The ocean-eagle soared From his nest by the white waves' foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared,— This was their welcome home! There were men with hoary hair There was woman's fearless eye, There was manhood's brow serenely high, What sought they thus afar? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found,— Freedom to worship God! H NORA'S VOW. Felicia Dorothea Hemans. EAR what Highland Nora said,- The Old Oaken Bucket "A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke, Are lightly made, and lightly broke; May blithely wed the Earlie's son." 197 "The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest; The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn Still in the water-lily's shade Her wonted nest the wild-swan made; Walter Scott. THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. ow dear to this heart are the scenes of child How dhood, my When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew! The wide-spreading pond, the mill that stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell, The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well— The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure, For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the wellThe old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well- Charge of the Light Brigade 199 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. ALF a league, half a league, H Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death "Forward the Light Brigade!" Theirs not to make reply, Cannon to right of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Rode the six hundred. Flashed all their sabres bare, All the world wondered; Plunged in the battery-smoke Right through the line they broke: Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke, Shattered and sundered. Then they rode back but not- Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered; When can their glory fade? Noble six hundred! Alfred Tennyson. |