SEVERED FRIENDSHIP.
ALAS! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline.
Each spake words of high disdain
And insult to his heart's best brother:
They parted-ne'er to meet again!
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining-
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between ;-
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been.
COLERIDGE, 1772-1832.
THE EVENING CLOUD.
A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun,
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow;
Long had I watched the glory moving on
O'er the still radiance of the lake below,
Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow!
Even in its very motion there was rest:
While every breath of eve that chanced to blow
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous West.
Emblem, methought, of the departed soul!
To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given;
And by the breath of mercy made to roll
Right onwards to the golden gates of Heaven,
Where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful lies,
And tells to man his glorious destinies.
JOHN WILSON, BORN 1788, DIED 1854.
THE INCHCAPE ROCK.
No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was as still as she could be ;
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.
Without or sign or sound of their shock,
The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.
The Abbot of Aberbrothok
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,*
And over the waves its warning rung ;
When the rock was hid by the surge's swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous rock,
And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothok.
The sun in heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round,
And there was a joyance in their sound.
The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen,
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover + walked his deck,
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.
He felt the cheering power of spring,-
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess;
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.
His eye was on the Inchcape float:
Quoth he, “My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok."
The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go ;-
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.
* At the entrance of the Frith of Tay. A lighthouse, callel the Bell Rock, now stands on it.
t. Rover, pirate or sea-robber.
PERFECTION IS PERFECT.
Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound,
The bubbles rose and burst around;
Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the rock
Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."
Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away;
He scoured the seas for many a day;
And now, grown rich with plundered store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.
So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky,
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.
On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark is it they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."
"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar?
For methinks we should be near the shore:
Now where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell."
They hear no sound-the swell is strong;
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along,
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock-
แ Mercy! it is the Inchcape Rock."
Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
And beat bis breast in his despair-
The waves rush in on every side,
And the ship sinks down beneath the tide.
SOUTHEY, 1774--1843.
PERFECTION IS PERFECT.
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
SHAKSPEARE, 1564 -- 1616.
A LITTLE boat in a cave,
And a child there fast asleep;
Floating out on a wave,
Out to the perilous deep-
Out to the living waters,
That brightly dance and gleam,
And dash their foam about him,
To wake him from his dream.
He rubs his pretty eyes,
He shakes his curly head,
And says, with great surprise,
"Why, I'm not asleep in bed!"
The boat is rising and sinking
Over the sailors' graves,
And he laughs out, "Isn't it nice,
Playing see-saw with the waves!
Alas! he little thinks
Of the grief on the far-off sands, Where his mother trembles and shrinks, And his sister wrings her hands, Watching in speechless terror,
The boat and the flaxen head.
Is there no hope of succour ?
Must they see him drowned and dead?
They see him living now,
Living and jumping about;
He stands on the giddy prow,
With a merry laugh and shout.
Oh, spare him! spare him! spare him!
Spare him, thou cruel deep!
The child is swept from the prow,
And the wild waves dance and leap.
They run to the edge of the shore,
They stretch their arms to him;
Knee-deep they wade, and more,
But, alas! they cannot swim.
Their pretty, pretty darling,
His little hat floats by;
They see his frightened face;
They hear his drowning cry.
Something warm and strong
Dashes before them then,
Hairy and curly and long,
And brave as a dozen men ;
Bounding-panting-gasping,
Rushing straight as a dart;
Ready to die in the cause,
A dog with a loyal heart.
He fights with the fighting sea,
He grandly wins his prize;
Mother! he brings it thee
With triumph in his eyes.
He brings it thee, O mother!
His burden, pretty and pale;
He lays it down at thy feet,
And wags his honest old tail.
O dog! so faithful and bold
O dog! so tender and true;
You shall wear a collar of gold,
And a crown, if you like it, too.
You shall lie on the softest satin;
You shall feed from a diamond dish
You shall eat plumcake and cream,
And do whatever you wish.
Will you drive in a coach and four ?
Will you ride the master's hack ?
Shall the footman open the door,
And out of your presence back?
Shall the mistress work you slippers?
Shall the master catch you flies?
Will you wear the mistress's watch?
And the master's best white ties?
O Ranger! do just what you choose;
Old friend, so gallant and dear;
What churl would dare to refuse
To drink your health with a cheer?
Old friend, in love and honour,
Your name shall be handed down,
And children's hearts shall beat
At the tale of your renown.
POEMS WRITTEN FOR A CHILD (vide p. 107.)
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