« ПретходнаНастави »
Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare; His friends were many and true-hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair ; And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,
Full many's the time and oft ; But mirth is turned to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft.
Yet may poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When He who all commands
The word to pipe all hands.
In vain Tom's life has doffed,
His soul has gone aloft.
Take the topsails of sailors aback, There's a sweet little cherub that sits up
aloft, To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack. I said to our Poll, for, d' ye see, she would
cry, When last we weighed anchor for sea, What argufies sniv'ling and piping your
eye? Why, what a d-d fool you must be! Can't you see the world's wide, and there's
room for us all, Both for seamen and lubbers ashore? And if to old Davy I should go, friend
Poll, Why, you 'll never hear of me more: What then? all's a hazard, come, don't be
so soft, Perhaps I may laughing come back; For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling
aloft, To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack. D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch
All as one as a piece of the ship, And with her brave the world without
offering to flinch, From the moment the anchor 's a-trip. As for me, in all weathers, all times, tides,
and ends, Nought 's a trouble from duty that
springs, For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's
my friend's, And as for my life, 'tis the king's. Even when my time comes, ne'er believe
me so soft As for grief to be taken aback, For the same little cherub that sits up
aloft Will look outagood berth for Poor Jack.
A SAILOR'S SONG.
WHILE clouds on high are riding, The wintry moonshine hiding, The raging blast abiding,
O'er mountain waves we go. With hind the dry land reaping, With townsman shelter keeping, With lord on soft down sleeping,
Change we our lot? Oh, no!
On stormy waves careering,
Our forthward course we hold. Their sails with sunbeams whitened, Themselves with glory brightened, From care their bosoms lightened,
Who shall return? The bold.
But the might of England flushed
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
Again! again! again!
Ye Mariners of England !
Out spoke the victor then,
Britannia needs no bulwark,
With thunders from her native oak
“Where is my cabin door, fast by the wild
wood ? Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall? Where is the mother that looked on my
childhood? And where is the bosom friend, dearer
than all ? Oh, my sad heart! long abandoned by
pleasure, Why did it doat on a fast-fading treasure? Tears, like the rain-drop, may fall without measure,
[call. But rapture and beauty they cannot re“Yet all its sad recollection suppressing,
One dying wish my lone bosom can draw: Erin, an exile bequeaths thee his blessing !
Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh! Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion,
(ocean! Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud
with devotion,Erin mavournin! Erin go bragh!".
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
EXILE OF ERIN.
[Erin, THERE came to the beach a poor Exile of The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill:
[repairing For his country he sighed, when at twilight
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion,
(ocean, For it rose o'er his own native isle of the Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion
(bragh. He șang the bold anthem of Èrin go “Sad is my fate," said the heart-broken stranger,
[flee; “The wild deer and wolf to a covert can But I have no refuge from famine and
danger, A home and a country remain not to me. Never again, in the green sunny bowers Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours,
[flowers, Or cover my harp with the wild-woven And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh!
[saken, "Erin, my country! though sad and for
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore; But, alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken, And sigh for the friends who can meet
me no more! Oh, cruel fate! wilt thou never replace me In a mansion of peace, where no perils
can chase me? Never again shall my brothers embrace me? They died to defend me, or live to de
A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound
Cries, “Boatman do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry. “Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?"
And this Lord Ullin's daughter.
Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather. · His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonnie bride
When they have slain her lover?"
Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,
"I'll go, my chief—I'm ready; It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady: " And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry; So, though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry.
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith* was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer. “Oh, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
“Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."
A stormy sea before her,
The tempest gathered o'er her.
Of waters fast prevailing:
His wrath was changed to wailing.
His child he did discover; (shade, One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
And one was round her lover. “Come back! come back!” he cried in
“ Across this stormy water; [grief, And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter! oh, my daughter !" 'Twas vain! the loud waves lashed the
Return or aid preventing; [shore, The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.
Thon shook the hills with thunder riven,
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
Why weep ye by the tidei
And ye sall be his bride:
Sae comely to be seen
For Jock of Hazeldean.
And dry that cheek so pale; Young Frank is chief of Èrrington,
And Lord of Langley Dale;
His sword in battle keen".
For Jock of Hazeldean.
Nor braid to bind your hair;
Nor palfrey fresh and fair ;
Shall ride our forest queen"
For Jock of Hazeldean,
On Linden, when the sun was low,
* The evil spirit of the waters.
The kirk was decked at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmered fair ; The priestand bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are there. They sought her baith by bower and ha';
The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border, and awa'
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.
'Twas All-Souls Eve, and Surrey's heart beat high;
(start, He heard the midnight bell with anxious Which told the mystic hour approaching nigh,
(art, When wise Cornelius promised, by his To show to him the ladye of his heart, Albeit betwixt them roared the ocean
grim; Yet so the sage had hight to play his part, That he should see her form in life and limb,
(thought of him. And mark, if still she loved, and still she
"WHERE SHALL THE LOVER
Where shall the lover rest,
Whom the fates sever,
Parted for ever?
Sounds the far billow,
Cool streams are laving;
Scarce are boughs waving;
Parted for ever,
He, the deceiver,
Ruin, and leave her?
Borne down by the flying,
O'er the false-hearted;
Ere life be parted.
By his grave ever,
Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye, To which the wizard led the gallant
knight, Save that before a mirror, huge and high, A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light On mystic implements of magic might; On cross and character and talisman, And almagest and altar, nothing bright: For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan, As watchlight by the bed of some depart.
ing man. But soon, within that mirror huge and high, Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam; And forms upon its breast the Earl'gan spy, Cloudy and indistinct as feverish dream, Till, slow arranging, and defined, they To form a lordly and a lofty room, Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam, Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom, And part by moonshine pale, and part was
hid in gloom.
Fair all the pageant-but how passing fair The slender form which lay on couch of
Ind! O'er her white bosom strayed her hazel hair, Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she
pined; All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined, And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine Some strain that seemed her inmost soul
to find ;That favoured strain was Surrey's raptured line,
[dine! That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geral.
Slow rolled the clouds upon the lovely form,