Macmillan's Reading Books. Book V - Unknown

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sound of shock,

             The waves flow'd o'er the Inchcape Rock;

             So little they rose, so little they fell,

             They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

             The pious abbot of Aberbrothock

             Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;

             On the waves of the storm it floated and swung,

             And louder and louder its warning rung.

             When the rock was hid by the tempest swell,

             The mariners heard the warning bell,

             And then they knew the perilous rock,

             And blessed the abbot of Aberbrothock.

             The float of the Inchcape Bell was seen,

             A darker spot on the ocean green.

             Sir Ralph the Rover walked the deck,

             And he fix'd his eye on the darker speck.

             His eye was on the bell and float,—

             Quoth he, "My men, put down the boat,

             And row me to the Inchcape Rock,—

             I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothock!".

             The boat was lower'd, the boatmen row,

             And to the Inchcape Rock they go.

             Sir Ralph leant over from the boat,

             And cut the bell from off the float.

             Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound;

             The bubbles rose, and burst around.

             Quoth he, "Who next comes to the rock

             Won't bless the priest of Aberbrothock!"

             Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away;

             He scour'd the sea for many a day;

             And now, grown rich with plunder'd store,

             He steers his way for Scotland's shore.

             So thick a haze o'erspread the sky,

             They could not see the sun on high;

             The wind had blown a gale all day;

             At evening it hath died away.

             "Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar?

             For yonder, methinks, should be the shore.

             Now, where we are, I cannot tell,—

             I wish we heard the Inchcape Bell."

             They heard no sound—the swell is strong,

             Though the wind hath fallen they drift along:

             Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,

             "Oh heavens! it is the Inchcape Rock!"

             Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,

             And cursed himself in his despair;

             And waves rush in on every side,

             The ship sinks fast beneath the tide.

SOUTHEY.

      [Notes: Robert Southey, born 1774, died 1848. Poet Laureate and author of numerous works in prose and verse.]

      Quoth. Saxon Cwaethan, to say. A Perfect now used only in the first and third persons singular of the present indicative; the nominative following the verb.

      Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock. Notice the effective use of alliteration (i.e., the recurrence of words beginning with the same letter), which is the basis of old-English rhythm.]

* * * * *

      THE DEATH OF NELSON

      It had been part of Nelson's prayer that the British fleet might be distinguished by humanity in the victory he expected. Setting an example himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing upon the 'Redoubtable,' supposing that she had struck because her great guns were silent; for, as she carried no flag, there was no means of instantly ascertaining the fact. From this ship, which he had thus twice spared, he received his death. A ball, fired from her mizen-top, which, in the then situation of the two vessels, was not more than fifteen yards from that part of the deck where he was standing, struck the epaulette on his left shoulder, about a quarter after one, just in the heat of action. He fell upon his face, on the spot which was covered with his poor secretary's blood. Hardy (his captain), who was a few steps from him, turning round, saw three men raising him up.

      "They have done for me at last, Hardy," said he.

      "I hope not," cried Hardy. "Yes," he replied, "my backbone is shot through."

      Yet even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed, as they were carrying him down the ladder, that the tiller ropes, which had been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should be rove immediately; then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he took out his handkerchief, and covered his face and his stars. Had he but concealed these badges of honour from the enemy, England, perhaps, would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of the battle of Trafalgar. The cockpit was crowded with wounded and dying men, over whose bodies he was with some difficulty conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in the midshipmen's berth. It was soon perceived, upon examination, that the wound was mortal. This, however, was concealed from all except Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. He himself being certain, from the sensation in his back, and the gush of blood he felt momently within his breast, that no human care could avail him, insisted that the surgeon should leave him, and attend to those to whom he might be useful; "For," said he, "you can do nothing for me." All that could be done was to fan him with paper, and frequently to give him lemonade to alleviate his intense thirst. He was in great pain, and expressed much anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself. As often as a ship struck, the crew of the 'Victory' hurrahed, and at every hurrah a visible expression of joy gleamed in the eyes and marked the countenance of the dying hero.

      But he became impatient to see Captain Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not leave the deck, Nelson feared some fatal cause prevented him, and repeatedly cried, "Will no one bring Hardy to me? He must be killed! He is surely dead!"

      An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the time when Nelson received his wound before Hardy could come to him. They shook hands in silence, Hardy in vain struggling to suppress the feelings of that most painful yet sublimest moment. "Well, Hardy," said Nelson, "how goes the day with us?" "Very well," replied Hardy; "ten ships have struck, but five of the van have tacked, and show an intention to bear down upon the 'Victory.' I have called two or three of our fresh ships round, and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing." "I hope," said Nelson, "none of our ships have struck?" Hardy answered, "There was no fear of that." Then, and not till then, Nelson spoke of himself. "I am a dead man, Hardy," said he; "I am going fast; it will be all over with me soon; come nearer to me." Hardy observed that he hoped Mr. Beattie (the surgeon) could yet hold out some prospect of life. "Oh no," he replied, "it is impossible; my back is shot through—Beattie will tell you so." Captain Hardy then once more shook hands with him, and, with a heart almost bursting, hastened upon deck.

      By this

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