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Various
Ballads of Bravery
The Life-Boat
LAUNCH the life-boat! Far on high
The fiery rockets gleam,
While loud and clear the booming signal gun
Says there is work that quickly must be done.
A vessel’s in distress: haste, every one,
Nor idly stop to dream.
Launch the life-boat! On the shore
The startled people stand,
And watch the signal lights that shine on high,
And through the pitchy darkness seek to spy
The struggling ship, or to their comrades try
To lend a helping hand.
Launch the life-boat! Now the moon
Sheds forth her silvery light,
And shows the boat is off; one long, loud cheer
Breaks from the eager crowd assembled here;
The dip of oars comes to the listening ear,
Upon the silent night.
Speed the life-boat and her crew,
Speed them on their watery way!
As joy and hope they bring to hearts cast down,
And waiting ’neath the storm-clouds’ dismal frown,
While wind and wave their trembling voices drown,
Waiting another day.
The Red Jacket
TIS a cold, bleak night. With angry roar
The north winds beat and clamor at the door;
The drifted snow lies heaped along the street,
Swept by a blinding storm of hail and sleet;
The clouded heavens no guiding starlight lend,
But o’er the earth in gloom and darkness bend;
Gigantic shadows, by the night-lamps thrown,
Dance their weird revels fitfully alone.
In lofty halls, where fortune takes its ease,
Sunk in the treasures of all lands and seas;
In happy homes, where warmth and comfort meet
The weary traveller with their smiles to greet;
In lonely dwellings, where the needy swarm
Round starving embers, chilling limbs to warm, —
Rises the prayer that makes the sad heart light,
“Thank God for home this bitter, bitter night!”
But hark! above the beating of the storm
Peals on the startled ear the fire-alarm!
Yon gloomy heaven’s aflame with sudden light;
And heart-beats quicken with a strange affright.
From tranquil slumber springs, at duty’s call,
The ready friend no danger can appall;
Fierce for the conflict, sturdy, true, and brave,
He hurries forth to battle and to save.
From yonder dwelling fiercely shooting out,
Devouring all they coil themselves about,
The flaming furies, mounting high and higher,
Wrap the frail structure in a cloak of fire.
Strong arms are battling with the stubborn foe,
In vain attempts their power to overthrow;
With mocking glee they revel with their prey,
Defying human skill to check their way.
And see! far up above the flames’ hot breath,
Something that’s human waits a horrid death:
A little child, with waving golden hair,
Stands like a phantom ’mid the horrid glare,
Her pale, sweet face against the window pressed,
While sobs of terror shake her tender breast.
And from the crowd beneath, in accents wild,
A mother screams, “O God! my child, my child!”
Up goes a ladder! Through the startled throng
A hardy fireman swiftly moves along,
Mounts sure and fast along the slender way,
Fearing no danger, dreading but delay.
The stifling smoke-clouds lower in his path,
Sharp tongues of flame assail him in their wrath;
But up, still up he goes! The goal is won,
His strong arm beats the sash, and he is gone, —
Gone to his death. The wily flames surround,
And burn and beat his ladder to the ground;
In flaming columns move with quickened beat,
To rear a massive wall ’gainst his retreat.
Courageous heart, thy mission was so pure,
Suffering humanity must thy loss deplore:
Henceforth with martyred heroes thou shalt live,
Crowned with all honors nobleness can give.
Nay, not so fast! subdue these gloomy fears!
Behold! he quickly on the roof appears,
Bearing the tender child, his jacket warm
Flung round her shrinking form to guard from harm.
Up with your ladders! Quick! ’tis but a chance!
Behold how fast the roaring flames advance!
Quick! quick! brave spirits to his rescue fly!
Up! up! by heavens, this hero must not die!
Silence! he comes along the burning road,
Bearing with tender care his living load.
Aha! he totters! Heaven in mercy save
The good, true heart that can so nobly brave!
He’s up again, and now he’s coming fast!
One moment, and the fiery ordeal’s past,
And now he’s safe! Bold flames, ye fought in vain!
A happy mother clasps her child again.
“O, Heaven bless you!” ’Tis an earnest prayer
Which grateful thousands with that mother share.
Heaven bless the brave who on the war-clad field
Stand fast, stand firm, the nation’s trusty shield!
Heaven bless the brave who on the mighty sea
Fearless uphold the standard of the free!
And Heaven’s choicest blessing for the brave
Who fearless move our lives and homes to save!
Othello’s Story of his Life
HER father loved me; oft invited me;
Still questioned me the story of my life
From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I had past.
