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The warrior, and the warrior's deeds-
The morrow, and the morrow's meeds, -
No daunting thoughts came o'er him;
He looked around him, and his eye
Defiance flashed to earth and sky.

He looked on ocean, its broad breast
Was covered with his fleet;

On earth and saw, from east to west,

His bannered millions meet :

While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast,
Shook with the war-cry of that host,
The thunder of their feet!

He heard the imperial echoes ring,
He heard, and felt himself a king.

I saw him next alone :-nor camp,
Nor chief, his steps attended;
Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp
With war-cries proudly blended.
He stood alone, whom fortune high
So lately seemed to deify;

He, who with heaven contended,

Fled like a fugitive and slave!

Behind the foe ;- before the wave:

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Alone, and in despair!

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But wave and wind swept ruthless on,

For they were monarchs there; And Xerxes, in a single barque,

Where late his thousand ships were dark,

Must all their fury dare:

What a revenge

a trophy, this

For thee, immortal Salamis !

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH

UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree,
The village smithy stands:
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;

MISS JEWSBURY

And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long;
His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat;
He earns whate'er he can,

And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week out, week in, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the old kirk chimes
When the evening sun is low.

And children, coming home from school,
Look in at the open door:

They love to see a flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,

And catch the burning sparks, that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

He goes, on Sunday, to the church,
And sits among his boys;

He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,

Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in paradise!

He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies;

And with his hard rough hand he wipes A tear from out his eyes.

Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,

Onward through life he goes:

Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;

Something attempted, something done,

Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus, at the flaming forge of Life,

Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus, on its sounding anvil shaped,
Each burning deed and thought.

LONG FELLOW

THE LAST DAYS OF HERCULANEUM.

THERE was a man,

A Roman soldier, for some daring deed
That trespassed on the laws, in dungeon low
Chained down. His was a noble spirit, rough,
But generous, and brave, and kind.

He had a son: it was a rosy boy,

A little faithful copy of his sire

In face and gesture. From infancy the child

Had been his father's solace and his care.

With earliest morn,

Of that first day of darkness and amaze,
He came. The iron door was closed, - for them
Never to open more! The day, the night,
Dragged slowly by; nor did they know the fate
Impending o'er the city. Well they heard.
The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath,
And felt its giddy rocking; and the air
Grew hot at length, and thick; but in his straw
The boy was sleeping: and the father hoped
The earthquake might pass by; nor would he wake
From his sound rest the unfearing child, nor tell
The dangers of their state. On his low couch
The fettered soldier sunk, and with deep awe
Listened the fearful sounds: with upturned eye
To the great gods he breathed a prayer;
To calm himself, and lose in sleep awhile
His useless terrors. But he could not sleep:
His body burned with feverish heat; - his chains
Clanked loud, although he moved not: deep in earth
Groaned unimaginable thunders: - sounds,
Fearful and ominous, arose and died,

Like the sad moanings of November's wind

then strove

In the blank midnight. Deepest horror chilled
His blood that burned before; cold clammy sweats
Came o'er him: - then anon a fiery thrill

Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk,
And shivered as in fear :- now upright leaped,

As though he heard the battle trumpet sound,
And longed to cope with death.

A troubled, dreamy sleep.
Never to waken more!
But terrible his agony.

He slept at last,
Well- had he slept
His hours are few,

ATHERSTONI

THE PRISONER IN HERCULANEUM.

LOUDLY the father called upon his child:

No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously

He searched their couch of straw: with headlong haste
Trod round his stinted limits, and, low bent,

Groped darkling on the earth; no child was there.
Again he called :- again, at furthest stretch

Of his accursed fetters, till the blood

Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes
Fire flashed, he strained with arm extended far,
And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch
Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil!

Yet still renewed: - still round and round he goes,
And strains, and snatches,

and with dreadful cries

Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now:

He plants against the wall his feet; — his chain
Grasps;-tugs with giant strength to force away

The deep-driven staple :- yells and shrieks with rage.
And, like a desert lion in the snare

Raging to break his toils, to and fro bounds.

But see! the ground is opening: -a blue

light

Mounts, gently waving, noiseless-thin and cold

It seems, and like a rainbow tint, notgflame;

But by its luster, on the earth outstretched,
Behold the lifeless child! - his dress is singed,
And o'er his face serene a darkened line
Points out the lightning's track.

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The thunders bellow, but he hears them not:
The ground lifts like a sea, he knows it not:
The strong walls grind and
gape: the vaulted roof
Takes shapes like bubbles tossing in the wind:-
See! he looks up and smiles; for death to him
Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace

Be given, 't were still a sweeter thing to die.

-

It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground,
At every swell, nearer and still more near
Moves toward the father's outstretched arm his boy:
Once he has touched his garment; - how his eye,
Lightens with love, and hope, and anxious fears!
Ha! see! he has him now! he clasps him round,
Kisses his face: - puts back the curling locks,
That shaded his fine brow:- looks in his eyes,
Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands,
Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont
To lie when sleeping, and resigned awaits
Undreaded death.

And pangless.

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And death came soon, and swift,

The huge pile sunk down at once Into the opening earth. Walls, arches, roof,

And deep foundation-stones, all mingling fell!

:-

ATHERSTONE

THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.

O'ER a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray,
Where, in his last strong agony, a dying warrior lay
The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent
By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent.

They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er,
That I shall mount my noble steed, and lead my band no more;
They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I,
Their own liege lord and master born that I-ha! ha!- must die.

"And what is death? I've dared him oft before the paynim spear; Think ye he 's entered at my gate - has come to seek me here? I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging

hot;

I'll try his might -- I'll brave his power; defy, and fear him not

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