And sweep through the deep, The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave !— For the deck it was their field of fame, Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Britannia needs no bulwark, 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 Till danger's troubled night depart, When the storm has ceased to blow: HOHENLINDEN. On Linden when the sun was low, But Linden saw another sight, By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, But redder yet that light shall glow '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, "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 By this the storm grew loud apace, But still as wilder blew the wind, The boat has left a stormy land, And still they rowed amidst the roar Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore- For, sore dismayed, 'mid storm and shade, One lovely hand she stretched for aid, "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 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 Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting Flame, And lo! Creation widened in man's view. Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed Why do we, then, shun Death with anxious strife? |