'I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,'

Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud;

'And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem: Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!'

O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclos'd, and no lady was seen; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, 'Twas the youth who had lov'd the fair Ellen of Lorn:

'I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,

I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief: • On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem; • Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!'

In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert reveal'd 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.

I.

Or Nelson and the North,

Sing 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 hand,

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.

III.

But the might of England flush'd

To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rush'd

O'er the deadly space between.

'Hearts of oak,' our captains cried! when each gun

From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

To our cheering sent us back ;

Their shots along the deep slowly boom :