Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon,
Father will come to his babe in the nest :

Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon:

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

ALFRED TENNYSON,

THE MARINER.

YE winds that sweep the grove's green tops And kiss the mountains hoar,

O softly stir the ocean-waves
That sweep along the shore!
For my love sails the fairest ship
That wantons on the sea;

O bend his masts with pleasant gales,
And waft him hame to me.

O leave nae mair the bonny glen,
Clear stream, and hawthorn grove,
Where first we walked in gloaming gray,

And sighed and looked of love;

For faithless is the ocean wave,

And faithless is the wind:

Then leave nae mair my heart to break
'Mang Scotland's hills behind.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM,

BALLAD.

Он, why does my lover linger,
The lover that loves me well,
In bowers under the blue waves,
Lull'd by a breathing shell?

Why waits he among the corals,
In the cold sea-deeps alone,
While the shore is tired with my foot-tread,
The wind sick with my moan ?

My rose-woven wreath is fallen,
My hair all damp and torn,
My bridal garments fading,

Their silver white is gone.

Yet in bowers under the blue waves,
Lull'd by a breathing shell,
While my bridal garments fade, waits
The lover that loves me well.

Oh, fairer than our palm-groves
The ruby corals must be;
He will not leave their cool shades
For even his love of me!

Yet far, far over the ocean

Left he his mother dear,
And his father's grave, and promised
To dwell forever here.

And over the wide, wide ocean
His dark-eyed sister left he,
To mourn for him, and promised
Forever to dwell with me.

Then dearer than his youth's bowers
The ruby corals must be,
Since he will not leave their cool shades
For even his love of me.

JAMES W. MILLER.

I WOULD take thee home to my heart, but thou wilt not

come to me:

Ah! lonely art thou sailing far out on the stormy sea; And lonely am I sitting with the cold dark rocks around ; Weary the sight of heaving waves, weary their thundering sound.

ANONYMOUS.

ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN.

'O WHA will shoe my bonny foot?
And wha will glove my hand?
And wha will lace my middle jimp
Wi' a lang lang linen band?

'O wha will kame my yellow hair
Wi' a new-made silver kame?
And wha will be my bairn's father
Till Lord Gregory come hame?'

Thy father will shoe thy bonny foot, Thy mother will glove thy hand, Thy sister will lace thy middle jimp Wi' a lang lang linen band.

'Thy brother will kame thy yellow hair,
Wi' a new-made silver kame,
And God will be thy bairn's father,
Till Lord Gregory come hame.'

'But I will get a bonny boat,
And I will sail the sea,
And I will gang to Lord Gregory
Since he canna come to me.'

Syne she's gar'd build a bonny boat
To sail the salt salt sea;

The sails were o' the gude green silk,
The tows o' taffety.

She hadna sailed but twenty leagues,
But twenty leagues and three,
When she met wi' a rank robber,
And a' his company.

'Now whether are ye the queen hersell, (For so ye well might be,) Or are ye the lass o' Lochroyan, Seekin' Lord Gregory?'

'O I am not the queen,' she said, Nor sic I seem to be,

'But I am Annie of Lochroyan Seekin' Lord Gregory.'

'O see ye na yon stately tower, That's covered o'er wi' tin;

When thou hast sailed it round about,
Lord Gregory is within.'