Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,
    And he crossed the Rhine without delay,
    And reached his tower, and barred with care
    All windows, doors, and loop-holes there.

    He laid him down, and closed his eyes;
    But soon a scream made him arise: 
    He started and saw two eyes of flame
    On his pillow, from whence the screaming came.

    He listened and looked; it was only the cat: 
    But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that;
    For she sat screaming, mad with fear
    At the army of Rats that was drawing near.

    For they have swum over the river so deep,
    And they have climbed the shore so steep;
    And up the tower their way is bent,
    To do the work for which they were sent.

    They are not to be told by the dozen or score;
    By thousands they come, and by myriads and more;
    Such numbers had never been heard of before,
    Such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore.

    Down on his knees the Bishop fell,
    And faster and faster his beads did tell,
    As, louder and louder drawing near,
    The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.

    And in at the windows and in at the door,
    And through the walls, helter-skelter they pour,
    And down from the ceiling and up through the floor,
    From the right and the left, from behind and before,
    And all at once to the Bishop they go.

    They have whetted their teeth against the stones;
    And now they pick the Bishop’s bones: 
    They gnawed the flesh from every limb;
    For they were sent to do judgment on him!

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

 COLUMBUS.

We are greatly indebted to Joaquin Miller for his “Sail On!  Sail On!” Endurance is the watchword of the poem and the watchword of our republic.  Every man to his gun!  Columbus discovered America in his own mind before he realised it or proved its existence.  I have often drawn a chart of Columbus’s life and voyages to show what need he had of the motto “Sail On!” to accomplish his end.  This is one of our greatest American poems.  The writer still lives in California.

    Behind him lay the gray Azores,
      Behind the gates of Hercules;
    Before him not the ghost of shores,
      Before him only shoreless seas. 
    The good mate said:  “Now must we pray,
      For lo! the very stars are gone;
    Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?”
     “Why say, sail on! and on!”

   “My men grow mut’nous day by day;
      My men grow ghastly wan and weak.” 
    The stout mate thought of home; a spray
      Of salt wave wash’d his swarthy cheek. 
   “What shall I say, brave Admiral,
      If we sight naught but seas at dawn?”
   “Why, you shall say, at break of day: 
     ‘Sail on! sail on! and on!’”