And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave !—

For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave;

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow. . .

Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er 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. . .

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.

HOHENLINDEN.

On Linden when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed

To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of Heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stain-ed snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun,

Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave;

And charge with all thy chivalry! Few, few shall part, where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

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?"

"O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.

"And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us rideShould they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?"

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief-I'm readyIt 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!"

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode arm-ed men—
Their trampling sounded nearer.
Oh haste thee, haste !" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather:
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her-
When oh! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing ;

Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore-
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For, sore dismayed, 'mid storm and shade,
His child he did discover-

One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter! oh, my daughter!"

'Twas vain-the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing;

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

From-PLEASURES OF HOPE. II. 376.

What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like Angel-visits, few and far between.

A LAMENT.

There was an eye whose partial glance
Could ne'er my numerous failings see;
There was an ear that heard untired
When others spoke in praise of me. .
There was a mind whose vigorous power
On mine its own effulgence threw,
And called my humble talents forth,
While thence its dearest joys it drew. . .
That eye is closed, and deaf that ear,
That lip and voice are mute for ever!

And cold that heart of anxious love

Which death alone from mine could sever. .

JOSEPH BLANCO WHITE.

NIGHT AND DEATH.

[1775-1841

Mysterious Night! when our first Parent knew
Thee, from Report divine, and heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely Frame,
This glorious canopy of light and blue?

Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew,

Bathed in the rays of the great setting Flame,
Hesperus with the Host of Heaven came,

And lo! Creation widened in man's view.

Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed
Within thy beams, O Sun! or who could find,
Whilst flower and leaf, and insect stood revealed,
That to such countless Orbs thou madest us blind!

Why do we, then, shun Death with anxious strife?
If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life?