And from the hills the eddying winds And now she glides in water smooth, And suddenly the land-wind blows, Then grounds, and o'er her deck the high Man, man the lifeboat! Many a crew In a stronger gale and darker hour, And from a wilder wave. Their names are: Harris, Truscott, French, All trusty men of pluck and strength, Some more than some had proved their worth, As chance to them did fall: Shea for his human chivalry The Imperial medal wore; Intross and Varcoe's breasts the words "Crimea," "Baltic," bore. One more, Hills, claims brief mention here, In quest of Franklin's bones he went Such was the staple of the crew, Towards the doomed ship their way they cleave, But may not reach her side; And then to Polzeath Bay they steer, But stronger runs the tide : The breakers, as they heave and burst, O'erturned she rights, — again o'erturned, The watchers from Trebethic Cliff The schooner's crew, five souls in all, On the Trebethic beach. He, at the moment when she struck, Was jerked into the wave; And well he swam in sight of all, But none was nigh to save. The wail of widows pierced the night, The weeping children, fatherless, Still lingered, hand in hand. And love and pity thrilled men's hearts, For sorrow makes all kin; And not to honor bravery Were more than shame, were sin. Soon to the old churchyard the dead All but the splendid Irishman, So gentle, brave, and strong: While other rites his ashes blessed Within that ancient wall. Henry Sewell Stokes. Salisbury. THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE. TRAMPLE! trample! went the roan, But pad! pad! pad! like a thing that was mad, It was just five miles from Salisbury town, And but one hour to day. Thud! thud! came on the heavy roan, Rap! rap! the mettled gray; But my chestnut mare was of blood so rare, Spur on! spur on! —I doffed my hat, They splashed through miry rut and pool,— But chestnut Kate switched over the gate, To Salisbury town-but a mile of down, Trap! trap! I heard their echoing hoofs The roan flew on at a staggering pace, I patted old Kate, and gave her the spur, But trample! trample! came their steeds, I felt like a royal hart at bay, And made me ready to turn. I looked where highest grew the may, I flew at the first knave's sallow throat; The second rogue fired twice, and missed; Clove through the rest, and flogged brave Kate, Pad! pad! they came on the level sward, With a gleam of swords, and a burning match, But one long bound, and I passed the gate, Walter Thornbury. HER SALISBURY CATHEDRAL. ERE stood the city of the dead; look round, Dost thou not mark a visionary band, Druids and bards upon the summits stand, Of the majestic and time-hallowed mound? Hark! heard ye not at times the acclaiming word Of harps, as when those bards, in white array, Hailed the ascending lord of light and day! Here o'er the clouds the first cathedral rose, Whose prelates now in yonder fane repose, Among the mighty of years passed away; For there her latest seat Religion chose, There still to heaven ascends the holy lay, And never may those shrines in dust and silence close. William Lisle Bowles. THE BLIND MAN OF SALISBURY CATHEDRAL. THERE is a poor blind man, who every day, In summer sunshine or in winter's rain, Duly as tolls the bell, to the high fane Explores, with faltering footsteps, his dark way, |