VII.

Now joy, old England, ràise!
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 entitled the gallant and the good, by Lord Nelson, when he wrote home 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.
K

"O 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

LINES

ON THE

GRAVE OF A SUICIDE.

By strangers left upon a lonely shore,

Unknown, unhonoured, was the friendless dead: For child to weep, or widow to deplore, There never came to his unburied headAll from his dreary habitation fled. Nor will the lanterned fisherman at eve

Launch on the water by the witches' tow'r,
Where hellebore and hemlock seem to weave
Round its dark vaults a melancholy bow'r,
For spirits of the dead at night's enchanted hour

They dread to meet thee, poor unfortunate!
Whose crime it was, on life's unfinished road
To feel the stepdame buffetings of fate,

And render back thy being's heavy load.

Ah! once, perhaps, the social passions glowed In thy devoted bosom-and the hand

That smote its kindred heart, might yet be prone

To deeds of mercy.

Who may

understand

Thy many woes, poor suicide, unknown?—

He who thy being gave shall judge of thee alone.

ODE TO WINTER.

WHEN first the fiery-mantled sun His heavenly race began to run, Round the earth and ocean blue, His children four the Seasons flew.

First, in green apparel dancing,

The young Spring smiled with angel grace; Rosy Summer next advancing,

Rushed into her sire's embrace:

Her bright-haired sire, who bade her keep
For ever nearest to his smiles,

On Calpe's olive-shaded steep,

On India's citron-covered isles:

More remote and buxom-brown,

The Queen of vintage bowed before his throne

A rich pomegranate gemmed her crown,

A ripe sheaf bound her zone.

But howling Winter fled afar,
To hills that prop the polar star,
And loves on deer borne car to ride,
With barren darkness by his side.
Round the shore where loud Lofoden
Whirls to death the roaring whale,
Round the hall where Runic Odin

Howls his war-song to the gale;
Save when adown the ravaged globe
He travels on his native storm,
Deflow'ring nature's grassy robe,
And trampling on her faded form :—

Till light's returning lord assume

The shaft that drives him to his polar field,