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In that day of desolation,
Lady, I was captive made;
Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee
Now in Heaven's blue expansion
Soon at Rhodes the British lover
Clasp'd his blooming eastern bride. Campbell.
52.-A Ship Sinking.
O'ER wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
Mid the deep darkness white as snow!
Five hundred souls in one instant of dread
And fast the miserable ship
Becomes a lifeless wreck.
Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock,
Her planks are torn asunder,
And down come her masts with a reeling shock,
Her sails are draggled in the brine
That gladdened late the skies,
And her pendant that kiss'd the fair moonshine
Down many a fathom lies.
Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues
Gleam'd softly from below,
And flung a warm and sunny flash
An hour before her death;
And sights of home with sighs disturb'd
-He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll,
The ship hath melted quite away,
Like a struggling dream at break of day.
No image meets my wandering eye
But the new-risen sun, and the sunny sky.
Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapour dull
Bedims the waves so beautiful;
While a low and melancholy moan
Mourns for the glory that hath flown.
53.-Battle of the Baltic.
OF Nelson and the North
And her arms along the deep proudly shone';
In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Like leviathans afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
It was ten of April morn by the chime:
But the might of England flush'd
And her van the fleeter rush'd
• 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 ceas'd-and all is wail,
As they strike the shatter'd sail;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.
Out spoke the victor then,
Then Denmark blest our chief,
As Death withdrew his shades from the day.
O'er a wide and woeful sight,
Where the fires of fun'ral light
Now joy, Old England, raise!
While the wine cup shines in light;
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
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!
54.-The Fate of Macgregor.
"MACGREGOR, Macgregor, remember our foemen ; The moon rises broad from the brow of Ben-Lomond; The clans are impatient, and chide thy delay; Arise! let us bound to Glen-Lyon away."
Stern scowled the Macgregor, then silent and sullen, He turn'd his red eye to the braes of Strathfillan; "Go, Malcolm, to sleep, let the clans be dismissed; The Campbells this night for Macgregor must rest.'
Macgregor, Macgregor, our scouts have been flying, Three days, round the hills of M'Nab and Glen-Lyon; Of riding and running such tidings they bear, We must meet them at home else they'll quickly be here."
"The Campbell may come, as his promises bind him,
Or blenched at the ire or the prowess of man.
"Last night, in my chamber, all thoughtful and lone, I called to remembrance some deeds I had done, When entered a lady, with visage so wan, And looks, such as never were fastened on man. I knew her, O brother! I knew her full well! Of that once fair dame such a tale I could tell would thrill thy bold heart; but how long she remained,
So racked was my spirit, my bosom so pained,