I ran it through, e’en from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field,
Of hair-breadth ’scapes, in the imminent deadly breach,
Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And with it all my travel’s history.
All these to hear,
Would Desdemona seriously incline;
But still the house affairs would draw her thence,
Whichever as she could with haste despatch,
She’d come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse. Which, I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof, by parcels, she had something heard,
But not distinctly.
I did consent;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffered. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.
She swore in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange;
’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful;
She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished
That heaven had made her such a man.
She thanked me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I spake;
She loved me for the dangers I had passed;
And I loved her that she did pity them:
This is the only witchcraft which I’ve used.
The Blacksmith of Ragenbach
IN a little German village,
On the waters of the Rhine,
Gay and joyous in their pastimes,
In the pleasant vintage-time,
Were a group of happy peasants,
For the day released from toil,
Thanking God for all his goodness
In the product of their soil,
When a cry rung through the welkin,
And appeared upon the scene
A panting dog, with crest erect,
Foaming mouth, and savage mien.
“He is mad!” was shrieked in chorus.
In dismay they all fell back, —
All except one towering figure, —
’Twas the smith of Ragenbach.
God had given this man his image;
Nature stamped him as complete.
Now it was incumbent on him
To perform a greater feat
Than Horatius at the bridge,
When he stood on Tiber’s bank;
For behind him were his townsfolk,
Who, appalled with terror, shrank
From the most appalling danger, —
That which makes the bravest quail, —
While they all were grouped together,
Shaking limbs and visage pale.
For a moment cowered the beast,
Snapping to the left and right,
While the blacksmith stood before him
In the power of his might.
“One must die to save the many,
Let it then my duty be:
I’ve the power. Fear not, neighbors!
From this peril you’ll be free.”
As the lightning from the storm-cloud
Leaps to earth with sudden crash,
So upon the rabid monster
Did this man and hero dash.
In the death-grip then they struggled,
Man and dog, with scarce a sound,
Till from out the fearful conflict
Rose the man from off the ground,
Gashed and gory from the struggle;
But the beast lay stiff and dead.
There he stood, while people gathered,
And rained blessings on his head.
“Friends,” he said, “from one great peril,
With God’s help, I’ve set you free,
But my task is not yet ended,
There is danger now in me.
Yet secure from harm you shall be,
None need fear before I die.
That my sufferings may be shortened,
Ask of Him who rules on high.”
Then unto his forge he straightway
Walked erect, with rapid step,
While the people followed after,
Some with shouts, while others wept;
And with nerve as steady as when
He had plied his trade for gain,
He selected, without faltering,
From his store, the heaviest chain.
To his anvil first he bound it,
Next his limb he shackled fast,
Then he said unto his townsfolk,
“All your danger now is past.
Place within my reach, I pray you,
Food and water for a time,
Until God shall ease my sufferings
By his gracious will divine.”
Long he suffered, but at last
Came a summons from on high,
Then his soul, with angel escort,
Sought its home beyond the sky;
And the people of that village,
Those whom he had died to save,
Still with grateful hearts assemble,
And with flowers bedeck his grave.
Marmion and Douglas
NOT far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey’s camp to ride.
He had safe-conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide.
The ancient earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,
And whispered in an undertone,
“Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.”
The train from out the castle drew,
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:
“Though something I might ’plain,” he said,
“Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your king’s behest,
While in Tantallon’s towers I stayed,
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble earl, receive my hand.”
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:
“My manors, halls, and bowers shall still
Be open, at my sovereign’s will,
To each one whom he lists, howe’er
Unmeet to be the owner’s peer;
My castles are my king’s alone,
From turret to foundation-stone, —
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp.”
Burned Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And – “This to me!” he said; —
“An ’twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion’s had not spared
To cleave the Douglas’ head!
And first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England’s message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!
And Douglas, more, I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,)
I tell thee, thou ’rt defied!
And if thou saidst I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!”
On the earl’s cheek the flush of rage
O’ercame the ashen hue of age:
Fierce he broke forth, “And dar’st thou then
To beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall?
And hop’st thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!
Up drawbridge, grooms! What, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall.”
Lord Marmion turned, – well was his need! —
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous grate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.
The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake’s level brim;
And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clinched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers.
“Horse! horse!” the Douglas cried, “and chase!”
But soon he reigned his fury’s pace:
“A royal messenger he came,
Though most unworthy of the name.
St. Mary mend my fiery mood!
Old age ne’er cools the Douglas blood,
I thought to slay him where he stood.
’Tis pity of him, too,” he cried;
“Bold can he speak and fairly ride,
I warrant him a warrior tried.”
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle walls.