66 Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle, 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, My blood-would stain the heather. "His horsemen-hard behind us ride; Out spoke the hardy, Highland wight, It is not for your silver bright, 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 grew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer. "O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries; The boat has left the stormy land, When, oh! too strong for human hand, And still they rowed, amidst the roar Lord Ullin reached the fatal shore, 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 the 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. CAMPBELL. THE MISHAP. "WHY art thou weeping, sister? "I know thy will is froward, "I know how much you loved him; "Then tell me why those tear-drops ? What means this woeful mood? Say, has the tax-collector Been calling, and been rude? "Or has that hateful grocer, The slave! been here to-day? Of course he had, by morrow's noon, Nay, sob not through thy nose." "Oh John, 'tis not the grocer For his account; although How ever he is to be paid, ""Tis not the tax-collector; They've seized our old paternal clock, "Nor that Augustus Howard, Whom I despise almost, But the soot's come down the chimney, John, BON GAULTIER. LIBERTY AND SLAVERY. DISGUISE thyself as thou wilt, still, Slavery! still thou art a bitter draught; and though thousands in all ages have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account. It is thou, Liberty! thrice sweet and gracious goddess, whom all in public or in private worship, whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till nature herself shall change: no tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy sceptre into iron. With thee to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. Gracious heaven! grant me but health, thou great Bestower of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my companion, and shower down thy mitres, if it seem good unto thy Divine Providence, upon those heads which are aching for them. Pursuing these ideas, I sat down close by my table, and, leaning my head upon my hand, began to figure to myself the miseries of confinement. I was in a right frame for it, and so I gave full scope to my imagination. I was going to begin with the millions of my fellowcreatures born to no inheritance but slavery; but finding, however affecting the picture was, that I could not bring it nearer me, and that the multitude of sad groups in it did but distract me -I took a single captive, and having first shut him up in his dungeon, I then looked through the twilight of his grated door to take his picture. I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it is which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer, I saw him pale and feverish in thirty years the western breeze had not once fanned his blood-he had seen no sun, no moon, |