Her march is on the mountain waves,
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 tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy tempests blow.

IY.

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.

GLENARA.

O HEARD ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail?
'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear;
And her sire, and the people, are called to her bier.

Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud;
Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud:
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around:
They marched all in silence-they looked on the ground.

In silence they reached over mountain and moor,
To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar;

Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn:

66

Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern,

"And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse,
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows!"
So spake the rude chieftain :-no answer is made,
But each mantle unfolding a dagger displayed.

"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; "And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem: Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween,
When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen;
When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn,
"Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn:

"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,
I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief;
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem;
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!”

In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground,
And the desert revealed where his lady was found;
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne,
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

I.

Or Nelson and the North,

Sing the glorious day's renown,

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone;

By each gun the lighted brand,

In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land

Led them on.

II.

Like Leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:

It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death;

And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.-

III.

But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rushed

O'er the deadly space between.

"Hearts of oak!" our captains cried, when

each gun

From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun.

IV.

Again! again! again!

And the havoc did not slack,

Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back ;—

Their shots along the deep slowly boom :-

Then ceased-and all is wail,

As they strike the shattered sail;

Or, in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.

V.

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hailed them o'er the wave,

"Ye are brothers! ye are men!
And we conquer but to save :-
So peace instead of death let us bring:
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,

With the crews, at England's feet,

And make submission meet
To our King."-

ΤΊ.

Then Denmark blest our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief,
From her people wildly rose ;-

As death withdrew his shades from the day,
While the sun looked smiling bright

O'er a wide and woeful sight,

Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.

VII.

Now joy, old England, raise!
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,

While the wine cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar
Let us think of them that sleep,

Full many a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !-

VIII.

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died,
With the gallant good Riou :*

Captain Riou, justly entitled the gallant and the good by Lord Nelson, when he wrote home his despatches.

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,

And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave!-

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,

This dark and stormy water?"

'Oh, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

"And fast before her father's men

Three day's 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?"

Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,
"I'll go, my chief—I'm ready :-

It is not for your silver bright;
But for your winsome lady:

"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."