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When sails hang flapping on the masts
While through the waves we snore,
When in a calm we 're tempest-tossed,
We'll go to sea no more,—
No more,

We'll go to sea no more.

The sun is up, and round Inchkeith
The breezes softly blaw;

The gudeman has the lines on board,—
Awa, my bairns, awa!

An' ye be back by gloamin' gray,

An' bright the fire will low,
An' in your tales and sangs we 'll tell
How weel the boat ye row.

When life's last sun gaes feebly down,
An' death comes to our door,
When a' the world 's a dream to us.
We'll go to sea no more,—
No more,

We'll go to sea no more.

THE WRECKED SHIP.

ND now, lashed on by destiny severe,
With horror fraught the dreadful scene drew
near!

The ship hangs hovering on the verge of death,
Hell yawns, rocks rise, and breakers roar be-
neath!

In vain the cords and axes are prepared,'
For now the audacious seas insult the yard;
High o'er the ship they throw a horrid shade,
And o'er her burst, in terrible cascade.
Uplifted on the surge to heaven she flies,
Her shattered top half buried in the skies,
Then headlong plunging thunders on the ground,
Earth groans! air trembles! and the deeps re-
sound!

MISS CORBETT.

Her giant hulk the dread concussion feels,
And quivering with the wound, in torment reels.
So reels, convulsed with agonizing throes,
The bleeding bull beneath the murderer's blows.
Again she plunges! hark! a second shock
Tears her strong bottom on the marble rock!
Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries,
The fated victims shuddering roll their eyes
In wild despair, while yet another stroke,
With deep convulsion, rends the solid oak:
Till, like the mine, in whose infernal cell
The lurking demons of destruction dwell,
At length, asunder torn, her frame divides,
And crashing spreads in ruin o'er the tides.
WILLIAM FALCONER.

THE PILOT.

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OHN MAYNARD was well known in the lake district as a God-fearing, honest and intelligent pilot. He was pilot on a steamboat from Detroit to Buffalo. One summer afternoon - at that time those steamers seldom carried boats smoke was seen ascending from below, and the captain called out, "Simpson, go below and see what the matter is down there." Simpson came up with his face pale as ashes, and said, "Captain, the ship is on fire." Then "Fire! fire! fire!" resounded on shipboard. All hands were called up. Buckets of water were dashed on the fire, but in vain. There were large quantities of resin and tar on board, and it was found useless to attempt to save the ship. The passengers rushed forward and inquired of the pilot,

"How far are we from Buffalo?" "Seven miles." "How long before we can reach there?" "Three-quarters of an hour at our present rate of steam." "Is there any danger?" "Danger, here- see the smoke bursting out-go forward, if you would

save your lives!"

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Passengers and crew - men, women and children crowded the forward part of the ship. John Maynard stood at the helm. The flames burst forth in a sheet of fire; clouds of smoke arose. The captain cried out through his trumpet: "John Maynard! Aye, aye, sir!" "Are you at the helm?" Aye, aye, sir!" "How does she head?" "Southeast by east, sir." "Head her southeast and run her on shore," said the captain.

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Again the captain cried out: "Aye, aye, sir!" “Can

Nearer, nearer, yet nearer, she approached the shore. John Maynard!" The response came feebly this time, you hold on five minutes longer, John?" he said. "By God's help, I will."

The old man's hair was scorched from the scalp, one hand disabled, his knee upon the stanchion, and his teeth set; with his other hand upon the wheel, he stood firm as a rock. He beached the ship; every man, woman and child was saved, as John Maynard dropped, and his spirit took its flight to its God.

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"I found Chicago wood and clay," a mightier Kaiser said,

Then flung upon the sleeping mart his royal robes of red,

And temple, dome, and colonnade, and monument and spire

Put on the crimson livery of dreadful Kaiser Fire! The stately piles of polished stone were shattered into sand,

And madly drove the dread simoon, and snowed them on the land!

And rained them till the sea was red, and scorched the wings of prayer!

Like thistle-down ten thousand homes went drifting through the air,

And dumb Dismay walked hand in hand with frozeneyed Despair!

CHICAGO vanished in a cloud

storms of sleet,

- the towers were

Lo! ruins of a thousand years along the spectral street!

The night burned out between the days! The ashen
hoar-frost fell,

As if some demon set ajar the bolted gates of hell,
And let the molten billows break the adamantine

bars,

And roll the smoke of torment up to smother out the stars!

The low, dull growl of powder-blasts just dotted off the din,

As if they tolled for perished clocks the time that might have been!

The thunder of the fiery surf roared human accents dumb;

The trumpet's clangor died away a wild bee's drowsy hum,

And breakers beat the empty world that rumbled like a drum.

O cities of the Silent Land! O Graceland and Rosehill!

No tombs without their tenantry? The pale host sleeping still?

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