"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?"— Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, “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 heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind, "O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries; The boat has left a stormy land, When, O! too strong for human hand, The tempest gathered o'er her. THE SANDS O' DEE. And still they rowed amidst the roar Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore; For sore dismayed, through storm and shade 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. THOMAS CAMPBELL. The Sands o' Dee. "MARY, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee!" The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, The creeping tide came up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see; The blinding mist came down and hid the land— And never home came she. 81 "Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair A tress o' golden hair O' drowned maiden's hair Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel, crawling foam, The cruel, hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea; But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands o' Dee! CHARLES Kingsley. On the Death of George the Third. I WRITTEN UNDER WINDSOR TERRACE. SAW him last on this terrace proud, Walking in health and gladness, Begirt with his court; and in all the crowd Bright was the sun, the leaves were green- The cymbals replied to the tambourine, I have stood with the crowd beside his bier, When every eye was dim with a tear, I have heard the earth on his coffin pour ON THE DEATH OF GEORGE THE THIRD. 83 The time-since he walked in his glory thus, A daughter beloved, a queen, a son, And a son's sole child, have perished; For his eyes were sealed and his mind was dark, Like a vision throned, as a solemn mark His silver beard o'er a bosom spread Still o'er him oblivion's waters lay, Though the stream of life kept flowing; At intervals thus the waves disgorge, A piece of the wreck of the Royal George, He is gone at length-he is laid in the dust, His people's heart is his funeral urn; And should sculptured stone be denied him, HORACE SMITH. Ye Mariners of England. I. E Mariners of England! YE That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again, To match another foe! And sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow While the battle rages loud and long, II. The spirits of your fathers For the deck it was their field of fame, Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell While the stormy winds do blow- And the stormy winds do blow. III. Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-wave, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore When the stormy winds do blow When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. |