As you pass through Jura's sound, Bend your course by Scarba's shore; Shun, O shun, the gulf profound, Where Corrievreckin's surges roar! If from that unbottom'd deep, The sea-snake heave his snowy mane, Sea-green sisters of the main, And in the gulf where ocean boils, The unwieldy wallowing monster chain. Softly blow, thou western breeze, Softly rustle through the sail! Soothe to rest the furrow'd seas, Before my love, sweet western gale!' Thus all to soothe the chieftain's wo, Far from the maid he loved so dear, The song arose, so soft and slow, He seem'd her parting sigh to hear. The lonely deck he paces o'er, Impatient for the rising day, The moonbeams crisp the curling surge, Their course, a female form was seen. That sea-maid's form, of pearly light, Borne on a foamy crested wave, She reached amain the bounding prow, Then clasping fast the chieftain brave, She, plunging, sought the deep below. Ah! long beside thy feignèd bier, The monks the prayer of death shall say, And long for thee, the fruitless tear, Shall weep the maid of Colonsay! But downward like a powerless corse, The eddying waves the chieftain bear; He only heard the moaning hoarse Of waters murmuring in his ear. The murmurs sink by slow degrees, No more the waters round him rave; In dreamy mood reclines he long, Nor dares his tranced eyes unclose, Till, warbling wild, the sea-maid's song Far in the crystal cavern rose. Soft as that harp's unseen control, In morning dreams which lovers hear, Whose strains steal sweetly o'er the soul, But never reach the waking ear. As sunbeams through the tepid air, So melting soft the music fell; It seem'd to soothe the fluttering spraySay, heard'st thou not these wild notes swell? Ah! 'tis the song of Colonsay." Like one that from a fearful dream Awakes, the morning light to view, And joys to see the purple beam, Yet fears to find the vision true, He heard that strain, so wildly sweet, Shall bend thy soul to beauty's sway; Roused by that voice of silver sound, From the paved floor he lightly sprung, No form he saw of mortal mould; And careless bound her tresses wild; As on the wondering youth she smiled. Like music from the greenwood tree, Again she raised the melting lay; "Fair warrior, wilt thou dwell with me, And leave the maid of Colonsay? Fair is the crystal hall for me With rubies and with emeralds set; And sweet the music of the sea Shall sing, when we for love are met. How sweet to dance with gliding feet And soft the music of the main Rings from the motley tortoise-shell, How sweet, when billows heave their head, Beneath the tumbling surge to lie; To trace, with tranquil step, the deep, Then all the summer sun, from far, Pour through the wave a softer ray; While diamonds in a bower of spar, At eve shall shed a brighter day. Nor stormy wind, nor wintry gale, Calm in the bosom of the deep. Through the green meads beneath the sea, And leave the maid of Colonsay!" While mine beats high in every vein : If I, beneath thy sparry cave, Should in thy snowy arms recline, Inconstant as the restless wave, My heart would grow as cold as thine." As cygnet down, proud swell'd her breast, "Is there no heart for rapture here? These limbs, sprung from the lucid sea, Does no warm blood their currents fill, No heart-pulse riot, wild and free, To joy, to love's delicious thrill?" "Though all the splendour of the sea Around thy faultless beauty shine,. That heart, that riots wild and free, Can hold no sympathy with mine. These sparkling eyes, so wild and gay, They swim not in the light of love; The beauteous maid of Colonsay, Her eyes are milder than the dove! E'en now, within the lonely isle, Her eyes are dim with tears for me; And canst thou think that siren smile Can lure my soul to dwell with thee?" An oozy film her limbs o'erspread, Unfolds in length her scaly train; She toss'd in proud disdain her head, And lash'd with webbèd fin the main. "Dwell here alone!" the Mermaid cried, Shall bar thy steps from Colonsay. I feel my former soul return, It kindles at thy cold disdain ; And has a mortal dared to spurn A daughter of the foamy main! She fled, around the crystal cave The rolling waves resume their road; On the broad portal idly rave, But enter not the nymph's abode. And many a weary night went by, He heard afar the Mermaid sing; The shell-form'd lyres of ocean ring. And heart-sick, oft he waked to weep, But still the ring, of ruby red, Retain'd its vivid crimson hue, And each despairing accent fled, To find his gentle love so true. When seven long lonely months were gone, "O give to me that ruby ring, That on thy finger glances gay, "This ruby ring, of crimson grain, "Except thou quit thy former love, And when I here return again, I plight my faith to dwell with thee." An oozy film her limbs o'erspread, While slow unfolds her scaly train; With gluey fangs her hands were clad; She lash'd with webbèd fin the main. He grasps the Mermaid's scaly sides, Proud swells her heart! she deems at last In plaintive strains that soothed despair, 1134.