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Beside a grotto of their own,

With boughs above them closing, The seven are laid, and in the shade

They lie like fawns reposing. But now, upstarting with affright

At noise of man and steed, Away they fly to left, to rightOf your fair household, father knight,

Methinks you take small heed ! Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The solitude of Binnorie!

Away the seven fair Campbells fly,

And, over hill and hollow,
With menace proud and insult loud,

The youthful rovers follow.
Cried they, “Your father loves to roam :

Enough for him to find
The empty house when he comes home;
For us your yellow ringlets comb,

For us be fair and kind !”
Sing mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!

It is the midnight hour :-the beauteous Sea,

[discloses, Calm as the cloudless heaven, the heaven While many a sparkling star, in quiet glee, Far down within the watery sky reposes. As if the Ocean's heart were stirred With inward life, a sound is heard, Like that of dreamer murmuring in his

sleep; 'Tis partly the billow, and partly the air, That lies like a garment floating fair

Above the happy Deep.
The Sea, I ween, cannot be fanned
By evening freshness from the land,

For the land it is far away.
But God hath willed that the sky-born breeze
In the centre of the loneliest seas

Should ever sport and play. The mighty moon she sits above, Encircled with a zone of love, A zone of dim and tender light That makes her wakeful eye more bright; She seems to shine with a sunny ray, And the night looks like a mellowed day. The gracious mistress of the main Hath now an undisturbed reign, And from her silent throne looks down, As upon children of her own, On the waves that lend their gentle breast In gladness for her couch of rest.

Some close behind, some side by side,

Like clouds in stormy weather, They run, and cry, Nay, let us die,

And let us die together." A lake was near; the shore was steep;

There never foot had been;

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My spirit sleeps amid the calm,

The sleep of a new delight;
And hopes that she ne'er may wake again,
But for ever hang o'er the lovely main

And adore the lovely night.
Scarce conscious of an earthly frame,
She glides away like a lambent flame,

And in her bliss she sings;
Now touching softly the ocean's breast,
Now 'mid the stars she lies at rest,

As if she sailed on wings!
Now bold as the brightest star that glows,
More brightly since at first it rose,

Looks down on the far-off flood; And there all breathless and alone, As the sky where she soars were a world of

her own, She mocketh the gentle mighty one

As he lies in his quiet mood. "Art thou,” she breathes, "the tyrant

grim
That scoffs at human prayers,
Answering with prouder roaring the while,
As it rises from some lonely isle,
Through groans raised wild, the hopeless

hymn
Of shipwrecked mariners ?
Oh! thou art as harmless as a child
Weary with joy, and reconciled

For sleep to change its play;
And now that night hath stayed thy race,
Smiles wander o'er thy placid face,

As if thy dreams were gay."

T. K. HERVEY.

1804-1859. THE CONVICT SHIP.* MORN on the waters — and purple and

bright, Burst on the billows the flushings of light; O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, See the tall vessel goes gallantly on; Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail, And her pennons stream onward, like hope in the gale;

(and song, The winds come around her in murmur And the surges rejoice as they bear her along.

(clouds, See! she looks up to the golden-edged And the sailor sings gaily aloft in the

shrouds; Onward she glides amid ripple and spray, Over the waters-away and away! Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part, Passing away like a dream of the heart, Who, as the beautiful pageant sweeps byMusic around her, and sunshine on highPauses to think, amid glitter and show, Oh! there be hearts that are breaking below?

[high, Night on the waves—and the moon is on Hung like a gem on the brow of the sky, Treading in depths in the power of her might,

(to light. And turning the clouds as they pass her Look to the waters! asleep on their breast, Seems not the ship like an island of rest? Bright and alone on the shadowy main, Like a heart-cherished home on some de

solate plain. Who-as she smiles in the silvery light, Spreading her wings on the bosom of night, Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky, A phantom of beauty-could deem, with a sigh,

[sin, That so lovely a thing is the mansion of And souls that are smitten lie bursting

within? Who, as he watches her silently gliding, Remembers that wave after wave is dividing Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not

sever? Hearts which are parted and broken for Or deems that he watches, alone on the wave,

