Now through the ready mould it flows, And filling every crevice up As the red vintage fills the cup : Hurra! the work is done! II. Unswathe him now. Take off each stay That binds him to his couch of clay, And let him struggle into day : Let chain and pulley run, With yielding crank and steady rope, Hurra! the work is done! III. The clapper on his giant side Shall ring no peal for blushing bride, A nation's joy alone shall be And for a nation's woes alone His melancholy tongue shall moan: Hurra! the work is done! IV. Borne on the gale, deep-toned and clear, When mighty monarchs yield their breath, And peal a requiem o'er their tomb: y. Should foemen lift their haughty hand, Fast by the altars of our land We'll gather every one, And he shall ring the loud alarm, From distant field and forest brown, Hurra! the work is done: VI. And as the solemn boom they hear, And to the struggle run; Young men shall leave their toils or books, Or turn to swords their pruning hooks; And maids have sweetest smiles for those Who battle with their country's foes: Hurra! the work is done! VII. And when the cannon's iron throat VIIL But of such scenes forbear to tell May never war awake this bell To sound the tocsin or the knell. Hush'd be the alarum gun! Sheath'd be the sword! and may his voice But call the nations to rejoice That War his tatter'd flag has furled, And vanished from a wiser world: Hurra! the work is done! IX. Still may he ring when struggles cease, For progress in the arts of peace, And friendly trophies won. When rival nations join their hands, THE BRAVE OLD OAK. H. F. CHORLEY. A SONG to the Oak, the brave old Oak, Who hath ruled in the green wood long, Here's health and renown to his broad green crown, And his fifty arms so strong. There's fear in his frown, when the sun goes down, And the fire in the west fades out, And he showeth his might on a wild midnight, And still flourish he a hale green tree, In the days of old when the spring with cold, And on that day to the rebeck gay They frolick'd with lovesome swains; They are gone, they are dead, in the churchyard laid, But the tree it still remains. Then here's, &c. ' He saw the rare times, when the Christmas chimes When the squire's wide hall, and the cottage small Now gold hath the sway we all obey, And a ruthless king is he, But he never shall send our ancient friend, To be tossed on the stormy sea. Then here's, &c. TUBAL CAIN. CHARLES MACKAY. OLD Tubal Cain was a man of might, In the days when Earth was young; Till the sparks rush'd out in scarlet showers, To Tubal Cain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire, And each one pray'd for a strong steel blade, And he made them weapons sharp and strong, And gave him gifts of pearls and gold, And spoils of the forest free. And they sang, "Hurrah for Tubal Cain, Who hath given us strength anew! Hurrah for the smith! hurrah for the fire! And hurrah for the metal true!" But a sudden change came o'er his heart He saw that men, with rage and hate, Made war upon their kind, That the land was red with blood they shed, And he said, "Alas! that ever I made, And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o'er his woe; And his hand forebore to smite the ore, And bared his strong right arm for work, Not alone for the blade, was the bright steel made;" And men, taught wisdom from the past, In friendship joined their hands, Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, And plough'd the willing lands; And sang, "Hurrah for Tubal Cain, Our stanch good friend is he ; But while Oppression lifts its head, Or a tyrant would be lord, Though we may thank him for the plough, SONG FOR TWILIGHT. BARRY CORNWALL. HIDE me, O twilight Air! Hide me from thought, from care, From all things, foul or fair, To-night I strive no more; If I must see through dreams, To watch and wander! |