A letter'd race of other days,

Sweet vale! made thee all classic ground; Then o'er thee wav'd the Muse's lays—

Then ivied wreaths thy scholars crown'd. Beside his fav'rite fountain laid,

At ev'ning's hour, Relph tun'd his lyre; And sweeter notes, in wood or glade,

Ne'er warbled from the feather'd choir.
Denton was thine; who in yon bowers,
Sung the soul's triumph o'er the grave:
Ye Nine! if deathless wreaths be yours
O let them o'er his tombstone wave.
Those too were thine, in olden time,

Who Valour's brightest laurels won ;

Who gather'd fame in ev'ry clime,

Where Britain's battle-standards shone.

Rear'd in the glens of liberty,

Their hearts beat warmly in her cause;
Bold, vig'rous, independent, free,
Like their own forest-oaks they rose.

In all thy scenes there is a spell,

That binds my throbbing heart to thee; And Oh! what notes around me swell Of nature's sweetest minstrelsy!

If some old friend, whom death hath spar'd, Still suns his grey locks in thy dell,

A heart, with warmth all unimpair'd,

Will breathe his welcome to my

cell :

We there will talk of days gone by,

That brightly flew in Pleasure's train;
The bosom shall suspend its sigh,
And beat to joy and mirth again.

And I will string again the lyre,

And round me draw the village-throng;
Gay notes shall vibrate from each wire,
Responsive to the shepherd's song.

The bowl shall chase the chill of age,
And round the heart its sunshine throw;

No blot shall dim life's closing page,
But o'er it sweetest flow'rets blow.

THE SHIP-BOY'S LETTER.

[JOHN JAMES LONSDALE, the author of this and the two following songs, was a relative of Mark Lonsdale's. Like most men who have possessed the "accomplishment of verse," he was of a quiet, retiring disposition, and sensitive to a remarkable degree. A correspondent of the Musical World writes: "I only saw him once and found him one of the most modest men as to his own talents I ever met with. He had been a great sufferer for years." Besides the three songs printed in this work, he also wrote, The Light in the Window, Little Golden Hair, The Breeze and the Harp, Separation, The Children's Kingdom, and many others, which have obtained considerable popularity. Most of his songs have been set to Music by Miss Virginia Gabriel. Mr. Lonsdale resided principally at Stanwix, Carlisle; and died there on Sunday, May 29th, 1864, aged thirty-five years.]

Here's a letter from Robin, father,

A letter from o'er the sea,

I was sure that the spark i' the wick last night
Meant there was one for me;

And I laugh'd to see the postman's face
Look in at the dairy park,

Isaid it was so woman-like

To put my trust in a spark.

"Dear father and mother and granny,
I write on the breech of a gun;
And think as I sit at the port-hole
And look at the setting sun,

Father's smoking his pipe beside you,
While you're standing in the porch—
Or are getting clean rigging ready
For to-morrow's cruize to church.

"You mus'n't be hard on the writing,
For what with ropes and with tar,
My fingers won't crook as they ought to,
And spelling is harder far;
And every minute a lurch comes

And spoils the look of my i's;
And I blot 'em instead of dot 'em
And I can't get my words of a size.

"Tell Bessie I don't forget her,

But every Saturday night

When we're chatting of home in the twilight,

And our pipes are all alight,

And I'm ask'd to toast the lass I love,

I name sweet Bessie Green."

(O father to think of his doing that!

And the monkey scarce fifteen.)

"And, granny, the

yarns you spin all day,

In the corner off the door,

Won't be half so long and tough as mine,

When I see you all ashore.

You maybe won't swallow flying fish
But I'll bring you one or two,
And some Maltese lace for topsail gear,
And a fan for you know who.

"Then good-bye to each dear face at home
Till I press it with my lips,

While you pray each night for 'ships at sea'
And 'God speed all sea ships.'

I smile as I rock in my hammock
Tho' storms may shriek and strain,
For I feel when we pray for each other
We're sure to meet again."

ROBIN'S RETURN.

[Companion to the "Ship Boy's Letter."-Written by J. J. LONSDALE. Music by Virginia Gabriel.]

It was Yule and the snow kept falling
In silent shadowy flight,

Through the dull gray haze of daylight
Far into the starless night;

And father sat close by the fireside

With the children round his knee,

And every bonny brown face was there
But the one that was at sea.

Never a letter and never a word,

And my eyes with tears were dim,
As I wreathed the holly upon the wall,
And harked to the children's hymn;
And father said as they caroll'd on,
With a smile nigh like a tear,
Christmas will scarce be Christmas, wife,
If our boy should not be here.

The wheel in the nook stood all unturned
And I saw not granny's face;

But the tears dropp'd under the wrinkled hands,
Held towards the Yule log blaze;
Poor Bessie she turn'd to the doorway,
With face both pale and sad,

So I kissed her ere we parted
For love of my sailor lad:

As I look'd down the drift-dimm'd pathway,
I said there's one we know,

Would have given a good deal, darling,
To have seen you thro' the snow;
Then we drew near the hearth together,
And listened side by side

In the first blythe peal of the merry bells,
Which welcome Christmas tide.

Never a sound but the crackling log,
And the wind amid the thatch,

Till the clock was past the stroke of twelve,
When a finger rais'd the latch,