A SONG OF THE SEA.

THE sea, the sea, is England's,

And England's shall remain,

Tho' the might of France, and the world advance,
To contest our ocean reign!

Quoth gallant Blake, as he spread his sails,
And his cannon shook the waves:
Fire away, boys! for the day is ours,
Or here, lads, foam our graves.
Fire away, boys! quoth he again,
For the sea, the sea, is England's,

And England's shall remain !

The fresh winds blowing loud and strong,
The Spaniards fled-which rare is-

And we chased them far, and we chased them long,
Till they anchored in Canaries.

Quoth our admiral, as their castles blazed
With guns like a stormy night,

Do they think to frighten us? Fire away, boys,

For old England's might and right!

Fire away, boys! quoth he again;

For the sea, the sea is England's,

And England's shall remain !

LAY OF THE GREENWOOD.

We sunk and burned and we took them all,
With gold and spices laden,

And our sweethearts each had a jolly haul,
For each loved his English maiden;

But as home we came-quoth our admiral,

I'm going, lads, aloft!

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And he died with a smile, but his dying word Was, Fire away, boys! now board her! soft! Fire away, boys! quoth he again,

For the sea, the sea, is England's, And England's shall remain.

ANON.

LAY OF THE GREENWOOD.

MOUNT, mount thy steed, sweet Rosalind,
I crave a boon to-day;

Mount, mount thy steed, my ladye bright,

And to the woods away!

For each waving bough

Doth woo us now

To where cool winds murmur, and clear streams flow.

Glad thoughts be thine, sweet Rosalind,
Beneath yon laughing skies;

Glad thoughts to make more gladsome still
The soft light of thine eyes.

No time is this

For grief, I wis,

But for pleasant fancies and dreams of bliss.

I will lead thee far, sweet Rosalind,
Through some glade and glen,

O'er the lilied lea, by the green hill side,
Far, far, from the haunts of men;
Till the dove's low moan

Is heard alone

'Midst the shadowy branches o'er us thrown.

And there, in the depths, dear Rosalind,
Of that sweet sylvan scene,

Will I weave a wreath of blushing flowers,
And crown thee Love's fair queen;

And on bended knee

Vow loyally

Ever thy liegeman till death to be.

Then mount thy steed, sweet Rosalind,

And grant my boon to-day;

Mount, mount thy steed, my ladye bright,
And to the woods away!

For each waving bough

Doth woo us now

To where cool winds murmur, and clear streams

flow.

T. WESTWOOD.

FORTUNE.

FROM THE FRENCH OF DUKE CHARLES D'ORLEANS.

"Comme le subgiet de Fortune.'

I THE slave of Fortune ever
From my early youth became,
And in age we do not sever,
She to me is still the same.
I am one, beneath the moon,
Whom she orders at her will;
I, her subject, late and soon
Ceaselessly have served her still.

Her, as mistress, to obey,
Is the lesson of my life,

And I cannot turn away,

In good or ill, in peace or strife;
Nor by bondage can I break,
But the fruit she gives must take.

ANON.

THE GOOD PART,

THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY.

SHE dwells by Great Kenhawa's side,
In valleys green and cool;
And all her hope and all her pride
Are in the village school.

IIer soul, like the transparent air That robes the hills above, Though not of earth, encircles there All things with arms of love.

And thus she walks among her girls With praise and mild rebukes; Subduing e'en rude village churls By her angelic looks.

She reads to them at eventide
Of One who came to save;
To cast the captive's chains aside,
And liberate the slave.

And oft the blessed time foretells
When all men shall be free;

And musical, as silver bells,

Their falling chains shall be.