Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 18071882
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow68 The Warden of the Cinque Ports
A
The day was just begun,
And through the window-panes, on floor and panel,
Streamed the red autumn sun.
And the white sails of ships; And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon Hailed it with feverish lips. Were all alert that day, To see the French war-steamers speeding over, When the fog cleared away. Their cannon, through the night, Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance, The sea-coast opposite. On every citadel; Each answering each, with morning salutations, That all was well. Replied the distant forts, As if to summon from his sleep the Warden And Lord of the Cinque Ports. No drum-beat from the wall, No morning gun from the black fort’s embrasure, Awaken with its call! The long line of the coast, Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Marshal Be seen upon his post! In sombre harness mailed, Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, The rampart wall had scaled. The dark and silent room, And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, The silence and the gloom. But smote the Warden hoar; Ah! what a blow! that made all England tremble And groan from shore to shore. The sun rose bright o’erhead; Nothing in Nature’s aspect intimated That a great man was dead.