Thou the Fisher's bark canst guide Safely o'er the raging tide!

Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee, All glory now and ever be!

Ships with all their bravery on
Have in stormless seas gone down ;
Some 'neath War's torpedo shocks,
Others, pierced by hidden rocks,
Have their timbers opened wide
To the calm but treacherous tide;
One, in port that rode supine,
Disappeared, and made no sign;
Whilst the Fisher's bark will ride
Safely o'er the fitful tide:

Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee,

All glory now and ever be!

For HIS blessed sake, who chose,
As his prime disciples, those
Who upon the mighty deep
Once the Fisher's watch would keep,
But became, with purer ken,
Fishers of their fellow-men ;-
Bade them be of steadfast cheer,
And nor blast nor billow fear;
Holiest Mother, Virgin fair,
Make my fragile bark thy care:

Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee,

All glory now and ever be!

For His blessed sake, whose will

Winds and waves at once could still,

THE BACHELOR'S DILEMMA.
And the labouring bark transport
Straightway to her destined port;
To her trembling crew, who said,
"It is I, be not afraid;"
And when Peter trod the wave,
Stretched his gracious hand to save;
Holiest Mother, Virgin fair,
Make this little bark thy care!
Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee,
All glory now and ever be!

For His sake who fishers three
Up the Mountain led, that He
Might unto their favoured eyes
Prove His mission from the skies;
And in raiment, dazzling white,
Stood before their wondering sight,
Bidding them reveal to men

What no eye had marked till then;
Holiest Mother, Virgin fair,
Make the Fisher's bark thy care!
Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee,
All glory now and ever be!

THE BACHELOR'S DILEMMA.

By all the sweet saints in the Missal of Love,
They are both so intensely, bewitchingly fair,
That, let Folly look solemn, and Wisdom reprove,
I can't make up my mind which to choose of the pair.

79

There is Fanny, whose eye is as blue and as bright

As the depths of spring skies in their noontide array; Whose every soft feature is gleaming in light,

Like the ripple of waves on a sunshiny day:

Whose form, like the willow, so slender and lithe,
Has a thousand wild motions of lightness and grace;
Whose innocent heart, ever buoyant and blithe,

Is the home of the sweetness that breathes from her face.

There is Helen, more stately of gesture and mien,
Whose beauty a world of dark ringlets enshrouds;
With the black, regal eye, and the step of a queen,
And a brow like the moon breaking forth from the clouds:

With a bosom whose chords are so tenderly strung,
That a word, nay a look, will awaken its sighs;
With a face, like the heart-searching tones of her tongue,
Full of music that charms both the simple and wise.

In my moments of mirth, amid glitter and glee,
When my soul takes the hue that is brightest of any,
From her sister's enchantment my spirit is free,
And the bumper I quaff is a bumper to Fanny!

But, when shadows come o'er me of sickness or grief,
And my heart with a host of wild fancies is swelling,
From the blaze of her brightness I turn for relief

To the pensive and peace-breathing beauty of Helen!

"And when sorrow and joy are so blended together,

That to weep I'm unwilling, to smile am as loth; When the beam may be kicked by the weight of a feather; I would fain keep it even-by wedding them both!

KING PEDRO'S REVENGE.

But since I must fix on black eyes or blue,

Quickly make up my mind 'twixt a Grace and a Muse;
Pr'ythee Venus, instruct me that course to pursue
Which even Paris himself had been puzzled to choose!"

Thus murmured a Bard,-predetermined to marry;
But so equally charmed by a Muse and a Grace,
That though one of his suits might be doomed to miscarry,
He'd another he straight could prefer in its place.

So, trusting that "Fortune would favour the brave,”
He asked each in her turn, but they both said him nay;
Lively Fanny declared he was somewhat too grave,
And Saint Helen pronounced him a little too gay!

81

KING PEDRO'S REVENGE.

The following verses are founded on a striking passage in the life of Pedro I. of Portugal, the husband of the fair, but ill-starred Inez de Castro. One of the first acts of Don Pedro, after his accession to the throne of Portugal, was to compel the King of Castile to deliver over to his vengeance the murderers of his wife, who, on the death of his father, Alfonso, had fled to the Spanish court for protection. On the day on which the prisoners, with their escort, were expected at Santarem, the King commanded a stupendous funeral pile to be erected upon the plain without the city, and a splendid banquet to be spread beside it. On the arrival of the cavalcade from Castile, the pyre was kindled, and, after addressing to the murderers a few words of eloquent invective, in reply to their earnest supplications for mercy, he directed them to be cast into the flames; whilst he and his assembled nobles sat down to the magnificent banquet that had been prepared for them. In the royal mausoleum of the monastery of Alcobaça are the tombs of Pedro and Inez. The sarcophagus of the King is surmounted by a recumbent effigy, which represents him with a severe countenance, in the act of drawing his sword.

ON Santarém's far-spreading plain,

There's a rush of helm and spear,
And the sudden burst of a warlike strain
Comes dancing on the ear!-

And the banners wave, and the trumpets wail,

And the silver cymbals clash;

And sounds are on the fitful gale
Like a stormy ocean's dash!

A murmur rises from the crowd

That girds King Pedro's throne,

Like the thunder peal that from cloud to cloud, In its gathering might, rolls on:

And the shout that cleaves the noontide sky, To a wilder shout gives birth;

That swells, like an army's battle-cry,

Till it shakes the solid earth.

'Tis the fierce, triumphant voice of hate;

Of blood the eager call;

'Tis the tiger's yell for his slaughtered mate,
Ere he springs to avenge her fall!
And ten thousand hearts exult as one,
When that welcome band draws near;
And their cry, like the knell of mercy flown,
Still rings on the doomed ear!

What precious offering do they bring,
To feed a monarch's pride?-
A gift more grateful to their king

Than aught in the world beside!
Nor gems, nor gold, rich stores of art,
Barbaric spoils of war,-

But a treasure to his panting heart

More prized-more precious far!