THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
54. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And there lay the steed, with his nostril all wide,
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride:
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted, like snow, in the glance of the Lord!
THE hand of peace is frank and warm,
And soft as ringdove's wing;
And he who quells an angry thought
Is greater than a king.
56. THE MOTHER AND CHILD.
BEHOLD! a little baby boy,
A happy babe is he;
His face how bright,
His heart how light,
His throne his mother's knee.
Now in her face with laughing eye
I see him gaily peep,
And now at rest,
Upon her breast,
He gently sinks to sleep.
His lips are red, his teeth like pearls,
The rogue! he has but two;
His golden hair,
How soft and fair;
His eyes, how bright and blue!
His tiny hands are white and plump,
And waking or asleep,
Beneath his clothes
His little toes
How cunningly they peep!
Oh! many things are beautiful;
The bird that sings and flies,-
The setting sun,
When day is done,-
The rainbow in the skies.
SWEET mercy! how my very heart has bled
To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy grey hairs
Hoar with the snowy blast; while no one cares
To clothe thy shrivelled limbs and palsied head.
My Father! throw away this tattered vest
That mocks thy shivering! take my garment-use
A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews
That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast.
My Sara, too, shall tend thee like a Child;
And thou shalt talk. in our fire-side's recess,
Of purple pride, that scowls on wretchedness.
He did not so, the Galilean mild,
Who met the Lazars turned from rich men's doors,
And called them friends, and healed their noisome sores.
THE NEW LEGEND OF WARKWORTH.
58. THE NEW LEGEND OF WARKWORTH.
LISTEN, young Harry, lay your ball
And book upon the shelf,
And you shall have a tale, made all
On purpose for yourself.
Your great-great-great-great grandpapa,
Earl Percy was his name,
Said once unto his lady, “Ha!
This news bodes ill and shame.
The Tiger-turkey, bred they say
Upon the Cheviot Range,
Flew to Rose Castle yesterday,
My Lord of Carlisle's Grange.
He gobbled up the friars all
And fairly cleared the cloister, Then gulp'd the Bishop in his stall
As I would gulp an oyster.
Then he pounc'd down on Carlisle town,
Ate up the Vestry-board,
And swallow'd the Mayor in his elbow-chair,
Spite of his mace and sword.
The children of the infant school
He lick'd up for a treat,
All but three dunces; a born fool,
He said, was tasteless meat.
THE NEW LEGEND OF WARKWORTH
Zooks! if the monster's taste should be
As good as I surmise,
He'd lick his lips, my love, at thee,
Who art fair, fat, and wise.
And when he has slept off his meal,
They say he's coming here,
So I with lance and sword of steel
Will meet him without fear.
I have fought often with the clan
Of Douglas on the border,
And hold myself the very man
To keep this brute in order.
Bring me my horse, for I'll ride on;
My friends and comrades true,
Smith, Clutterbuck, and Widdrington,
Will take good care of you."
At this dread news his lady fair
Scream'd, and nigh lost her wits,
And was borne kicking up the stair
In strong hysteric fits.
Lord Percy wept to see her plight,
But he had made a vow,
So off he rode, the beast to fight,
No man knew better how.
And when he came to Warkworth town
He saw a sight full sad,
The folk were running up and down,
And screech'd and howl'd like mad.
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