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"I read you by your bugle horn
And by your palfrey good,
I read you for a Ranger sworn,
To keep the king's greenwood.'
-'A Ranger, lady, winds his horn,
And 'tis at peep of light;

His blast is heard at merry morn,
And mine at dead of night.'

Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair,
And Greta woods are gay;

I would I were with Edmund there,
To reign his Queen of May!

'With burnish'd brand and musketoon, So gallantly you come,

I read you for a bold Dragoon

That lists the tuck of drum.'
-'I list no more the tuck of drum,
No more the trumpet hear;

But when the beetle sounds his hum,
My comrades take the spear.
And O! though Brignall banks be fair,
And Greta woods be gay,

Yet mickle must the maiden dare,
Would reign my Queen of May!

'Maiden! a nameless life I lead,
A nameless death I'll die!
The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead
Were better mate than I !

And when I'm with my comrades met
Beneath the greenwood bough,
What once we were we all forget,
Nor think what we are now.'

CHORUS

Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer queen.

SIR W. SCOTT.

Battle of the Baltic

OF Nelson and the North,
Sing the glorious day's renown,

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand,

In a bold determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land

Led them on.—

Like leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line :

It was ten of April morn by the chime :

As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.-

But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rush'd

O'er the deadly space between.

'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 havoc did not slack,

Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back ;--

Their shots along the deep slowly boom :

Then ceased-and all is wail,

As they strike the shatter'd sail;

Or, in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then

As he hail'd them o'er the wave;
'Ye are brothers! ye are men !
And we conquer but to save :--
So peace instead of death let us bring;
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our King.'

Then Denmark bless'd our chief
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,

As death withdrew his shades from the day.
While the sun look'd smiling bright

O'er a wide and woeful sight,

Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.

Now joy, old England, raise!
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,

Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
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!

T. CAMPBELL.

Young Lochinvar

O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the West!
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ;
And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none;
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stay❜d not for brake and he stopp'd not for stone;
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late ;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all ;-
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word),
'O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?'

'I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ;—
And now am I come with this lost Love of mine
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar !'

The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the wine and he threw down the cup.
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,-
'Now tread we a measure!' said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered, "Twere better by far,
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar !'

D

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reach'd the hall door; and the charger stood

near;

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Loch

invar.

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan,

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they

ran,

There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie lea,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
SIR W. SCOTT.

The Wreck of the Hesperus

IT was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea;

And the skipper had taken his little daughter,
To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,
With his pipe in his mouth,

And watch'd how the veering flaw did blow

The smoke now West, now South.

Then up and spake an old sailòr,
Had sail'd the Spanish Main,

'I pray thee, put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane.

'Last night, the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see !'

The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,

And a scornful laugh laughed he.

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