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.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;

Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

THE SANDS OF DEE.

Charles Kingsley.

"Он, Mary, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

Across the sands of Dee."

The western wind was wild and dark with foam, And all alone went she.

The western tide crept 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 rolling mist came down and hid the land:
And never home came she.

"Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair A tress of golden hair,

A drowned maiden's hair,

Above the nets at sea?"

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
Among the stakes of Dee.

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 of Dee.

THE SUN UPON THE LAKE IS LOW.

From THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL.

Sir Walter Scott.

THE Sun upon the lake is low,

The wild birds hush their song,
The hills have evening's deepest glow,
Yet Leonard tarries long.

Now all whom varied toil and care

From home and love divide,

In the calm sunset may repair

Each to the loved one's side.

The noble dame on turret high,

Who waits her gallant knight,
Looks to the western beam to spy
The flash of armor bright.

The village maid, with hand on brow
The level ray to shade,

Upon the footpath watches now

For Colin's darkening plaid.

Now to their mates the wild swans row,

By day they swam apart;

And to the thicket wanders slow

The hind beside the hart.

The woodlark at his partner's side
Twitters his closing song-

All meet whom day and care divide,—
But Leonard tarries long!

YOUNG LOCHINVAR.

From MARMION.

Sir Walter Scott.

Он! young Lochinvar is come out of the West,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapon had none;
He rode all unarm'd and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stay'd not for brake and he stopp'd not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love and a dastard in war
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all;
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,—
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,
"Oh! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”
"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide-
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."
The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar,

"Now tread we a measure! said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered, ""Twere better by far
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,

When they reach'd the hall-door; and the charger stood near;

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

ROSE AYLMER.

Walter Savage Landor.

Aн what avails the sceptred race,
Ah what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!

Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,

A night of memories and of sighs

I consecrate to thee.