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And asses in plenty

I see at a glance,

Who, one time in twenty,

Succeed by mere chance.

YRIART

The Enchcape Rock.

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was still as she could be,
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock
The waves flow'd over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

The Abbot of Aberbrothok

Had placed that bell in the Inchcape Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the surge's swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.

The sun in heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;

The sea-birds scream'd as they wheel'd around, And there was joyaunce in their sound.

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen
A darker speck on the ocean queen ;
Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd his deck,
And he fix'd his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,

But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float;
Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;

Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,

And he cut the Bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sunk the Bell with a gurgling sound,
The bubbles rose and burst around;

Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the
Rock

Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away,
He scour'd the seas for many a day;
And now grown rich with plunder'd store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."

"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? For methinks we should be near the shore." "Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell."

They hear no sound, the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fallen they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,"Oh, Christ, it is the Inchcape Rock!"

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair;
He curst himself in his despair;
The waves rush in on every side,
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But even in his dying fear

One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell
The Devil below was ringing his knell.

SOUTHEY.

A Fragment from the "Birds" of

Aristophanes.

The Hoopoe summons the rest of the birds to a general assembly to hear Peisthetærus expound his plan for building a Bird-City.

PEISTHETERUS. How will you call them hither ?
HOOPOE. Easily.

I'll go at once to yonder copse, and rouse
My nightingale, and we will summon them.
And when they hear the voices of us twain
They'll run to meet us at their utmost speed.
PEISTHETERUS. Dearest of birds, then tarry not
a moment,

But prithee speed thy quickest to the copse-
Go in and waken up the nightingale.

HOOPOE. Come, partner mine, cease slumbering

now,

And let thy holiest music flow;

The strains that through thy lips divine

Thou pour'st for loss of mine and thine,
Lamenting one to both so dear,

Itys, bewail'd with many a tear,
Pouring from out thy thrilling throat
The liquid and melodious note—

The pure strain speeds through leafy grove
Of yew trees to the seat of Jove,

Where Phoebus with the golden hair,

His lyre, inlaid with ivory fair,

Responsive strikes to plaining love,
And bids the gods in dances move.
Then from immortal lips is sent,
Symphonious with thy murmurs blent,
A burst of heavenly harmony,
The music of the blest on high.

PEISTHETERUS. O royal Jove! how ravishing that bird's note

It bathes the copse with richly honied strain.

EUELPIDES. I say.

PEISTHETERUS. What now?

EUELPIDES. Won't you be quiet?
PEISTHETERUS. Why?

EUELPIDES. The Hoopoe seems about to sing

again.

HOOPOE. Come away! Come away !

Come away!

Come away!

Come hither my comrades of every feather,

Come hither all ye who in flocks fly together;
Come ye who thrive best in the husbandman's fields,
And feast on the grain that his good tillage yields:
Ye myriads of tribes that on barley-corns feed,
And swift-flying races that revel in seed,

And

Who, fast as ye flit,

A soft warble emit :

ye who in flocks seek the furrow And caw with delight as ye burrow, And soberly plod

O'er each mouldering clod

With a twit-twit-twitter, I twitter my lay,

Come

away from the fields, come away, come away!

Come ye who seek the marshy flats,

Intent to swallow stinging gnats;

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