circle brake,
And the false king to quake.
"Ha! Bernard!" quoth Alphonso,
"What means this warlike guise? Ye know full well I jested;—
Ye know your worth I prize!" But Bernard turned upon his heel,
And, smiling, passed away. Long rued Alphonso and Castile
The jesting of that day!
J. G. IiOOKHART.
THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS.
Across the ocean's troubled breast
The base-bora Norman came,
For his sons a kingly name;
And in his warlike band
Came flashing fair and free The brightest swords of his father's land,
With the pomp of its chivalry.
What doth the foe on England's field?
Why seeks he England's throne? Has she no chiefs her arms to wield,
No warrior of her own?
But, lo! in regal pride
Stern Harold comes again, With the waving folds of his banner dyed
In the blood of the hostile Dane.
The song, the prayer, the feast were o'er,
And many a brow was bared once more
And the misty veil of the morning gray
And all along each crowded tract
His burning glance was thrown,
A lustre like his own.
Still flashed the silver sheen
Along the serried lines, Where the deadly wood of spears was seen
To rise like forest-pines.
In either host was silence deep,