Then he and the sea began their strife, He wrought at ebb with bar and beam, "Give in, give in," the old Mayor cried, "Or thou wilt rue the day." "Yonder he goes," the townsfolk sighed, But the rock will have its way. "For all his looks that are so stout, And his speeches brave and fair, He may wait on the wind, wait on the wave, But he'll build no lighthouse there." In fine weather and foul weather Till all that year ran out. With fine weather and foul weather Another year came in; "To take his wage," the workmen said, "We almost count a sin." Now March was gone, came April in, With men and stores he put to sea, A ghostly craft and crew. And the sea-fog lay and waxed alway, For a long eight days and more; "God help our men," quoth the women then; "For they bide long from shore." They paced the Hoe in doubt and dread: "Where may our mariners be?" But the brooding fog lay soft as down Over the quiet sea. A Scottish schooner made the port, The thirteenth day at e'en; "As I am a man," the captain cried, "A strange sight I have seen: "And a strange sound heard, my masters all, At sea, in the fog and the rain, Like shipwrights' hammers tapping low, Then loud, then low again. "And a stately house one instant showed, Through a rift, on the vessel's lee; What manner of creatures may be those That built upon the sea?" Then sighed the folk, "The Lord be praised!" And they flocked to the shore amain: All over the Hoe that livelong night, Many stood out in the rain. It ceased; and the red sun reared his head, And the rolling fog did flee; And, lo! in the offing faint and far Winstanley's house at sea! In fair weather with mirth and cheer The stately tower uprose; In foul weather, with hunger and cold, They were content to close; Till up the stair Winstanley went, Winstanley set his foot ashore: Said he, "My work is done; "But if it fail, as fail it may, "A better than I shall rear it high, For now the way is plain; And though I were dead," Winstanley said, "The light would shine again. "Yet were I fain still to remain, Watch in my tower to keep, And tend my light in the stormiest night That ever did move the deep; "And if it stood, why then 'twere good, Amid their tremulous stirs, To count each stroke when the mad waves broke, For cheers of mariners. "But if it fell, then this were well, That I should with it fall; Since, for my part, I have built my heart In the courses of its wall. "Ay! I were fain, long to remain, Watch in my tower to keep, And tend my light in the stormiest night That ever did move the deep." With that Winstanley went his way, But it fell out, fell out at last, On the rock o' destiny. And the winds broke, and the storm broke, And wrecks came plunging in; None in the town that night lay down Or sleep or rest to win. The great mad waves were rolling graves, And each flung up its dead; The seething flow was white below, And black the sky o'erhead. And when the dawn, the dull, gray dawn, Broke on the trembling town, And men looked south to the harbor mouth, The lighthouse tower was down. Down in the deep where he doth sleep, Who made it shine afar, And then in the night that drowned its light, Set, with his pilot star. Many fair tombs in the glorious glooms At Westminster they show; The brave and the great lie there in state: Winstanley lieth low. JEAN INGELOW. FIDELITY. A BARKING sound the shepherd hears, A cry as of a dog or fox; He halts, and searches with his eyes The dog is not of mountain breed; Unusual in its cry: Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear: What is the creature doing here? It was a cove, a huge recess, snow; A lofty precipice in front, Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, From trace of human foot or hand. There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; The crags repeat the ravens' croak In symphony austere; Thither the rainbow comes- the cloud And mists that spread the flying. shroud; And sunbeams: and the sounding blast, That, if it could, would hurry past, But that enormous barrier binds it fast. Not free from boding thoughts, a while The shepherd stood; then makes his way Towards the dog, o'er rocks and stones, As quickly as he may; Nor far had gone before he found At length upon the shepherd's mind But hear a wonder, for whose sake The dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry, This dog had been through three months' space A dweller in that savage place. Yes, proof was plain that since the day On which the traveller thus had died The dog had watched about the spot, Or by his master's side: How nourished here through such long time He knows, who gave that love sublime, And gave that strength of feeling, great Above all human estimate. WORDSWORTH. HELVELLYN. I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, And starting around me the echoes replied. Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall. But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, In the arms of Helvellyn and GEORGE NIDIVER. MEN have done brave deeds, SCOTT. And bards have sung them well: In Californian mountains A little Indian boy Followed him everywhere, Eager to share the hunter's joy, The hunter's meal to share. And when the bird or deer Fell by the hunter's skill, The boy was always near To help with right good-will. Their questing way they keep, Right down the narrow dell. The boy turned round with screams, |