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306 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fearful
show; The roof ribs svvarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy
lurid row Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before
the foe; As, quivering thro' his fleece of flame, the sailing
monster, slow Sinks on the anvil—all about, the faces fiery glow — " Hurrah ! " they shout, "leap out—leap out; " bang,
bang, the sledges go: Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and
low; A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing
blow; The leathern mail rebounds the hail; the rattling cinders strow The ground around; at every bound the sweltering
fountains flow, And thick and loud the swinking crowd at every stroke
pant "ho !"
Leap out, leap out, my masters ; leap out and lay on
load ! Let's forge a goodly anchor—a bower thick and broad; For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode; And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road — The low reef roaring on her lee—the roll of ocean
poured From stem to stern, sea after sea; the mainmast by
the board; The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove
at the chains ! |
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