 | Farm ballads |  |
146
THE SHIP-BUILDER.
Across the foaming, word-lashed sea of thought,
Where heavy craft were struggling with the storm,
The winds, one day, an unknown vessel brought,
Of flaunting streamer and fantastic form.
Old captains shook their grizzled heads in doubt,
And vainly strove to make the stranger out;
And critic gunners raised their ready hand,
To fire at what they could not understand.
Where heavy craft were struggling with the storm,
The winds, one day, an unknown vessel brought,
Of flaunting streamer and fantastic form.
Old captains shook their grizzled heads in doubt,
And vainly strove to make the stranger out;
And critic gunners raised their ready hand,
To fire at what they could not understand.
But, crowding sail, she rode the dangerous waves,
Swept past old wrecks and signals of distress,
And o'er forgotten hulks and nameless graves,
Straight glided to the harbor of success!
The weary world looked for a little while—
Its care-worn face grew brighter, with a smile;
Until its voice caught rapture from its gaze,
And swelled into a thunder-peal of praise!
Swept past old wrecks and signals of distress,
And o'er forgotten hulks and nameless graves,
Straight glided to the harbor of success!
The weary world looked for a little while—
Its care-worn face grew brighter, with a smile;
Until its voice caught rapture from its gaze,
And swelled into a thunder-peal of praise!
The outstripp'd jester, smiling, dropped his pun;
The sage looked up, with pleased, instructed eyes;
The critic raised his double-shotted gun,
And jubilantly fired it at the skies!
The laboring throng, when their day's toil was o'er,
Crowded along this unaccustomed shore,
And viewed, with wonder and delight oft told,
The varied treasures of her deck and hold.
The sage looked up, with pleased, instructed eyes;
The critic raised his double-shotted gun,
And jubilantly fired it at the skies!
The laboring throng, when their day's toil was o'er,
Crowded along this unaccustomed shore,
And viewed, with wonder and delight oft told,
The varied treasures of her deck and hold.
For there, arrayed in quaint and genial pride,
Stood Pickwick, captain of the motley crew;
The sturdy Samuel Weller by his side,
And many a passenger the people knew;
And, stored among this cargo of new mirth,
Flashed forth the brightest diamonds of earth;
Treasures of Nature's undissembled arts;
And stores of food for hungry, yearning hearts.
Stood Pickwick, captain of the motley crew;
The sturdy Samuel Weller by his side,
And many a passenger the people knew;
147
Flashed forth the brightest diamonds of earth;
Treasures of Nature's undissembled arts;
And stores of food for hungry, yearning hearts.
And ever as they gazed, and rushed to gaze,
Came sweeping o'er the sea another gale,
And gleamed upon their glad eyes, through the haze,
The welcome whiteness of another sail!
Rich loaded was one bark, and fair to see,
But aimed great guns at petty tyranny;
And as she swiftly glided safe to land,
Young Captain Nickleby was in command.
Came sweeping o'er the sea another gale,
And gleamed upon their glad eyes, through the haze,
The welcome whiteness of another sail!
Rich loaded was one bark, and fair to see,
But aimed great guns at petty tyranny;
And as she swiftly glided safe to land,
Young Captain Nickleby was in command.
There came a ship of stranger seeming still,
With “Curiosities” in plenty stored;
And thousands crowded 'round her, with one will,
To view the passengers she had on board.
And one there was—her name was “Little Nell”—
The people much admired, and loved full well;
And many wept, and lingered at her side,
When, wearily, she laid her down and died.
With “Curiosities” in plenty stored;
And thousands crowded 'round her, with one will,
To view the passengers she had on board.
And one there was—her name was “Little Nell”—
The people much admired, and loved full well;
And many wept, and lingered at her side,
When, wearily, she laid her down and died.
148
So one by one to port the vessels came,
Laden with comforts for both rich and poor,
But hurling balls of scorn-envenomed flame
At tyrant, rogue, and snob, and titled boor.
And each new ship the multitude flocked 'round,
Rejoicing o'er the treasures that they found;
And as each new sail flashing came to sight,
Broke forth a thousand plaudits of delight!
Laden with comforts for both rich and poor,
But hurling balls of scorn-envenomed flame
At tyrant, rogue, and snob, and titled boor.
And each new ship the multitude flocked 'round,
Rejoicing o'er the treasures that they found;
And as each new sail flashing came to sight,
Broke forth a thousand plaudits of delight!
And so the millions, eager to confess
The pleasures they from his creations drew,
Hastened to praise, and glorify, and bless
The toiling man whose face they hardly knew,
Who, in his lonely room, worked for his goal,
With busy brain, and tender, yearning soul;
And with his good pen built and rigged and manned
The noble argosies his genius planned.
The pleasures they from his creations drew,
Hastened to praise, and glorify, and bless
The toiling man whose face they hardly knew,
Who, in his lonely room, worked for his goal,
With busy brain, and tender, yearning soul;
And with his good pen built and rigged and manned
The noble argosies his genius planned.
But one bright day the news gloomed o'er the earth
That he, belovéd guest of many lands,
Had gone where first his clear-eyed soul had birth,
Led by the pressure of down-reaching hands.
No monarch resting on his crape-strown bed
Had e'er such tears of sorrow o'er him shed,
As this untitled king of grief and mirth,
Whose subjects mourned in every clime of earth!
That he, belovéd guest of many lands,
Had gone where first his clear-eyed soul had birth,
Led by the pressure of down-reaching hands.
No monarch resting on his crape-strown bed
Had e'er such tears of sorrow o'er him shed,
As this untitled king of grief and mirth,
Whose subjects mourned in every clime of earth!
O master of the heart! if in yon land
Thou canst but wander through its streets and vales,
And then before the countless millions stand
And tell thy merry and pathetic tales,
If thou canst yet thy daily toil prolong,
Plead for the right, and battle with the wrong,
The happiness of heaven will o'er thee spread,
For thou thy path heaven-given still wilt tread!
Thou canst but wander through its streets and vales,
And then before the countless millions stand
And tell thy merry and pathetic tales,
If thou canst yet thy daily toil prolong,
Plead for the right, and battle with the wrong,
The happiness of heaven will o'er thee spread,
For thou thy path heaven-given still wilt tread!
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