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!


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What hid’st thou in thy treasure caves and cells,

Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ? Pale glistening pearls and rainbow-coloured shells,

Bright things which gleam unrecked of 1 and in vain. Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!

We ask not such from thee. Yet more, thy depths have more ! What wealth untold,

Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies !
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,

Won from ten thousand royal argosies.?
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main !

Earth claims not these again.
Yet more, thy depths have more! Thy waves have rolled

Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,

Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.
Dash o’er them, Ocean ! in thy scornful play,

Man yields them to decay.
Yet more! thy billows and thy depths have more !

High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast;
They hear not now the booming waters roar-

The battle-thunders will not break their rest. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave !

Give back the true and brave.



Give back the lost and lovely! Those for whom

The place was kept at board and hearth so long ; The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,

And the vain yearning woke ʼmidst festal song, Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown

But all is not thine own.

To thee the love of woman hath gone down;

Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown.

Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead !
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee.
Restore the Dead, thou Sea!

Mrs Hemans.

1 Unrecked of, unthought of.
2 Argosies, a term frequently applied

to ships, from Argo, the name of

the vessel in which Jason sailed to Colchis for the golden fleece.


Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote
And inaccessible by shepherds trod,
In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand,
A hermit lived—a melancholy man,
Who was the wonder of our wandering swains.1
Austere and lonely, cruel to himself,
Did they report him ; the cold earth his bed,
Water his drink, his food the shepherds' alms.
I went to see him, and my heart was touched
With reverence and with pity. Mild he spake,
And, entering on discourse, such stories told,
As made me oft revisit his sad cell :
For he had been a soldier in his youth ;
And fought in famous battles, when the peers
Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led,
Against the usurping infidel displayed
The blessed cross, and won the Holy Land.



Pleased with my admiration, and the fire
His speech struck from me, the old man would shake
His years away, and act his young encounters.
Then, having shewed his wounds, he'd sit him down,
And all the livelong day discourse of war.
To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf,
He cut the figures of the marshalled host :
Described the motions and explained the use
Of the deep column and the lengthened line,
The square, the crescent, and the phalanx 3 firm:
For all that Saracen 4 or Christian knew
Of war's vast art was to this hermit known.

Unhappy man!
Returning homewards by Messina's 5 port,
Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won,
A rude and boisterous captain of the sea
Fastened a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought:
The stranger fell; and with his dying breath
Declared his name and lineage. "Mighty God!'
The soldier cried, 'my brother! O my brother!!

They exchanged forgiveness ;
And happy, in my mind, was he that died ;
For many deaths has the survivor suffered.
In the wild desert on a rock he sits,
Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks,
And ruminates all day his dreadful fate,
At times, alas ! not in his perfect mind,
Holds dialogues with his loved brother's ghost ;
And oft, each night, forsakes his sullen couch
To make sad orisons 6 for him he slew. Home.

1 Swains, peasants.

Grecian origin, and consisted of a 2 The bold Godfredo. The most dis- compact body of men fifty abreast

tinguished leader in the first and sixteen deep, who placed crusade was Godfrey of Boulogne. their shields close together and in He took Jerusalem from the this form charged the enemy. Turks in 1099, after five weeks of 4 Saracen (lit. eastern people), a name hard fighting

applied in the Middle Ages to the 8 The square, crescent, and phalanx followers of Mohammed. are forms in which armies are 5

Messina, a town of Sicily, on the arranged when drawn up for

strait of the same name. battle, The phalanx was


6 Orisons, prayers.




Old Tubal Cain was a man of might 2

In the days when earth was young ;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright

The strokes of his hammer rung ;
And he lifted high his brawny hand

On the iron glowing clear,
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,

As he fashioned the sword and spear.
To Tubal Cain came many a one,

As he wrought by his roaring fire,
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade

As the crown of his desire,3
And he made them weapons sharp and strong,

Till they shouted loud for glee,
And gave him gifts of pearls and gold,

And spoils of the forest free.
But a sudden change came o'er his heart,

Ere the setting of the sun,
And Tubal Cain was filled with pain

For the evil he had done ;
He saw that men, with rage and hate,

Made war upon their kind,
That the land was red with the blood they shed,

In their lust for carnage, blind.
And he said : “Alas that ever I made,

Or that skill of mine should plan,
The spear and the sword for men whose joy

Is to slay their fellow-man!'
And for many a day old Tubal Cain

Sat brooding o'er his woe ;
And his hand forbore to smite the ore,

And his furnace smouldered low.

But he rose at last with a cheerful face,

And a bright courageous eye,
And bared his strong right arm for work,

While the quick flames mounted high.
And he sang : ‘Hurrah for


handiwork !' And the red sparks lit the air ; 'Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made ;'

And he fashioned the first Plough-share.

And men, taught wisdom from the past,

In friendship joined their hands;
Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,

And ploughed the willing lands,
And sang: 'Hurrah for Tubal Cain !

Our staunch good friend is he ;
And for the plough-share and the plough,

To him our praise shall be.
• But while oppression lifts its head,

Or a tyrant would be lord,
Though we thank him chiefly for the plough,
We'll not forget the sword !'

Charles Mackay. 1 Tubal Cain is called 'a whetter or 2 A man of might, a powerful man.

sharpener of every instrument in 3 The crown of his desire, his highest brass and iron, See Gen. iv. 22.

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Wee, sleekit,1 cowering, timorous beastie !
Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou need na start awa sae hastie,2

Wi' bickering brattle : 3
I wad be laith 4 to rin and chase thee,

Wi' murdering pattle.5

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