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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
Shall give, to call life's crew together,

The word to pipe all hands.
Thus Death, who kings and tars dispatches,

In vain Tom's life has doffed,
For though his body's under hatches,

His soul has gone aloft.

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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.

JOANNA BAILLIE.

1762-1851.

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,
Each seamate seamate cheering,
With dauntless helmsman steering,

Our forthward course we hold. Their sails with sunbeams whitened, Themselves with glory brightened, From care their bosoms lightened,

Who shall return? The bold.

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But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rushed
O'er the deadly space between.
“Hearts of oak!” our captain cried; when
From its adamantine lips

[each gun
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

Again! again! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back ;-
Their shots along the deep slowly boom,
Then ceased and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail,
Or, in conflagration pale
Light the gloom.

Ye Mariners of England !
That guard our native seas,
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To meet another foe!
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.
The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave!
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

Out spoke the victor then,
As he hailed them o'er the wave:
Ye are brothers ! ye are men !
And we conquer but to save:
So peace instead of death let us bring;
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our king !"
Then Denmark blessed our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose;

Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep.

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With thunders from her native oak
She quells the floods below,
As they roar on the shore
When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and strong,
And the stormy tempests blow.
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn,
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors,
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

“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.

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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

plore!

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?"
Oh, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

And this Lord Ullin's daughter.
"And fast before her father's men

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."
The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her,
When, oh! too strong for human hand,

The tempest gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing.
For sore dismayed, through storm and

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,
Then rushed the steed to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.
But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stained snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry !
Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

0:

HOHENLINDEN.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

1771-1832.
JOCK OF HAZELDEAN,
Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?

Why weep ye by the tidei
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,

And ye sall be his bride:
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.
“Now let this wilfu' grief be done,

And dry that cheek so pale; Young Frank is chief of Èrrington,

And Lord of Langley Dale;
His step is first in peaceful ha',

His sword in battle keen".
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.
"A chain of gold ye sall not lack,

Nor braid to bind your hair;
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ;
And you, the foremost o' them a',

Shall ride our forest queen"
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean,

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.

* The evil spirit of the waters.

SCOTT.

217

FITZTRAVER'S SONG,

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

REST?"

Where shall the lover rest,

Whom the fates sever,
From his true maiden's breast

Parted for ever?
Where, through groves deep and high,

Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die,
Under the willow.

CHORUS
Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow.
There, through the summer day,

Cool streams are laving;
There, while the tempests sway,

Scarce are boughs waving;
There, thy rest shalt thou take,

Parted for ever,
Never again to wake,
Never, o never !

CHORUS
Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never !
Where shall the traitor rest,

He, the deceiver,
Who could win maiden's breast,

Ruin, and leave her?
In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle
With groans of the dying.

CHORUS.
Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying.
Her wing shall the eagle flap

O'er the false-hearted;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap

Ere life be parted.
Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever,
Blessing shall hallow it
Never, Q never!

CHORUS
Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never!

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.

seem

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,
And swept the goodly vision all away-
So royal envy rolled the murky storm
O'er my beloved master's glorious day.

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