-ODE TO THE EVENING STAR. Or, hanging o'er that mirror-stream, To mark that image trembling there, Though, blazing o'er the arch of night, Fair Star! though I be doom'd to prove John Leyden.-Born 1775, Died 1811. No drooping slave, with spirit bow'd to toil, At dawn the healthy ploughman leaves his bed, John Leyden.-Born 1775, Died 1811. 1136.-THE TAR FOR ALL WEATHERS. I sail'd from the Downs in the "Nancy," As ever sail'd on the salt seas. Our girls and our dear native shore! And where the gale drives we must go. When we enter'd the Straits of Gibraltar She yaw'd just as tho' she was drunk. Helm a-weather, the hoarse boatswain cries; And where the gale drives we must go. The storm came on thicker and faster, Befel three poor sailors and I. Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail, And where the gale drives we must go. Of three hundred that sail'd, never landed But sailors were born for all weathers, 1137.-SIR SIDNEY SMITH. Gentlefolks, in my time, I've made many a rhyme, But the song I now trouble you with Lays some claim to applause, and you'll grant it, because The subject's Sir Sidney Smith, it is; We all know Sir Sidney, a man of such kidney, Give him one ship or two, and without more ado, He'd engage if he met a whole fleet, he would; He'd engage if he met a whole fleet. Thus he took, every day, all that came in his way, Till fortune, that changeable elf, Order'd accidents so, that, while taking the foe, Sir Sidney got taken himself, he did; His captors, right glad of the prize they now had, Rejected each offer we bid, And swore he should stay, lock'd up till doomsday, But he swore he'd be hang'd if he did, he did; But he swore he'd be hang'd, if he did. So Sir Sid got away, and his gaoler next day Cried "Sacré, diable, morbleu ! Mon prisonnier 'scape, I 'ave got in von scrape, And I fear I must run away, too, I must; I fear I must run away too." Charles Dibdin.-Born 1745, Died 1814. 1138.-LOVE AND GLORY. Young Henry was as brave a youth As ever graced a gallant story; And Jane was fair as lovely truth, She sigh'd for Love, and he for Glory! With her his faith he meant to plight, And told her many a gallant story; Till war, their coming joys to blight, Call'd him away from Love to Glory! Young Henry met the foe with pride; She died for Love, and he for Glory. 1139.-NONGTONGPAW. John Bull for pastime took a prance, And knowledge gain'd in foreign parts. John, to the Palais-Royal come, Its splendour almost struck him dumb. "I say, whose house is that there here?" "House! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur." "What, Nongtongpaw again!" cries John; "This fellow is some mighty Don: No doubt he's plenty for the maw, I'll breakfast with this Nongtongpaw." John saw Versailles from Marly's height, And cried, astonish'd at the sight, "Whose fine estate is that there here ?" "State! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur." "His? what, the land and houses too? The fellow's richer than a Jew: On everything he lays his claw! I should like to dine with Nongtongpaw." Next tripping came a courtly fair, John cried, enchanted with her air, What lovely wench is that there here ?" "Ventch! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur." "What, he again? Upon my life! A palace, lands, and then a wife Sir Joshua might delight to draw: I should like to sup with Nongtongpaw." 1140.-TOM BOWLING. Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, No more he'll hear the tempest howling, His form was of the manliest beauty, Tom never from his word departed, His friends were many and true-hearted, And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly, For Tom is gone aloft. Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, When He, who all commands, Shall give, to call life's crew together, The word to pipe all hands. Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches, In vain Tom's life has doff'd, For, though his body's under hatches, His soul is gone aloft. Charles Dibdin.-Born 1745, Died 1814. 1141. THE GRAVE OF ANNA. I wish I was where Anna lies, Go and partake her humble bier. I wish I could! For when she died, But who, when I am turn'd to clay, And pluck the ragged moss away, And weeds that have "no business there ?" And who with pious hand shall bring To scatter o'er her hallow'd mould? And who, while memory loves to dwell I did it; and would fate allow, Take then, sweet maid! this simple strain, And can thy soft persuasive look, |