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The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her,

When, oh! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gather'd o'er her.

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And still they row'd amid the roar
Of waters fast prevailing :-
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, His child he did discover;

One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,

And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,

"Across this raging water,

And I'll forgive your Highland Chief,
My daughter! O my daughter!"

"Twas vain! the loud wave lash'd the shore, Return or help preventing;

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

CAMPBELL.

THE LOST SHILLING.

OH! sad and slow his footsteps fell,
As home the boy was going,
And sorrow bade his bosom swell,

And fast his tears were flowing.

While sadly follow'd at his heel,
As conscious of disaster,

A rough-hair'd cur, and seem'd to feel
The anguish of his master.

"Now, bonny boy, what makes thee cry?" "Oh! bitter fears torment me:

In yonder town, her food to buy,
This morn my mother sent me.

"And now to see her face I dread,From anger naught can save me ; For, oh! I lost, as on I sped,

The shilling which she gave me."

"That sure can ne'er a fault be styled,
From mere mischance proceeding!
Yet will your mother beat you, child,
In spite of tears and pleading?"

"Oh no, Sir, no! if blows be all,

To bear them I'd be willing,

Though hard those blows, as arm could fall;
But 'twas her only shilling.

"And hard will be her fare to-day,

And hard her fast to-morrow; And when she hungers, sure she'll say, "Twas I who caused her sorrow!"

"Now hush your sighs, and dry your tears,—
Your loss no more shall grieve you;
Look, bonny boy! from cares and fears
This shilling shall relieve you."

A doubting hope illumed his eyes,
The sight his tears suspended;
While to receive the silver prize
His hand the boy extended.

"Twas his-he fled with eager pace,
No thanks to me addressing;

But, oh! the smile which deck'd his face
Was better than a blessing!

M. G. LEWIS.

THE WILD HUNTSMEN.

THE Wildgrave winds his bugle horn;
To horse, to horse, halloo, halloo!
His fiery courser snuffs the morn,

And thronging serfs their lord pursue.

The eager pack, from couples freed,

Dash through the bush, the briar, the brake; While answering hound, and horn, and steed, The mountain echoes startling wake.

The beams of God's own hallow'd day
Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And, calling sinful man to pray,

Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll'd.

But still the Wildgrave onward rides;
Halloo, hallo, and hark again!
When, spurring from opposing sides,
Two stranger horsemen join the train.

Who was each stranger, left and right,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell :
The right-hand steed was silver white,
The left, the swarthy hue of hell.

The right-hand horseman, young and fair, His smile was like the morn of May; The left, from eye of tawny glare,

Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.

He wav'd his huntsman's cap on high,
Cry'd, "Welcome, welcome, noble Lord!
What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,
To match the princely chase, afford?"

"Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell,"
Cry'd the fair youth, with silver voice;
"And for devotion's choral swell,
Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise.

"To-day th' ill-omen'd chase forbear; Yon bell yet summons to the fane: To-day the warning Spirit hear,

To-morrow thou may'st mourn in vain.”

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Away, and sweep the glades along!" The sable hunter hoarse replies;

"To muttering monks leave matin song, And bells, and books, and mysteries."

The Wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed,
And launching forward with a bound,
"Who for thy drowsy priestlike rede
Would leave the jovial horn and hound?

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