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And, by my word! the bonny bird
So, though the waves are raging white,
By this the storm grew loud apace,
But still as wilder blew the wind,
Their trampling sounded nearer.
"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
The boat has left a stormy land,
When, oh! too strong for human hand,
And still they row'd, amidst the roar
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore
His wrath was changed to wailing
For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover!
One lovely arm was 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 lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing
The waters wild went o'er his child
And he was left lamenting.
LAST DAYS OF HERCULANEUM.-Atherstone.
There was a man,
A Roman soldier, for some daring deed
That trespassed on the laws, in dungeon low
He had a son, 'twas a rosy boy,
A little faithful copy of his sire
In face and gesture. In her pangs she died
The father shared and heightened. But at length
The captive's lot
He felt in all its bitterness :-the walls
Of his deep dungeon answered many a sigh
And heart-heaved groan. His tale was known, and touched
His father's lingering hours, and brought a balm
Dropt healing. But in this terrific hour
He was a poisoned arrow in the breast
Where he had been a cure.
With earliest morn,
Of that first day of darkness and amaze
Grew hot at length, and thick; but in his straw
The fettered soldier sunk-and with deep awe
His useless terrors. But he could not sleep :-
Like the sad moanings of November's wind
Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk
As though he heard the battle trumpet sound,
He slept at last
A troubled dreamy sleep.
Well-had he slept
Never to waken more! His hours are few,
But terrible his agony.
Soon the storm
Burst forth the lightnings glanced :—the air
A moment as in sunshine-and was dark :—
Dying away upon the dazzled eye
In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound
And blackest darkness. With intensest awe
The soldier's frame was filled; and many a thought
Jarring and lifting-and the massive walls
Heard harshly grate and strain :-yet knew he not,
While evils undefined and yet to come
Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless wound
Fate had already given. Where, man of woe!
Where, wretched father! is thy boy? Thou callest
His name in vain :-he cannot answer thee.
Loudly the father called upon his child :No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously
He searched their couch of straw with headlong haste
Groped darkling on the earth :-no child was there.
Of his accursed fetters-till the blood
Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes
Raging to break his toils-to and fro bounds.
The father saw
And all his fury fled :-a dead calm fell
That instant on him :-speechless, fixed he stood,
Intensely on the corse.
Those laughing eyes
Were not yet closed-and round those pouting lips
Silent and pale
The father stands :-no tear is in his eye :-
Yet could one last embrace
Be given, 'twere still a sweeter thing to die.
It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground,
Moves towards the father's outstretched arm his boy :—
And death came soon and swift,
The huge pile sunk down at once Into the opening earth. Walls-arches-roofAnd deep foundation stones-all mingling fell!
Edinburgh: Printed by W. & R. Chambers,