Without either sign or sound of their shock The waves flow'd over the Inchcape Rock; So little they rose so little they fell,

They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

The Abbot of Aberbrothok

Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the surge's swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous rock,
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.

The sun in heaven was shining gay,

All things were joyful on that day;

The sea-birds scream'd as they wheel'd round,

And there was joyaunce in their sound.

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd his deck,
And he fix'd his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,

But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape Float;
Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,

And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;

Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,

And he cut the Bell from the Inchcape Float.

Down sunk the Bell with a gurgling sound,

The bubbles rose and burst around;

Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the Rock

Wo'n't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away,
He scour'd the seas for many a day;

And now grown rich with plunder'd store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high ;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, " It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising Moon."

"Canst hear," said one," the breakers roar? For methinks we should be near the shore." "Now, where we are I cannot tell,

But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell."

They hear no sound, the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fallen they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,"Oh Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!"

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair

He curst himself in his despair;

The waves rush in on every side,

The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But even in his dying fear

One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell,

The Devil below was ringing his knell.

THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE.

"I know not whether it be worth the reporting, that there is in Cornwall, near the parish of St. Neots, a Well, arched over with the robes of four kinds of trees, withy, oak, elm, and ash, dedicated to St. Keyne. The reported virtue of the water is this, that whether husband or wife come first to drink thereof, they get the mastery thereby."— Fuller.

This passage in one of the folios of the Worthy old Fuller, who, as he says, knew not whether it were worth the reporting, suggested the following Ballad: and the Ballad has produced so many imitations that it may be prudent here thus to assert its originality, lest I should be accused hereafter of having committed the plagiarism which has been practised upon it.

Of St. Keyne, whose death is placed in the year 490, and whose deposition used to be celebrated in Brecknockshire, on October 8, there is a brief account in the English Martyrologe. Father Cressy the Benedictine gives her history more fully. "Illustrious," says he, "she was for her birth, being the daughter of Braganus, prince of that province in Wales, which, from him, was afterwards called Brecknockshire; but more illustrious for her zeal to preserve her chastity, for which reason she was called in the British language Keynevayra, that is, Keyna the Virgin."

2. This Prince Braganus, or Brachanus, the father of St.