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In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert revealed where his lady was found; From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne, Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

1.
Or Nelson and the North,
Sings the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone ;
By each gun the lighted brand,
In a bold determined band,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.-

II.
Like leviathans afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:
It was ten of April morn by the chime.
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death ;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.

But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rushed
O’er the deadly space between.

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“Hearts of oak,” our captains cried; when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.-

IV.
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.--

V.
Outspoke the victor then,
As he hailed them o'er the wave,
“ Ye are brothers ! ye are men!
And we con quer 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."

VI.

Then Denmark blest our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief,
From her people wildly rose ;
As death withdrew his shades from the day.
While the sun looked smiling bright
O'er a wide and woful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Died away.

VII.

Now joy, old England, raise !
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
While the wine cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !

VIII. Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true, On the deck of fame that died, With the gallant good Riou :* Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave! While the billow mournful rolls, And the mermaid's song

condoles Singing glory to the souls Of the brave !

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound,

Cries, Boatmen, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound,

To row us o'er the ferry.”

* Captain Riou, justly cntitied the gallant and the good, by Lord Nelson, when he wrote hcme his despatches.

“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 bonny 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 heav'n, 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.* The evil spirit of the waters.

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" 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 this 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.

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