Who guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved a thousand years The battle and the breeze, Your glorious standard launch again, To match another foe, And sweep through the deep While the stormy tempests blow; While the battle rages long and loud, And the stormy tempests blow.
The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave!
For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave; Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy tempests blow; While the battle rages long and loud, And the stormy tempests blow.
Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep: With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow; When the battle rages long and loud, And the stormy tempests blow.
The meteor-flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.
CAMPBELL.
KAFFIR LETTER-CARRIER.
"I knew" (says the pleasing writer of "Letters from Sierra Leone") "that the long-looked-for vessel had at length furled her sails and dropped anchor in the bay. She was from England, and I waited, expecting every minute to feast my eyes upon at least one letter; but I remembered how unreasonable it was to suppose that any person would come up with letters to this lonely place at so late an hour, and that it behoved me to exercise the grace of patience until next day. However, between ten and eleven o'clock, a loud shouting and knocking aroused the household, and the door was opened to a trusty Kroo messenger, who, although one of a tribe who would visit any of its members in their own country with death, who could 'savey white man's book,' seemed to comprehend something of our feelings at receiving letters, as I overheard him exclaim, with evident glee, 'Ah! massa! here de right book come at last.' Every thing, whether a brown-paper parcel, a newspaper, an official despatch, a private letter or note is here denominated a 'book,' and this man understood well that newspapers are never received so gladly amongst 'books' from England as letters." The Kaffir, in the Engraving, was sketched from one employed to convey letters in the South African settlements; he carries his document in a split at the end of a cane.
[Illustration: KAFFIR LETTER-CARRIER.]
It is a singular sight in India to see the catamarans which put off from some parts of the coast, as soon as ships come in sight, either to bear on board or to convey from thence letters or messages. These frail vessels are composed of thin cocoa-tree logs, lashed together, and big enough to carry one, or, at most, two persons. In one of these a small sail is fixed, and the navigator steers with a little paddle; the float itself is almost entirely sunk in the water, so that the effect is very singular--a sail sweeping along the surface with a man behind it, and apparently nothing to support them. Those which have no sails are consequently invisible and the men have the appearance of treading the water and performing evolutions with a racket. In very rough weather the men lash themselves to their little rafts but in ordinary seas they seem, though frequently washed off, to regard such accidents as mere trifles, being naked all but a wax cloth cap in which they keep any letters they may have to convey to ships in the roads, and swimming like fish. Their only danger is from sharks, which are said to abound. These cannot hurt them while on their floats; but woe be to them if they catch them while separated from that defence. Yet, even then, the case is not quite hopeless, since the shark can only attack them from below; and a rapid dive, if not in very deep water, will sometimes save them.
THE SEASONS.
SPRING.
[Illustration: Letter C.]
Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come, And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud, While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.
Hail! Source of Being! Universal Soul Of heaven and earth! Essential Presence, hail; To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thought Continual climb; who, with a master hand.
Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd.
By Thee the various vegetative tribes, Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves, Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew: By Thee disposed into congenial soils, Stands each attractive plant, and sucks and swells The juicy tide--a twining mass of tubes.
At thy command the vernal sun awakes The torpid sap, detruded to the root By wintry winds, that now in fluent dance, And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads All this innumerous-colour'd scene of things.
As rising from the vegetable world My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend My panting Muse! And hark! how loud the woods Invite you forth in all your gayest trim.
Lend me your song, ye nightingales! oh, pour The mazy running soul of melody Into my varied verse! while I deduce From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, The symphony of spring, and touch a theme Unknown to fame, the passion of the groves.
[Illustration: SPRING.]
SUMMER.
[Illustration: Letter F.]
From bright'ning fields of ether fair disclosed, Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes, In pride of youth, and felt through nature's depth: He comes attended by the sultry hours, And ever-fanning breezes on his way; While from his ardent look the turning Spring Averts his blushing face, and earth and skies, All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.
Cheer'd by the milder beam, the sprightly youth Speeds to the well-known pool, whose crystal depth A sandy bottom shows. Awhile he stands Gazing the inverted landscape, half afraid To meditate the blue profound below; Then plunges headlong down the circling flood.
His ebon tresses, and his rosy cheek, Instant emerge: and through the obedient wave, At each short breathing by his lip repell'd, With arms and legs according well, he makes, As humour leads, an easy-winding path; While from his polish'd sides a dewy light Effuses on the pleased spectators round.
This is the purest exercise of health.
The kind refresher of the Summer heats: Nor, when cold Winter keens the brightening flood, Would I, weak-shivering, linger on the brink.
Thus life redoubles, and is oft preserved By the bold swimmer, in the swift elapse Of accident disastrous.
[Illustration: SUMMER.]
AUTUMN.
[Illustration: Letter C.]
Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, While Autumn nodding o'er the yellow plain Comes jovial on, the Doric reed once more, Well pleased, I tune. Whatever the wintry frost Nitrous prepared, the various-blossom'd Spring Put in white promised forth, and Summer suns Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view, Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Hence from the busy, joy-resounding fields In cheerful error let us tread the maze Of Autumn, unconfined; and taste, revived, The breath of orchard big with bending fruit.
Obedient to the breeze and beating ray, From the deep-loaded bough a mellow shower Incessant melts away. The juicy pear Lies in a soft profusion scatter'd round.
A various sweetness swells the gentle race, By Nature's all-refining hand prepared; Of tempered sun, and water, earth, and air, In ever-changing composition mix'd.
Such, falling frequent through the chiller night, The fragrant stores, the wide projected heaps Of apples, which the lusty-handed year, Innumerous, o'er the blushing orchard shakes.
[Illustration: AUTUMN.]
WINTER.
[Illustration: Letter S.]
See, Winter comes to rule the varied year, Sullen and sad, with all his rising train-- Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme, These--that exalt the soul to solemn thought And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms; Congenial horrors, hail: with frequent foot, Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life, When nursed by careless solitude I lived, And sung of nature with unceasing joy; Pleased have I wander'd through your rough domain, Trod the pure virgin snows, myself as pure; Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst, Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brew'd In the grim evening sky.