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Contents.
PAGE.
“CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT.” 13
THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS.--_Leigh Hunt_ 18
A YOUNG HERO. 21
THE BEGGAR MAID.--_Tennyson_ 26
BUNKER HILL.--_G. H. Calvert_ 29
FASTENING THE BUCKLE.--_Samuel Burnham_ 34
HERVÉ RIEL.--_Robert Browning_ 37
THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON.--_Geo. W. Bungay_ 46
THE BRAVE AT HOME.--_T. Buchanan Read_ 50
KANE.--_Fitz James O’Brien_ 53
THE LIFE-BOAT.--_Alice M. Adams_ 58
THE RED JACKET.--_George M. Baker_ 61
OTHELLO’S STORY OF HIS LIFE.--_Shakspeare_ 66
THE BLACKSMITH OF RAGENBACH.--_Frank Marry_ 70
MARMION AND DOUGLAS.--_Scott_ 75
THE LOSS OF THE HORNET. 80
MAN THE LIFE-BOAT.--_Anon._ 84
SIR GALAHAD.--_Tennyson_ 87
KING CANUTE AND HIS NOBLES.--_Dr. Walcott_ 92
OUTWARD BOUND.--_Anon._ 96
THE BRIDES OF VENICE.--_Samuel Rogers_ 99
THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS.--_Mrs. Hemans_ 108
THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY.--_Anon._ 112
THE SONG OF THE CAMP.--_Anon._ 116
THE RECANTATION OF GALILEO.--_F. E. Raleigh_ 120
BELSHAZZAR.-_-Trans. from Heine_ 124
LIBERTY.--_From William Tell. By J. Sheridan Knowles_ 128
THE FISHERMEN.--_Whittier_ 131
EXCELSIOR.--_Longfellow_ 136
THE SOLDIER.--_Robert Burns_ 140
JOHN MAYNARD. 143
EXCALIBUR.--_Tennyson_ 148
THE DEATH OF ARTHUR.--_Tennyson_ 152
A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.--_Allan Cunningham_ 156
THE LEAP OF CURTIUS.--_Geo. Aspinall_ 159
THE RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX. 164
A YARN.--_Mary Howitt._ 169
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Ballads of Bravery.
“CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT.”
England’s sun, bright setting o’er the hills so far away,
Filled the land with misty beauty at the close of one sad day;
And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,--
He with step so slow and weary; she with sunny, floating hair;
He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful; she, with lips so cold
and white,
Struggled to keep back the murmur, “Curfew must not ring to-night.”
“Sexton,” Bessie’s white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old,
With its walls so tall and gloomy, walls so dark and damp
and cold,--
“I’ve a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die
At the ringing of the curfew; and no earthly help is nigh.
Cromwell will not come till sunset,” and her face grew
strangely white,
As she spoke in husky whispers, “Curfew must not ring to-night.”
“Bessie,” calmly spoke the sexton (every word pierced her
young heart
Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly poisoned dart),
“Long, long years I’ve rung the curfew from that gloomy,
shadowed tower;
Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour.
I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right:
Now I’m old, I will not miss it. Girl, the curfew rings to-night!”
Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her
thoughtful brow;
And within her heart’s deep centre Bessie made a solemn vow.
She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh,--
“At the ringing of the curfew Basil Underwood _must die_.”
And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large
and bright;
One low murmur, scarcely spoken, “Curfew _must not_ ring to-night!”
She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old
church-door,
Left the old man coming slowly, paths he’d trod so oft before.
Not one moment paused the maiden, but, with cheek and brow aglow,
Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro;
Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of light,
Upward still, her pale lips saying, “Curfew _shall not_
ring to-night!”
She has reached the topmost ladder; o’er her hangs the great,
dark bell,
And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell.
See! the ponderous tongue is swinging; ’tis the hour of curfew now,
And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath, and paled
her brow.
Shall she let it ring? No, never! Her eyes flash with sudden light,
As she springs, and grasps it firmly: “Curfew _shall not_
ring to-night!”
Out she swung,--far out. The city seemed a tiny speck below,--
There ’twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to
and fro;
And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the bell),
And he thought the twilight curfew rang young Basil’s funeral knell.
Still the maiden, clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and white,
Stilled her frightened heart’s wild beating: _“Curfew shall not
ring to-night!”_
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It was o’er, the bell ceased swaying; and the maiden stepped
once more
Firmly on the damp old ladder, where, for hundred years before,
Human foot had not been planted; and what she this night had done
Should be told long ages after. As the rays of setting sun
Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires, with heads of white,
Tell the children why the curfew did not ring that one sad night.
O’er the distant hills came Cromwell. Bessie saw him; and her brow,
Lately white with sickening horror, glows with sudden beauty now.
At his feet she told her story, showed her hands, all bruised
and torn;
And her sweet young face, so haggard, with a look so sad and worn,
Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light.
“Go! your lover lives,” cried Cromwell. “Curfew shall not
ring to-night!”
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