And his merry bosom swells
With the pean of the bells--
And he dances and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme
To the pean of the bells-
Of the bells!
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells-
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells,
To the tolling of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
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 Loch Gyle,
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?"
Out spoke 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 shade
His child he did discover ;-
One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
And one was round her lover.
"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,
"Across the stormy water;
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter! oh, my daughter!"
'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore,
Return or aid preventing ;-
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.
ITH rosy cheeks, and merry-dancing curls,
W And eyes of tender light,
Oh, very beautiful are little girls,
And goodly to the sight!
Here comes a group to seek my lonely bower,
Ere waning autumn dies:
How like the dewdrops on a drooping flower
Are smiles from gentle eyes!
What beaming gladness lights each fairy face
The while the elves advance,
Now speeding swiftly in a gleesome race,
Now whirling in a dance.
What heavenly pleasure o'er the spirit rolls,
When all the air along
Floats the sweet music of untainted souls,
In bright, unsullied song.
The sacred nymphs that guard this sylvan ground,
May sport unseen with these,
And joy to hear their ringing laugh resound
Among the clustering trees.
With rosy cheeks, and merry-dancing curls,
And eyes of tender light,
Oh, very beautiful are little girls,
And goodly to the sight!
GENTLE, gentle summer rain,
Let not the silver lily pine-
The drooping lily pine in vain
To feel that dewy touch of thine,
To drink thy freshness once again
O gentle, gentle summer rain.
In heat the landscape quivering lies;
The cattle pant beneath the tree;
Through parching air and purple skies
The earth looks up in vain for thee;
For thee, for thee, it looks in vain,
O gentle, gentle summer rain.
Come thou, and brim the meadow streams,
And soften all the hills with mist;
O, falling dew, from burning dreams,
By thee shall herb and flower be kist;
And earth shall bless thee yet again,
O, gentle, gentle summer rain,
HE orange sheds its sweet perfume
Beneath Hispania's skies,-
We have the apples' ruddy bloom,
The orchards' rich supplies!
The cocoa and the date-tree spread
Their boughs in India's clime,
The yellow mango hangs o'erhead,
And stately grows the lime;
We have the cherry's tempting bough,
The currant's coral gem;
What English child will not allow
That these may vie with them?
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