up from that to sweat of the brain, sweat of the heart; which includes all Kepler calculations, Newton meditations, all sciences, all spoken epics, all acted heroism, martyrdoms-up to that "agony of bloody sweat," which all men have called divine! O brother, if this is not "worship," then I say, the more pity for worship; for this is the noblest thing yet discovered under God's sky.

Who art thou that complainest of thy life of toil? Complain not. Look up, my wearied brother; see thy fellowworkmen there, in God's eternity; surviving there, they alone surviving: sacred band of the immortals, celestial body-guard of the empire of mind. Even in the weak human memory they survive so long, as saints, as heroes, as gods; they alone surviving peopling, they alone, the immeasured solitudes of Time! To thee Heaven, though severe, is not unkind; Heaven is kind—as a noble mother; as that Spartan mother, saying while she gave her son his shield, "WITH IT, MY SON. OR UPON IT!" Thou, too, shalt return home in honor, to thy far-distant home in honor; doubt it not—if in the battle thou keep thy shield! Thou, in the eternities and deepest deathkingdoms, art not an alien; thou everywhere art a denizen! Complain not; the very Spartans did not complain.

95.-WINSTANLEY.

JEAN INGELOW.

Winstanley's deed, you kindly folk,
With it I fill my lay,

And a nobler man ne'er walked the world,
Let his name be what it may.

The good ship "Snowdrop" tarried long,
Up at the vane looked he;
"Belike," he said, for the wind had dropped,
She lieth becalmed at sea.'

The lovely ladies flocked within,
And still would each one say,

"Good mercer, be the ships come up?"

But still he answered, "Nay."

Then stepped two mariners down the street,
With looks of grief and fear;

"Now, if Winstanley be your name,

We bring you evil cheer!

"For the good ship Snowdrop struck,-she struck

On the rock,-the Eddystone,

And down she went with threescore men,

We two being left alone."

The Snowdrop sank at Lammas tide,
All under the yeasty spray;

On Christmas eve the brig Content
Was also cast away.

"She was a fair ship, but all's one!

For naught could bide the shock." "I will take horse," Winstanley said, 'And see this deadly rock.

"For never again shall bark of mine
Sail over the windy sea,

Unless, by the blessing of God, for this
Be found a remedy.'

Winstanley rode to Plymouth town
All in the sleet and the snow;

And he looked around on shore and sound,
As he stood on Plymouth Hoe,

Till a pillar of spray rose far away,
And shot up its stately head,

Reared, and fell over, and reared again :
"Tis the rock! the rock!" he said.

Straight to the Mayor he took his way:
Good Master Mayor," quoth he,

"I am a mercer of London town,
And owner of vessels three,—

"But for your rock of dark renown, I had five to track the main.'

"You are one of many," the old Mayor said,
"That on the rock complain.

"An ill rock, mercer! your words ring right,
Well with my thoughts they chime,
For my two sons to the world to come
It sent before their time."

Then said he, "Nay,-I must away,
On the rock to set my feet;
My debts are paid, my will I made,
Or ever I did thee greet.

"If I must die, then let me die

By the rock, and not elsewhere,

If I may live, O let me live

To mount my lighthouse stair.”

Winstanley chose him men and gear;
He said, "My time I waste,"

For the seas ran seething up the shore,
And the wrack drave on in haste.

But twenty days he waited and more,
Pacing the strand alone,

Or ever he set his manly foot

On the rock,-the Eddystone.

Then he and the sea began their strife,
And worked with power and might;
Whatever the man reared up by day
The sea broke down by night.

He wrought at ebb with bar and beam,
He sailed to shore at flow;

And at his side, by that same tide,
Came bar and beam also.

In fine weather and foul weather
The rock his arts did flout,

Through the long days and the short days,
Till all that year ran out.

With fine weather and foul weather
Another year came in ;

"To take his wage," the workmen said,
"We almost count a sin."

Now March was gone, came April in,
And a sea-fog settled down,
And forth sailed he on a glassy sea,
He sailed from Plymouth town.

A Scottish schooner made the port,
The thirteenth day at e'en;

“As I am a man," the captain cried,
"A strange sight I have seen:

"And a strange sound heard, my masters all,
At sea, in the fog and the rain,

Like shipwrights' hammers tapping low,
Then loud, then low again.

'And a stately house one instant showed,
Through a rift, on the vessel's lee;
What manner of creatures may be those
That built upon the sea?"

Then sighed the folk, "The Lord be praised!”

And they flocked to the shore amain:

All over the Hoe that livelong night,
Many stood out in the rain.

It ceased; and the red sun reared his head,
And the rolling fog did flee;
And, lo! in the offing faint and far
Winstanley's house at sea!

In fair weather with mirth and cheer
The stately tower uprose;

In foul weather, with hunger and cold,
They were content to close;

Till up the stair Winstanley went,
To fire the wick afar;

And Plymouth in the silent night
Looked out, and saw her star.

Winstanley set his foot ashore :
Said he, "My work is done;
I hold it strong to last as long
As aught beneath the sun.
“But if it fail, as fail it may,

Borne down with ruin and rout,
Another than I shall rear it high,
And brace the girders stout.

"A better than I shall rear it high, For now the way is plain;

And though I were dead," Winstanley said,

66

The light would shine again.

"Yet were I fain still to remain,

Watch in my tower to keep,

And tend my light in the stormiest night
That ever did move the deep;

"And if it stood, why then 'twere good,

Amid their tremulous stirs,

To count each stroke when the mad waves broke.

For cheers of mariners.

"But if it fell, then this were well,

That I should with it fall;

Since, for my part, I have built my heart

In the courses of its wall.

"Aye! I were fain, long to remain,
Watch in my tower to keep,

And tend my light in the stormiest night
That ever did move the deep."

With that Winstanley went his way,
And left the rock renowned,

And summer and winter his pilot star
Hung bright o'er Plymouth Sound.

But it fell out, fell out at last,
That he would put to sea,

To scan once more his lighthouse tower
On the rock o' destiny.

And the winds broke, and the storm broke,
And wrecks came plunging in;

None in the town that night lay down
Or sleep or rest to win.

The great mad waves were rolling graves,
And each flung up its dead;

The seething flow was white below,
And black the sky o'erhead.

And when the dawn, the dull, gray dawn,—
Broke on the trembling town,

And men looked south to the harbor mouth,
The lighthouse tower was down.

Down in the deep where he doth sleep,

Who made it shine afar,

And then in the night that drowned its light,

Set, with his pilot star.

Many fair tombs in the glorious glooms

At Westminster they show;

The brave and the great lie there in state:
Winstanley lieth low.

96.-PAUL FLEMMING RESOLVES.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

And now the sun was growing high and warm. A little chapel, whose door stood open, seemed to invite Flemming to enter and enjoy the grateful coolness. He went in. There was no one there. The walls were covered with paintings and sculpture of the rudest kind, and with a few funeral tablets. There was nothing there to move the heart to devotion; but in that hour the heart of Flemming was weak,—weak as a child's. He bowed his stubborn knees and wept. And oh! how many disappointed hopes, how many bitter recollections, how much of wounded pride, and unrequited love, were in those tears, through which he read on a marble tablet in the chapel wall opposite, this singular inscription: "Look not mournfully into the past: It comes not back again. Wisely improve the present: It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future, without fear, and with a manly heart.”