Earth's compass round;

go

The vassals of the will ? Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, Thou dim discrowned king of day; For all these trophied arts

earth

66

'My lips that speak thy dirge of death

Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath

To see thou shalt not boast.

pall,

The majesty of darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost!

"This spirit shall return to Him
Who gave its heavenly spark:
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark!
No! it shall live again and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recalled to breath,
Who captive led captivity,
Who robbed the grave of Victory,
And took the sting from Death!

Shall start from every wave!

And ocean was their grave;

Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain waves,

Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below-
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more
And the storm has ceased to blow.

HOW DELICIOUS IS THE WIN-
NING.

How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at love's beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there's no untying!

Yet, remember, 'midst your wooing, Love has bliss, but love has ruing; Other smiles may make you fickle, Tears for other charms may trickle.

Love he comes, and Love he tarries,
Just as fate or fancy carries;
Longest stays, when sorest chidden;
Laughs and flies, when pressed and
bidden.

Bind the sea to slumber stilly, Bind its odor to the lily,

Then bind Love to last for ever!

Love's a fire that needs renewal

Of fresh beauty for its fuel;

But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer,

captured,

Their trampling sounded nearer.

"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.".

The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her,

When, oh! too strong for human hand,

The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing;
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore;
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,

His child he did discover; One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover.

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

"Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-O my daughter!"

'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore,

Return or aid preventing: The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.