"My lips that speak thy dirge of death Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath To see thou shalt not boast. Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, The eclipse of Nature spreads my And the stormy winds do blow. pall, The majesty of darkness shall "This spirit shall return to Him “Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up Of grief that man shall taste- Or shake his trust in God!” YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. A NAVAL ODE. YE Mariners of England! years, The battle and the breeze! The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave! And ocean was their grave; Britannia needs no bulwarks, Her march is o'er the mountain- Her home is on the deep. The meteor flag of England HOW DELICIOUS IS THE WIN- How delicious is the winning Yet, remember, 'midst your wooing, Love he comes, and Love he tarries, bidden. Bind the sea to slumber stilly, For the deck it was their field of fame, Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver, Then bind Love to last for ever! Love's a fire that needs renewal Of fresh beauty for its fuel; But still as wilder blew the wind, Love's wing moults when caged and Adown the glen rode armed men, captured, Only free, he soars enraptured. Can you keep the bee from ranging, No! nor fettered Love from dying LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 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?" "O, 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, Their trampling sounded nearer. "O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, The boat has left a stormy land, When, oh! too strong for human The tempest gathered o'er her. And still they rowed amidst the roar For sore dismayed, through storm His child he did discover; "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-O my daughter!" My blood would stain the heather. 'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Outspoke the hardy Highland wight, "And by my word! the bonny bird By this the storm grew loud apace, the shore, Return or aid preventing:- FIELD FLOWERS. YE field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true, Yet, wildings of Nature, I dote upon you, For ye waft me to summers of old, When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight, Like treasures of silver and gold. I love you for lulling me back into dreams Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams, And of birchen glades breathing their balm, While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote, And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note But Linden saw another sight, By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Made music that sweetened the Then shook the hills with thunder calm. riven, And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God. Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, Nor ever shall the Muse's eye Unraptured greet thy beam: Theme of primeval prophecy, Be still the prophet's theme! The earth to thee her incense yields, The snowy mushroom springs. How glorious is thy girdle cast As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man. THE RIVER OF LIFE. THE more we live, more brief appear The gladsome current of our youth, But as the careworn cheek grows wan, When joys have lost their bloom and breath, And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, Feel we its tide more rapid ? It may be strange- yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding, When one by one our friends have gone And left our bosoms bleeding? Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnitying fleetness; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportioned to their sweetness. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. OF Nelson and the North, By each gun the lighted brand, And the prince of all the land Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; On the lofty British line: It was ten of April morn by the chime: But the might of England flushed And her van the fleeter rushed From its adamantine lips |