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Bright and alone on the shadowy main,
Like a heart-cherish'd home on some desolate

plain !
Who-as she smiles in the silvery light,
Spreading her wings on the bosom of night,
Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky,
A phantom of beauty-could deem with a sigh,
That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin,
And that souls that are smitten lie bursting within?
Who-as he watches her silently gliding-
Remembers that wave after wave is dividing
Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever,
Hearts which are parted and broken for ever?
Or deems that he watches, afloat on the wave,
The death-bed of hope, or the young spirit's

grave ?

'Tis thus with our life, while it passes along,
Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song!
Gaily we glide, in the gaze of the world,
With streamers afloat, and with canvass unfurl'd;
All gladness and glory, to wandering eyes,
Yet charter'd by sorrow, and freighted with

sigbs :
Fading and false is the aspect it wears,
As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears ;
And the withering thoughts which the world can-

not know, Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below; Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore Where the dreams of our childhood are vanish'd

and o'er,

THE MARINER'S CHILD.

L. E. LANDON.

Oh, weep no more, sweet mother,
Oh, weep no more to-night;
And only watch the sea, mother,
Beneath the morning light.

Then the bright blue sky is joyful,
And the bright blue sky is clear,
And I can see, sweet mother,
To kiss away your tear.

But now the wind goes wailing
O'er the dark and trackless deep,
And I know your grief, sweet mother,
Though I only hear you weep.

My father's ship will come, mother,
Ir safety o'er the main ;
When the grapes are dyed with purple,
He will be back again.

The vines were but in blossom
When he bade me watch them grow;
And now the large leaves, mother,
Conceal their crimson glow.

He'll bring us shells and sea-weed,
And birds of shining wing ;
But what are these, dear mother?
It is himself he'll bring.

I'll watch with thee, sweet mother,
But the stars fade from my sight;
Come, come and sleep, dear mother-
Oh, weep no more to-night.

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

CAMPBELL.

OF 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.-

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.

But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rush'd
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.

Again | again ! again!
And the havock 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 shatter'd sail ;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.-

Out spoke the victor then,
As he hail'd 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.".

Then Denmark bless'd 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 look'd smiling bright,
O'er a wide and woeful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.

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 !

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

HUNTING SONG.

SIR W. SCOTT.

WAKEN, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,
With hawk, and horse, and hunting spear ;

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