.189.

THE SECRET OF THE SEA.

Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me As I gaze upon the sea!

All the old romantic legends,

All my dreams, come back to me.

Sails of silk and ropes of sendal
Such as gleam in ancient lore;
And the singing of the sailors,

And the answer from the shore!

Most of all, the Spanish ballad
Haunts me oft, and tarries long,
Of the noble Count Arnaldos
And the sailor's mystic song.

Like the long waves on a sea-beach, When the sand as silver shines, With a soft,monotonous cadence, Flow its unrhymed lyric lines ;—

How he heard the ancient helmsman Chant a song so wild and clear, That the sailing sea-bird slowly Poised upon the mast to hear.

Till his soul was full of longing,

And he cried with impulse strong,"Helmsman! for the love of heaven, Teach me, too, that wondrous song!”

"Wouldst thou,"-so the helmsman answered, "Learn the secret of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers Comprehend its mystery!"

In each sail that skims the horizon,
In each landward-blowing breeze,

I behold that stately galley,

Hear those mournful melodies:

Till my soul is full of longing
For the secret of the sea,

And the heart of the great ocean

Sends a thrilling pulse through me.

Henry W. Longfellow.

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 ride; Should 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 ready;
It 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 armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

"O 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 the stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,-

When, oh! too strong for human hand

The tempest gathered o'er her.