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158. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER

A chieftain to the Highlands

bound Cries ‘Boatman, do not tarry ! And I'll give thee a silver pound

To row us o’er the ferry.' Now who be

ye

would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?' O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

And this Lord Ullin's daughter. And fast before her father's

men Three days we've fled together, For, should he find us in the

glen, My blood would stain the

heather. His horseman hard behind us

But still, as wilder blew the wind,

And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armèd men

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 rode amidst the

roar

ride;

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Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny

bride When they have slain her

lover?' Outspoke the hardy Highland

wight, ' I'll go, my chief ! I'm ready; It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady. 'And, by my word! the bonny

bird In danger shall not tarry ; So, though the waves are raging

white I'll row you o'er the ferry.' By this the storm grew loud

apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each

face Grew dark they were

speaking

• Come back! come back !'he

cried in grief Across the stormy water : And I'll forgive your Highland

chief, My daughter! oh 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.

T. CAMPBELL.

as

159. FROM THE LAST MAN' ALL worldly shapes shall melt in By Him recalled to breath gloom,

Who captive led captivity,
The Sun himself must die, Who robbed the grave of Victory,
Before this mortal shall assume And took the sting from Death !

Its Immortality !
I saw a vision in my sleep,

'Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me That gave my spirit strength to

up sweep

On Nature's awful waste Adown the gulf of Time !

To drink this last and bitter I saw the last of human mould

cup That shall Creation's death behold

Of grief that man shall tasteAs Adam saw her prime !

Go, tell the night that hides thy

face * The spirit shall return to Him Thou saw'st the last of Adam's

That gave its heavenly spark ;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim On Earth's sepulchral clod

When thou thyself art dark ! The darkening universe defy
No! it shall live again and shine To quench his immortality,
In bliss unknown to beams of Or shake his trust in God!'
thine,

T. CAMPBELL.

race

160. FLORINE
Could I bring back lost youth again

And be what I have been,
I'd court you in a gallant strain,

My young and fair Florine.
But mine's the chilling age that chides

Devoted rapture's glow,
And Love—that conquers all besides-

Finds Time a conquering foe.
Farewell ! we're severed by our fate

As far as night from noon ;
You came into the world too late,
And I depart so soon.

T. CAMPBELL.

161. FROM `MEN OF ENGLAND'
MEN of England ! who inherit

Rights that cost your sires their blood !
Men whose undegenerate spirit

Has been proved on land and flood
By the foes ye've fought, uncounted,

By the glorious deeds ye’ve done.
Trophies captured-breaches mounted,

Navies conquered-kingdoms won !

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Yet, remember, England gathers

Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame,
If the freedom of your fathers

Glow not in your hearts the same.
What are monuments of bravery,

Where no public virtues bloom ?
What avail in lands of slavery
Trophied temples, arch, and tomb ?

T. CAMPBELL.

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162. SONG OF HYBRIAS THE CRETAN
My wealth 's a burly spear and brand,
And a right good shield of hides untanned

Which on my arm I buckle :
With these I plough, I reap, I sow,
With these I make the sweet vintage flow,

And all around me truckle.
But your wights that take no pride to wield
A massy spear and well-made shield,

Nor joy to draw the sword-
Oh, I bring those heartless, hapless drones,
Down in a trice on their marrow-bones
To call me King and Lord.

T. CAMPBELL.

163. THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC OF Nelson and the North

But the might of England flushed
Sing the glorious day's renown, To anticipate the scene ;
When to battle fierce came forth And her van the fleeter rushed
All the might of Denmark's O’er the deadly space between.
crown,

* Hearts of oak!' our captain And her arms along the deep cried; when each gun proudly shone,

From its adamantine lips
By each gun the lighted brand Spread a death-shade round the
In a bold determined hand;

ships,
And the Prince of all the land Like the hurricane eclipse
Led them on.

Of the sun.
Like leviathans afloat

Again ! again ! again !
Lay their bulwarks on the brine, And the havoc did not slack,
While the sign of battle flew Till a feeble cheer the Dane
On the lofty British line :

To our cheering sent us back :
It was ten of April morn by the Their shots along the deep slowly
chime :

boom ;
As they drifted on their path Then ceased and all is wail
There was silence deep as death, As they strike the shattered sail,
And the boldest held his breath Or in conflagration pale
For a time.

Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then
As he hailed 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 blessed 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 looked smiling

bright O’er a wide and woful sight, Where the fires of funeral light

Now joy, Old England, raise
For the tidings of thy might
By the festal cities' blaze,
While 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.

Died away.

164. HOHENLINDEN
ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another sight
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed

To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steed to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven

Far flashed the red artillery.
But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stainèd snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce'the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun

Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave !
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave,

And charge with all thy chivalry !
Few, few shall part, where many meet !
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

T. CAMPBELL.

ever

165. DRINKING-SONG OF MUNICH SWEET Iser! were thy sunny realm Like rivers crimsoned with the And flowery gardens mine,

beam Thy waters I would shade with Of yonder planet bright elm

Our balmy cups should To prop the tender vine ;

stream My golden flagons I would fill Profusion of delight; With rosy draughts from every No care should touch the mellow

heart, And under every myrtle bower And sad or sober none depart ; My gay companions should pro For wine can triumph over woe, long

And Love and Bacchus, brother The laugh, the revel, and the

powers, song,

Could build in Iser's sunny bowers To many an idle hour.

A paradise below.

T. CAMPBELL.

hill;

166. YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND YE Mariners of England

The spirits of your

fathers That guard our native seas, Shall start from every wave! Whose flag has braved, a thousand For the deck it was their field of years,

fame, The battle and the breeze

And Ocean was their grave. Your glorious standard launch Where Blake and mighty Nelson again

fell To match another foe !

Your manly hearts shall glow, And sweep through the deep, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do While the stormy winds do blow,

blow, While the battle rages loud and While the battle rages loud and

long, And the stormy winds do blow. And the stormy winds do blow.

long,

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