THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY.

Knocks of this kind

Are given by gentlemen who teach to dance;
By fiddlers, and by opera singers;
One loud, and then a little one behind,
As if the knocker fell by chance
Out of their fingers.

The servant lets him in with dismal face,
Long as a courtier's out of place-
Portending some disaster;

John's countenance as rueful looked and grim,
As if the apothecary had physicked him,
And not his master.

"Well, how's the patient ?" Bolus said; John shook his head.

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"Indeed! hum! ha!-that's very odd! He took the draught ?" John gave a nod. "Well, how?-what then?-speak out, you dunce !"

"Why then," said John, "we shook him once." "Shook him!-how ?" Bolus stammered out. "We jolted him about."

"Zounds! shake a patient, man!—a shake won't do."

"No, sir, and so we gave him two." "Two shakes! 'od's curse!

'Twould make the patient worse."

"It did so, sir, and so a third we tried.”

Well, and what then?" "Then, sir, my master died "

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

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.

THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

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! are men
!
ye

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 blest 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 !

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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!

THE WRECK OF THE "HESPERUS."

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

It was the schooner Hesperus,

That sail'd 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 sailor
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 laugh'd he.

Colder and louder blew the wind
A gale from the North-east;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows froth'd like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain

The vessel in its strength;

She shudder'd and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leap'd her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my And do not tremble so;

little daughter,

For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow."

He wrapp'd her warm in his seaman's coat
Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,

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And bound her to the mast.

Oh, father! I hear the church-bells ring,
Oh, say, what may it be?"

""Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"
And he steer'd for the open sea.

"Oh, father! I hear the sound of

Oh, say, what may it be?"

guns,

"Some ship in distress that cannot live In such an angry sea!"

"Oh, father! I see a gleaming light,

Oh, say, what may it be?"

But the father answer'd never a word

A frozen corpse was he.

Lash'd to the helm, all stiff and stark,

With his face to the skies,

The lantern gleam'd through the gleaming snow On his fix'd and glassy eyes.

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