[grave? The deathbed of hope, or the young spirit's * Happily the Convict Ship is now a thing of

THE RAINBOW.

out

OH, look ye on the rainbow, in its first
Exceeding faintness, like a rising thought
Or a fine feeling of the beautiful,
An evanescence! so, you fear, must be
The slight-tinged silence of the showery

sky,
Nor yet dare name its name ; till, breathing
Into such colours as may not deceive,
And undelusive in their heavenliness,
O'er all the hues that happy nature knows,
Although it be the gentlest of them all
Prevailing, the celestial violet.
To eyes by beauty made religious, lo!
Brightening

the house by God inhabited, The full-formed rainbow glows! beneath

her arch The glittering earth once more is Paradise.

sever

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the past.

A chilly moisture settles on the beds, Where lichens 'mid decay are slowly

growing, Covering the curtains, and the damask eyes Of angels, there enwrought in rainbow

fading dyes.

'Tis thus with our life-whileit passes along Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and

song, Gaily we glide in the gaze of the world, With streamers afloat and with canvas un

furled ; All gladness and glory to wandering eyes, Yet chartered by sorrow and freighted with

sighs; Fading and false is the aspect it wears As the smiles we put on just to cover our tears;

[cannot know, And the withering thoughts that the world Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below; While the vessel drives on to that desolate shore

(vanished and o'er. Where the dreams of our childhood are

The toothless mastiff bitch howls all night

long, And in her kennel sleepeth all the day. I heard the old man say, “ There's something wrong;

[way, She was not wont to yell and howl that There's something wrong. Oh! ill and

woe betide The Leech's hand by which my Lady Ellen

died.”

THOMAS MILLER.

1808–1874.

THE DESOLATE HALL,

Sometimes I hear, or fancy, o'er my head A tramping noise, like that of human feet:

[tread, In hollow high-heeled shoes they seem to

Ar to the sound of solemn music beat; Then with a crash the window shutters close,

[repose. Shaking the crazy walls, and breaking my The silver moth within the wardrobe feeds; The unturned keys are rusted in the locks;

[breeds; Upon my hearth the brown mouse safely

By the old fountain fearless sleeps the fox; The white owl in my chamber dreams all day,

[away. For there is no one cares to frighten him

A LONELY Hall upon a lonelier moor,

For many a mile no other dwelling near; Northward an ancient wood, whose tall trees roar,

[branches tear. When the loud winds their huge broad A large old Hall, –a servant deaf and gray On me in silence waits throughout the dreary day.

(grass, Before my threshold waves the long white

That like a living desolation stands, Nodding its withered head whene'er I pass, The last sad heir of these broad barren

lands: The last within the old vault to repose; Then its dark marble door upon our race

will close.

The high-piled books with cobwebs are o'ergrown,

(dead; Their gaudy bindings now look dull and Last night the massy Bible tumbled down,

And it laid open where my Ellen read The night she died--I knew the place again, For she shed many a tear, and each had

left its stain.

The whining wind sweeps o'er the matted floors,

[moan; And makes a weary noise, a wailing I hear all night the clap of broken doors, That on their rusty hinges grate and

groan; And then loud voices seem to call behind The worn and wormy wainscot flapping

in the wind.

Oh! how I shun the room in which she died,

[could sound! The books, the flowers, the harp she well The flowers are dead, the books are thrown aside,

[round The harp is mute, and dust has gathered Her lovely drawings, covering o'er the chair

[brown hair. Where she so oft has sat to braid her long

Along the roof the dark moss thickly spreads,

(throwing; A dampness o'er the oaken rafters

What hollow gusts through broken case

ments stream, Moving the ancient portraits on the wall;

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Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet,

beyond Aurigny's isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving

many a mile; At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's

especial grace; And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held

her close in chase. Forth with a guard at gun was placed

along the wall ; The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edge.

