He felt the cheering pow'r of spring-
It made him whistle, it made him sing:
His heart was mirthful to excess-
But the rover's mirth was wickedness.
His eye was on the bell and float:
Quoth he, my men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok.
The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And cut the warning bell from the float.
Down sank the bell, with a gurgling sound;
The bubbles rose and burst around.
Quoth Sir Ralph, the next that comes to the rock, Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothok.
Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away—
He scour'd the seas for many a day;
And now grown rich with plunder'd store,
He steers his course to Scotland's shore.
So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky,
They could not see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,—
At evening it hath died away.
On the deck the rover takes his stand,
So dark it is, they see no land;
Quoth Sir Ralph, it will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon.
Canst hear, said one, the breakers roar,
For yonder, methinks, should be the shore?
Now, where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell.
They hear no sound: the swell is strong,-
Though the wind hath fallen they drifted along;
Till the vessel strikes with a shiv'ring shock-
Oh, Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!
Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair;
He curst himself in his despair.
The waves rush in on every side;
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.
But, even in his dying fear,
One dreadful sound could the rover hear;
A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell
The devil below was ringing his knell,
Her last sad tears are shed; her eye no more
Weeps for her fate; her earthly sorrows o'er,
She wears a brightening smile of hope and love,
As though the golden harps of saints above
Had soothed her soul with such a heavenly strain,
That nought could charm it back to earth again!
Her only treasure which the earth possest,'
Held her, in anguish, to his tortur'd breast,
While his eye met her last-her dying look.-
"Farewell, dear love! farewell! when I forsook
The world for thee, my young, my fond heart, danced
To notes of gladness, and I breathed entranced.
Nor shall I wake from that sweet dream of bliss;
No, no! that kiss of love-and this-and this-
Will tell my heart's warm homage, constant yet.
How brightly hope beamed, love, when first we met!
Dark days have followed that dear hour; but thou
Hast ruled my better destiny, and now
I could not-would not-break the cherished tie
Which long hath bound our hearts; yet, I shall die,
And death will break it!-thou, forlorn-alone-
Will seek my cold, cold grave, when I am gone!
Remember-lay me where the wild waves roar,
Near yonder worn and rugged rock ;-and o'er
My grave raise high the holy cross;-farewell!
Death calls me-hark!-no more-I can but tell
That I have loved-in hope-in joy-in woe-
Forgive me, Machin!-God !-forgive me too!
He gazed, distracted, as she breathed her last!
Cold were those lips, from which had often passed
Strains of delight, that breathed the soothing balm
Of consolation to his heart; the charm,
Which love once threw around those lips, no more
Could bless his throbbing bosom-yet they wore,
Even in death, a smile so soft-so fair—
Left, the pure record of her latest prayer!
That smile expressed such hope-such faith—such zeal— That death's cold, plundering fingers could not steal
Its lingering beauty, as they swept away
The last faint tints of life's expiring day!
His hand hath closed her eyes, which faintly show
The blue veins, sleeping on their lids of snow;
And he hath wrapped her in a shroud-and now
He rests his hand upon her icy brow;
Nor dares he yet believe that ruthless fate
Hath left his young heart lorn and desolate!
Alas! awaked by misery's poisoned sting,
He clasps her hand where flowers are withering!
Those flowers-as fleeting as our fleeting breath,
That bloom awhile in mockery of death!
One more-one more distracting look !—'tis past—
That hopeless look-the loneliest and the last!
With that wild gaze his very soul seemed fled-
His cheek turned cold, and pallid as the dead
That lay before him ;-o'er his throbbing brain
Dark shades of frenzy passed ;-then flashed again
The broken light of reason, glimmering o'er
The desert of his mind, on which no more
The sun of happiness shall shine, to save
The drooping mourner from the silent grave!
BEAUTIFUL hour-I bless thy presence!
Heart-thrilling hour-thou art dear to me!
Thou tell'st of the loved-the lost-the dead-
Of raptures that never more can be;-
Of the bright, bright eye, that hailed me once
With a beam of welcome all its own,
When we met at the dear accustomed spot,
'Neath our linden tree, so green and lone;
Of the voice that sweetly breathed my name,
With many a pure and tender vow;
Of the sunny smile-the hallowed kiss
Of lips that are cold and silent now!
Years have flown by-and the scythe of time
Hath mown down flowers of my early bloom;
Lo! the woodman's axe hath felled that tree,
And the form it shelter'd sleeps in the tomb.
My haunts of youth wear another face,
Than the face they wore in days of old;
And strangers sit in that woodbine bower,
Where my hours of spring I gaily told.
And strangers warble the song of mirth,
In the hall of gladness where once I sang;
And other footsteps bound in the dance,
Where mine once in joyance lightly sprang.
All things are changed! all that once I knew!
Yea, all things are chang'd, save thee, sweet hour!
Scenes of my childhood-my youth's green home-
Hall of my fathers-my mother's bower!
Thou art not changed-thy soft light cometh
To sooth my heart, as in days gone by;
Shedding a balm upon my spirit,
Gentle and pure as an infant's sigh.
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