Dost wonder that I long for land?
My land is not a land as others are—
Upon its crest there beams a star,

And lilies grow upon the strand—
Land, ho! land.

Give me the helm! there is the land!
Ha! lusty mariners, she takes the breeze!
And what my spirit sees it sees-

Leap, bark, as leaps the thunderbrand-
Land, ho! land.

Thomas Edward Brown.

LXXXVIII

THE GEORGE OF LOOE

O, 'twas merry down to Looe when the news was carried through

That the George would put to sea all with the morning tide;

And all her jolly crew hurrah'd till they were blue When the captain said, 'My lads, we'll tan the Frenchman's hide!'

For Captain Davy Dann was a famous fightin' man, Who lov'd the smell o' powder and the thunder o'

the guns,

And off the coast of France often made the French

men dance

quay

To the music from his sloop of only ninety tons. So at the break o' day there were hundreds on the To see the gallant ship a-warping out to sea; And the Mayor, Daniel Chubb, was hoisted on a tub, And he cried, 'Good luck to Dann, with a three times three!'

For the news that came from Fowey was that ev'ry man and boy

And all the gallants there were expecting of a ship. And the lively lads o' Looe, they thought they'd watch her too,

Lest the Frenchman showed his heels and gave 'em all the slip.

So along by Talland Bay the good ship sailed away, And the boats were out at Polperro to see what they could see;

And old Dann, he cried, 'Ahoy! you'd better come to Fowey,

And help to blow the Mounseers to the bottom of the sea!'

Now, 'twas almost set o' sun, and the day was almost done,

When we sighted of a frigate beating up against the wind;

And we put on all our sail till we came within her hail,

And old Dann politely asked, 'Will you follow us behind?'

But the Frenchmen fore and aft only stood and grinned and laughed,

And never guessed the captain was in earnest, don't you see?

For we'd only half her guns, and were only ninety tons, And they thought they'd blow us easy to the

bottom o' the sea.

But our brave old Captain Dann-oh, he was a proper man!—

Sang out with voice like thunder unto ev'ry man

aboard:

'Now all you men of Looe just show what you can do, And we'll board her, and we'll take her, by the

help o' the Lord!'

Then up her sides we swarm'd, and along her deck we storm'd,

And sword and pike were busy for the space of half an hour;

But before the day was done, tho' they number'd two to one,

Her commander had to yield, and his flag to lower. Then we turn'd our ship about, and while the stars came out

We tow'd our prize right cheerily past Fowey and Polperro;

And we blest old Captain Dann, for we hadn't lost

a man,

And our wounded all were doing well a-down

below.

And when we came to Looe, all the town was there to view,

And the mayor in his chain and gown he cried out lustily,

'Nine cheers for Captain Dann, and three for every

man,

And the good ship George that carried them to victory!'

Benn Wilkes Jones Trevaldwyn.

LXXXIX

THE FIRST DISTRIBUTION OF THE

VICTORIA CROSS

(June 26, 1857)

TO-DAY the people gather from the streets,
To-day the soldiers muster near and far;
Peace, with a glad look and a grateful, meets
Her rugged brother War.

To-day the Queen of all the English land,

She who sits high o'er Kaisers and o'er Kings, Gives with her royal hand-th' Imperial hand Whose grasp the earth enrings

Her Cross of Valour to the worthiest ;

No golden toy with milky pearl besprent, But simple bronze, and for a warrior's breast A fair, fit ornament.

And richer than red gold that dull bronze seems,

Since it was bought with lavish waste and worth Whereto the wealth of earth's gold-sanded streams Were but a lack, and dearth.

Muscovite metal makes this English Cross,

Won in a rain of blood and wreath of flame; The guns

that thundered for their brave lives' loss

Are worn hence, for their fame!

Ay, listen! all ye maidens laughing-eyed,
And all ye English mothers, be aware!
Those who shall pass before ye at noontide
Your friends and champions are.

The men of all the army and the fleet,
The very bravest of the very brave,

Linesman and Lord, these fought with equal feet, Firm-planted on their grave.

The men who, setting light their blood and breath So they might win a victor's haught renown, Held their steel straight against the face of Death, And frowned his frowning down.

And some that grasped the bomb, all fury-fraught,
And hurled it far, to spend its spite away-
Between the rescue and the risk no thought-
Shall pass our Queen this day.

And some who climbed the deadly glacis-side,
For all that steel could stay, or savage shell;
And some whose blood upon the Colours dried
Tells if they bore them well.

Some, too, who, gentle-hearted even in strife,
Seeing their fellow or their friend go down,
Saved his, at peril of their own dear life,
Winning the Civil Crown.

Well done for them; and, fair Isle, well for thee!
While that thy bosom beareth sons like those;

'This precious stone set in the silver sea'

Shall never fear her foes!

Sir Edwin Arnold.

XC

ABROAD

FORESTS that beard the avalanche,
Levels, empurpled slopes of vine,
Wrecks, sadly gay with flower and branch,
I love you, but you are not mine!

The sweet domestic sanctity
Fades in the fiery sun, like dew;
My Love beheld and passed you by,
My fathers shed no blood for you.

Pause, rambling clouds, while fancy fain
Your white similitude doth trace

To England's cliffs, so may your rain
Fall blissful on your native place!

Richard Garnett.

XCI

THE ENGLISH GIRL

A WONDERFUL joy our eyes to bless
In her magnificent comeliness,

Is an English girl of eleven stone two,
And five foot ten in her dancing shoe!

She follows the hounds, and on she pounds—

The 'field' tails off and the muffs diminish-
Over the hedges and brooks she bounds
Straight as a crow from find to finish.
At cricket, her kin will lose or win-

She and her maids, on grass and clover,
Eleven maids out-eleven maids in-

(And perhaps an occasional maiden over ').

Go search the world and search the sea,
Then come you home and sing with me
There's no such gold and no such pearl
As a bright and beautiful English girl!

With a ten-mile spin she stretches her limbs,
She golfs, she punts, she rows, she swims-
She plays, she sings, she dances, too,
From ten or eleven till all is blue!

At ball or drum, till small hours come
(Chaperon's fan conceals her yawning),
She'll waltz away like a teetotum,

And never go home till daylight's dawning.