cumbe's lofty hall; Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry

along the coast; And with loose rein and bloody spur rode

inward many a post. With his white hair unbonneted, the stout

old sheriff comes; Behind him march the halberdiers; before

him sound the drums; His yeomen round the market-cross make

clear an ample space, For there behoves him to set up the standard

of Her Grace. And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily

dance the bells, (blazon swells. As slow upon the labouring wind the royal Look how the Lion of the Sea lifts up his ancient crown,

[gay lilies down. And underneath his deadly paw treads the So stalked he when he turned to flight, on

that famed Picard field, Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and

Cæsar's eagle shield; So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath

he turned to bay, And crushed and torn beneath his claws

the princely hunters lay. Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight:

ho! scatter flowers, fair maids: Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute: ho!

gallants, draw your blades: Thou sun, shine on her joyously — ye

breezes, waft her vide, Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner

of our pride. The freshening breeze of eve unfurled

that banner's massy fold, The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that

haughty scroll of gold; Night sunk upon the dusky beach and

on the purple sea, -Such night in England ne'er had been, nor

e'er again shall be. From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from

Lynn to Milford Bay, That time of slumber was as bright and

busy as the day;

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THOMAS B. MACAULAY.

1800—1859.

THE SPANISH ARMADA.

ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble

England's praise ; Itell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought

in ancient days, When that great Fleet Invincible against

her bore in vain The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest

hearts of Spain. It was about the lovely close of a warm

summer day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full

sail to Plymouth Bay;

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Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the

stormy hills of Wales, Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on

Malvern's lonely height, Till streamed in crimson on the wind the

Wrekin's crest of light, Till broad and fierce the star came forth

on Ely's stately fane, And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all

the boundless plain; Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to

Lincoln sent, And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the

wide vale of Trent; Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on

Gaunt's embattled pile, And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the

burghers of Carlisle.

DEATH OF VIRGINJA.

For swift to east and swift to west the

ghastly war-flame spread; High on St. Michael's Mount it shone; it

shone on Beachy Head. Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along

each southern shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those

twinkling points of fire. The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's

glittering waves ; The rugged miners poured to war from

Mendip's sunless caves; O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's

oaks, the fiery herald flew; He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge,

the rangers of Beaulieu. Right sharp and quick the bells all night

rang out from Bristol town, And ere the day three hundred horse had

met on Clifton Down. The sentinel on Whitehall Gate looked

forth into the night, And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the

streak of blood-red light: Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the

death-like silence broke, And with one start, and with one cry, the

royal city woke ; At once on all her stately gates arose the

answering fires, At once the wild alarum clashed from all

her reeling spires, From all the batteries of the Tower pealed

loud the voice of fear, And all the thousand masts of Thames sent

back a louder cheer; And from the farthest wards was heard the

rush of hurrying feet, And the broad streams of flags and pikes

dashed down each roaring street. And broader still became the blaze, and

louder still the din, As fast from every village round the horse

came clattering in. And eastward straight from wild Black

heath the warlike errand went, And roused in many an ancient hall the

gallant squires of Kent; Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew

those bright couriers forth; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor

they started for the north. And on and on, without a pause, untired

they bounded still ; All night from tower to tower they sprang,

they sprang from hill to hill; Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er

Darwin's rocky dales,

HARD by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down;

[in his gown. Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it And then his eyes grew very dim and his

throat began to swell, And in a hoarse charged voice he spake,

“ Farewell, sweet child, farewell. Oh, how I loved my darling! though stern

I sometimes be, To thee, thou know'st, I was not so. Who

could be so to thee? And how my darling loved me! How glad

she was to hear My footstep on the threshold when I came

back last year! And how she danced with pleasure to see

my civic crown, And took my sword and hung it up, and

brought me forth my gown. Now all these things are over; yes, all thy

pretty ways, Thy needlework, thy prattle, thy snatches

of old lays. And none will grieve when I go forth, or

smile when I return, Or watch beside the old man's bed, or

weep upon his urn. The house that was the happiest within

the Roman walls, The house that envied not the wealth of

Capua's marble halls, Now for the brightness of thy smile must

have eternal gloom, And for the music of thy voice the silence

of the tomb.

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