But courage still, brave mariners-the Bower yet re

mains,

And not an inch to flinch he deigns, save when ye pitch sky high,

Then moves his head, as tho' he said, "Fear nothing -here am I!"

Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand keep time;

Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's

chime ;

But, while ye sling your sledges, sing-and let the burden be,

The anchor is the anvil king, and royal craftsmen we!

Strike in, strike in-the sparks begin to dull their rustling red;

Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped;

Our anchor soon must change its bed of fiery rich

array,

For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay;

Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here,

For the yeo-heave-o', and the heave-away, and the sighing seaman's cheer;

When, weighing slow at eve they go-far, far from love and home;

And sobbing sweethearts, in a row,

wail o'er the ocean

foam.

In livid and obdurate gloom he darkens down at last; A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was

cast.

O trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life

like me,

What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea!

O deep-sea Diver, who might then behold such sights as thou?

The hoary-monster's palaces! methinks what joy 'twere

now

To go plumb plunging down amid the assembly of the

whales,

And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their scourging tails!

Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea uni

corn,

And send him foiled and bellowing back, for all his ivory horn;

To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn ; And for the ghastly grinning shark to laugh his jaws

to scorn:

To leap down on the kraken's back, where 'mid Norwegian isles

He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shallowed miles, Till, snorting, like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls; Meanwhile to swing, a-buffeting the far astonished shoals

Of his back-browsing ocean-calves; or, haply in a cove, Shell-strewn, and consecrate of old to some Undiné love,

To find the long-haired mermaidens; or, hard-by icy lands,

To wrestle with the sea-serpent, upon cerulean sands.

O broad-armed Fisher of the deep, whose sports can equal thine?

The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that tugs thy cable line;

And night by night 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day,

Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant game to play

But shamer of our little sports! forgive the name I gave

A fisher's joy is to destroy-thine office is to save.

O lodger in the sea-king's halls, couldst thou but understand

Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that dripping band,

Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee bend,

With sounds like breakers in a dream blessing their ancient friend

Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps round thee,

Thine iron side would swell with pride; thou'dst leap within the sea!

Give honor to their memories who left the pleasant strand,

To shed their blood so freely for the love of Fatherland

Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy church

yard grave,

So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave

Oh, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung,

Honor him for their memory, whose bones he goes among!

W

THE LAPFUL OF NUTS

HENE'ER I see soft hazel eyes,

And nut-brown curls,

I think of those bright days I spent
Among the Limerick girls;

When up through Cratla woods I went
Nutting with thee;

And we plucked the glossy, clustering fruit
From many a bending tree.

Beneath the hazel boughs we sat,

Thou, love, and I,

And the gathered nuts lay in thy lap,

Below thy downcast eye.

But little we thought of the store we'd won,

I, love, or thou,

For our hearts were full, and we dare not own
The love that's spoken now.

O there's wars for willing hearts in Spain,
And high Germanie !

And I'll come back, if I ever come back,
With knightly fame and fee,

And I'll come back, if I ever come back,

Faithful to thee,

That sat, with thy white lap full of nuts,
Beneath the hazel-tree.

Ο

MAURICE FITZGERALD

(Living)

MOONLIGHT ON NEW YORK BAY

H, say is that beautiful moon that I see

Serenely adorning the Heavens above, Whose beams are refulgently shining on me, Is it shining as bright on the land that I love? The land where I first saw the moon's silver light, The land that I cherish wherever I stray Oh, say, is that moon shining brightly to-night On the green hills of Ireland, away, far away?

How calm and how placid the ocean appears -
See, the moon and the stars are reflected below.
The reflection brings back like a flash through the
years

The dreams of my boyhood, the days long ago;
The days when I fancied that everything bright
Was lasting and real,-how delusive were they!
Oh, beautiful Moon! art thou shining to-night
On the green hills of Ireland, away, far away?

Oh, beautiful Moon! if thou'rt shining as well
On that green little island away o'er the sea,
To the dear cherished friends who in Ireland dwell
With friendship and love bear a token from me.
For oh, were I clasped in Death's cold hand to-night,